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donatellawritings · 26 days

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୨୧ based on this submission from @sageworld

boxer!rafe & shy!reader bc they are cuties xx

a big fat reason why you were such a shy and mousey little thing was due to your thick latin accent and broken english. sure, you could hold your own with basic conversations, but your doe eyes never missed the way people squinted into over-exerted focus as you spoke. you were well aware of how you mispronounced words and the way you subconsciously elongated the wrong consonants, so you completely despised having to speak, unless you were spoken to. after spending about an hour with you, rafe was fully aware of your cute quirk and welcomed it with open arms.

quite frankly, the way your tongue carefully sang each word with practiced effort was heart wrenchingly adorable to him … and he silently wished that you’d never stop talking.

“okay, mama — y’gotta use y’words, just like i’ve been teachin’ you, yeah?” rafe calls out from the bathroom, steam leaking through the opened door, his voice raised, thanks to the toothbrush that rested between his teeth.

with a frustrated huff, you quickly blinked back the tears of defeat that welled in your bambi eyes, tilting your head back in a desperate attempt to stop your whiny tears from ruining your makeup that’s you’d spent a whopping hour and a half doing … it was so pretty, soft, and sparkly — messing it up would just send you over the edge.

you remained with your head tilted back for about a minute before the pinned up curls that covered your head became too heavy for your neck, “don’t want to, papi — i feel stupid,” you pouted your lips, swollen from the glittery plumping gloss that you’d applied just a few minutes prior.

rafe had taken it upon himself to be proactive when it came to breaking you away from your shy shell, and he figured that if you tackled your largest insecurity first — the rest would be a piece of cake. so, rafe decided that he simply wouldn’t talk to you, if you only gave him one worded answers or hummed responses.

“hey — fix y’face, no reason to be havin’ an attitude,” rafe enters his bedroom, towel hung low on his semi-wet hips as he snaps a corrective finger in your direction, his glassy eyes glaring into yours as you nod obediently.

adjusting the hem of your powder pink skims bandeau top, or lack thereof, to sit just a bit higher on your perky and swollen tits, you comply, “the pr-press thingy — yo no quiero ir,” you speak, your voice shaky as you approach rafe, bare feet padding against the polished hardwood flooring, “s’too many people,” you add in a low mumble.

acknowledging your concerns with a simple nod, rafe rolls his shoulders, the towel that once hung around his hips now replaced with grey briefs as he glances over at you, before letting out a hum of feigned thought, “that’s what had y’all fussy? jesus, baby,” he sighs, allowing his tight shoulders to soften as he nudges the tip of your chin with the knuckle of his index finger.

letting out an embarrassed whine, you closed the gap between you and rafe, swinging your arms around his tense neck as you jump from the tips of your painted toes, snaking your legs around his waist, earning a knowing sigh from your man, “y’know i can’t have you sitting here alone — need to keep an eye on you, mama,” he coos, keeping a free arm curled underneath the fat of your plush ass and thighs as he continues to make his way towards your shared closet, hiking you up to sit up a bit higher on his buff and toned frame.

“no soy una niña — y’not being nice,” you speak against the side of rafe’s neck, earning a quick slap to your bare ass, “raafe, that was hard,” you moan, lightly swatting your hand against his firm pecs.

rolling his eyes, rafe grabbed ahold of a the crisp navy blue suit jacket that hung neatly, his voice monotone as he searches for his matching slacks, “not a little girl, huh? y’sure as hell are actin’ like one, princess,” he comments blankly, his squinted eyes widening as he nudges your waist with the metal part of the hanger that held his jacket, “hold this f’me.”

with a bratty roll of your eyes, your small hand grips the hanger, your chin resting atop of rafe’s flexed clavicle as your makeup remains in tact.

fisting his slacks and louis vuitton belt in his grip, rafe walks out of the closet, leaving your legs to cling tightly around his waist as he walks towards his king sized bed, spinning lowering his frame to sit down on the edge of the bed, with you straddling him as his loving gaze met your sparkling eyes.

“okay baby, who’s the man that keeps a smile on y’face, huh?”

biting back a blush, you quickly peck your tingling lips against rafe’s, “rafe cameron,” you speak confidently, oblivious to the way the man before you’s dick began to tent within the thin fabric of his briefs. fuck, he loved the way your latin tongue rolled over each letter with innocent seduction.

“yeah?” rafe raises his eyebrows, “and who is rafe cameron,” he pushes, tonguing the inside of his cheek, eyeing the way you fiddled with your fingers as the cogs in your pretty little head began to turn.

batting your wispy lashes, you take a small breath — you practiced this, “rafe cameron is th-the future uni-unified champion and the el-dest son of w-ward cameron,” you exhale, immediately breaking eye contact with rafe as you force yourself to focus on your freshly manicured nails.

“there you go! see, y’talk just fine, hm?” rafe praises, sealing it with a playful nudge to your jaw, just as his free hand snaps the band of your thong to slap the skin of your hip.

with a sharp gasp you sucked your teeth, craning you neck to see the light red marking left by the skin-tight fabric, “ay, rafe dejarme quieta!” you whined, pathetically fighting your way out of rafe’s grip, much to no avail.

securing both of your wrists in one of his hands, rafe patted the meat of the side of your ass cheek, “a’ight, cut it out — was just playin’ around,” he grabs your cheeks with his free hand, silencing you with a sloppy and slobbery kiss.

annoyed whines left your mouth as you felt the sticky gloss smear off of your lips and onto your chin, “hmph — papi, my lipgl-” you were quickly cut off by your own needy moan as rafe slid his tongue up your lips, before swallowing your mouth into a deeper kiss.

“i know, baby,” rafe mumbles into the kiss, your concealer and lipgloss painted on his chin and jaw as you tightened your arms around his neck, both of your tongues lazily lapping at each other.

the messy and sticky kiss continued for a few more minutes, before you ran out of breath — your once flawless makeup now left smeared and patchy as your lips, now red and swollen, and a bit sore stretched into a cheesy smile. a few of your pinned-up curls had fallen, some wild strands of hair sticking to your lips as you wiped the messy corners rafe’s sticky and glittery lips with the pad of your thumb.

“thank you, sweetheart,” rafe chuckled, not missing the way you still couldn’t maintain direct eye contact with him.

who would even begin to think that he still hadn’t even asked you to be his girlfriend yet?

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron x reader #obx #obx imagine #rafe cameron smut #rafe x reader #boxer!rafe #shy!reader #rafe imagine

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kcrossvine-art · 4 months

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Hi friends! Just a day after this years Yule and a few days out from Christmas, regardless of what you celebrate during this winter months, we're gonna be cooking a tangy tango between two traditional english staples-

Yule Plum Pudding and Wassail from Lord of the Rings Online!

(You can find the cooking instructions and full ingredient list under the break-)

MY NAMES CROSS NOW LETS COOK LIKE ANIMALS

SO, “what goes in to this Yule Plum Pudding?” YOU MAY ASKPlum Pudding is not a "pudding" as us americans think of it; its closer to a fruitcake but less shit.

Cranberries

White raisins

Macerated prunes (in brandy)

Chopped candied peel

Blanched almonds

All-purpose flour

Cinnamon

Nutmeg

Cloves

Sugar

Breadcrumbs

Lemon zest

Unsalted butter

Eggs

Whole milk

Half a bottle of brandy

It also doesnt contain any capital-P plums! it actually does contain plums im so fucking stupid i never connected the dots that prunes were dried plums oh my god. But they still ued any dried fruit, and "Plum" here is just referring to any dried fruit. And what about the birth of todays wassail?

4 cooking apples

2 pears

Brown sugar

Cinnamon sticks

2 lemons

A bottle of sherry

The other half bottle of brandy

Wassail is very similar to apple cider drank in the fall, with a few differences like the addition of pears and different alcohol source. It was commonly drank while "wassailing" which was a Yuletide predecessor to christmas carolling. People would go door-to-door with a big bowl of wassail, play music, and give well wishes- offering drinks from the wassail in return for small gifts!

AND, “what does Yule Plum Pudding and Wassail taste like?” YOU MIGHT ASK

The puddings like a fruitcake but if a fruit cake tasted good and wasnt a brick

Its thick and rich, and somehow actually tastes like plum despite that not being intended or making sense

I love the macerated prunes so much. Juicy berries to forage for. Enrichment

The icings reminiscent of buttercream but more savory than sweet

The wassail is like drinking the golden edges off the clouds at sunset

Its got a little bit of the dryness from the sherry that makes your mouth water the moment you stop drinking it

You just want to keep drinking more to sate yourself

Even without eggs its surprisingly full bodied and thick

I had to make a few substitutions from traditional elements due to either being not available or too expensive, but with a little problem-solving nothing was too hard to do.

. Used a bundt cake pan instead of a pudding tin . Suet (animal fat) was historically used for plum pudding. I couldnt find any and used butter instead . Used golden delicious apples when called for . Used concorde pears when called for . Some wassail recipes fold in egg whites before serving, to make the drink creamier. I didnt do this, but if you do, the recommendation to drink it fresh still stands (and strongly)

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I gotta admit, I was nervous approaching this recipe. Not only because I didn't own and couldnt find a "pudding tin" without ordering online, or because the concept of steaming a pastry(?) feels foreign and odd, but also because of how old and storied this dish is. You always run into the issue with historical foods who date back to the times where oral history was the only history. The issue of people being combative that their recipe is the only true variant of the recipe, and all the others are mucking the whole thing up.

Its good to remember that like with most dishes, cooking is something that evolved and continues to evolve overtime. Unless someones trying to rewrite history and claim that ants on a log is a creme brule in which case you should run them over with a '98 Pontiac Sunfire.

Theres a few things I'd do differently when cooking again, like chopping the blanched almonds. They were a bit too big when left whole. And adding some amount of heavy cream to the icing? Maybe? To give it a fluffier/milkier feel? But the proces of cooking itself was very straightforward and I have no real complaints or modifications to make. When having leftovers of the pudding it did seem to "mature" and taste better and better the more days i kept it in the fridge, so thats something to keep in mind! But it tastes great a day after all the same.

I give this recipe a solid 10/10 (with 1 being food that makes one physically sick and 10 being food that gives one a lust for life again.) Happy winter everyone! Congrats to another year of staying alive!

🐁 ORIGINAL RESIPPY TEXT BELOW 🐁

Yule Plum Pudding Ingredients:

16oz cranberries

12oz white raisins

9oz macerated prunes

4oz chopped candied peel (any fruit)

2oz blanched, chopped almonds

4oz all-purpose flour

Measure spices with your heart (cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves)

8oz granulated sugar

8oz fresh white breadcrumbs

lemon zest (one lemon)

4oz grated unsalted butter

4 eggs

8oz whole milk

Pudding Icing Ingredients:

1½oz unsalted butter

1½oz all-purpose flour

10½oz whole milk

3oz granulated sugar

2 tablespoons brandy

Yule Plum Pudding Method:

A week before making, macerate your prunes in brandy.

Mix together all the dried fruit, peel, and almonds. Sieve flour and spices together then add to the fruit mixture along with the sugar, breadcrumbs, rind, and grated butter.

Beat eggs and then blend with 8oz of milk.

Stir the egg/milk mixture to incorporate into the dry ingredients. Add prunes, and stir some more.

Put batter into a well-buttered pudding basin, with parchment paper to cover.

Get a large pot and place a kitchen towel or something similar at the bottom- then place the pudding basin on top of the towel, inside the large pot.

Fill the outer pot with water until it’s halfway up the side, cover the pot with a lid (or foil).

Steam on the stovetop at 210f for 4-6 hours depending on size of pudding basin. If the water gets too low, add a bit more.

After steaming, uncover and allow to cool to room temperature. Do not remove it from the pudding basin! Cover with fresh parchment paper and foil and store in a cool, dry place for at least a day.

(optional) to reheat; steam for 40-80 minutes, until warmed through.

Pudding Icing Method:

Place butter in a medium saucepan with the flour, pour in the milk then whisk everything vigorously together over a medium heat.

As soon as it comes to simmering point and has thickened, turn the heat to its lowest setting, stir in the sugar, and let the sauce cook for 10 minutes.

Add the brandy and stir to mix. Keep warm until required.

Wassail Ingredients:

4 cooking apples

2 pears

Brown sugar

4 Cinammon sticks

2 lemon

1 bottle of Sherry

½ bottle of Brandy

Wassail Method:

Core the apples and pears, leave the rest intact, and set in a baking pan. Fill the hollow centers with brown sugar.

Add about an inch of water to the pan and bake at 350f for 30 minutes, or until the fruit is soft.

Move the fruit to a large pot, add a bottle of sherry, half a bottle of brandy, lemon peel, and 4 large cinnamon sticks. (Feel free to use less booze!)

Bring the pot to a simmer for about 45 minutes, stirring occasionally. Strain before serving!

#cross cooks lotr #dessert #baking recipes #the lord of the rings #digital art

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korebringerofded · 4 months

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A Spoonful of Sugar-Suguru Geto X F!Reader

A/N- Yes, this is very self-indulgent. This takes place-season 2 episode 5, before Geto's defection Description- Suguru falls in love with a cute baker (you) while on his way back from a mission, he quickly becomes obsessed with more than just the sweets you make. Words-1600 Warnings-Depression, hopelessness, smut at the end, oral sex, semi-public sex, one use of y/n, sad desperate geto

A/N- I ask that you read my rules before going any further. Reblogs, likes, and comments are always appreciated and keep me going. All requests are open and you can find my entire masterlist here.

The rain was pouring down over the barren street, Suguru had just finished another mission and was making his way to the train station, his tongue coated in a disgusting film of greasy curse residue that traveled down his throat and into the pit of his stomach. The taste would linger for hours, sometimes days.

It was starting to become unbearable.

Not just the taste of curses, his whole life was becoming unbearable, hazy, like he was in a waking dream.

The never ending missions, the continuously growing pile of his comrades corpses, the loneliness.

Exorcize, absorb, exorcize, absorb.

The same thing day in day out, week after week, month after month, year after year.

Exorcize, absorb, exorcize, absorb.

“Don't waver, fulfill your duty as a strong jujutsu sorcerer.”

Exorcize, absorb, exorcize, absorb.

Suguru wasn’t even sure how he even ended up here, he had meant to go to the train station but he had somehow found himself at a colorful entryway to a small bakery.

It was nothing special, not really anyways, bright colors and a neon sign that almost hurt to look at. Despite all that, the whole place had a sweet and inviting smell that seemed to cut through the damp smell of the rain outside.

He wouldn’t have categorized himself as an individual who enjoyed sweets, he preferred his coffee black and given the choice he would have a savory snack over a sugary one. He never really cared much for bakeries unless Satoru was dragging him to one…and something about that sweet and thick scent made the rotten taste in his mouth less noticeable.

He pushed open the door, the warm air brushing over his cheeks as he looked around. It was clean, bright pinks and blue, the thick smell of coffee and sweets. He was almost surprised when he looked up to see you coming out from the back, a tray of perfectly frosted cupcakes in your hands.

Suguru couldn’t help it, the curve of your lip, the flutter of your lashes. You were a breath of fresh air, beautiful and warm…all he could do was stare at you, his tired eyes locked on your face like he was trying to put it to memory.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” You asked with a smile and a tilted head.

Suguru didn’t miss the way your eyes lingered on him, looking him up and down the same way he did to you. He watched the way you dusted your hands off on your apron, a small cloud of flour left behind as you did.

“Hm.” Suguru looked over the display case at the endless variety of cakes and pastries with a tired sigh.

“Just two of whatever is most popular, I suppose.” Suguru said with a shrug, his back hunched as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Welll.” You thought about it for a moment, tapping your chin and chewing on your bottom lip for a moment.

“Our coffee is famous in the neighborhood and I like to say my carrot-cake would be world famous if given the chance.” You said with a toothy grin.

“Ha, really now?” Suguru chuckled, taking a seat at the counter, his eyes taking in the curve of your hips, the crinkle of your eyes when you smiled.

Suguru crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in the chair. “Well…alright, a coffee for now, and I will take two slices of your ‘world famous’ carrot cake to-go.” Suguru teased.

You giggled softly as you nodded, moving to pour him a fresh cup of coffee, the wonderful scent filling the room as the steam billowed in clouds over the cup.

You smiled, reaching to hand him the cream and sugar before to your absolute horror, this very handsome man sipped from his coffee completely black, no cream, no sugar, nothing. It was appalling to you, you had only thought those monsters were a myth.

“I absolutely cannot allow you to drink your coffee that way!” You huffed, a puff of your cheeks and your hands on your hips as you stared at Suguru with horror written all over your face.

“Oh, really?” Geto asked, a smirk tugging at his lips as he leaned forward, his elbow resting on the counter as his chin rested in the palm of his hand. “And what about the old ‘the customer is always right’ saying, hm?”

“Nope, I’m not hearing it. It would pain me to let you ruin my perfect coffee by drinking it like that.” You were having none of it, and you waved him off as you already got to work pouring sugar and cream into his coffee.

All Suguru could do was watch with widened eyes and a smile tugging at his lips, he was quite amused with this but at the same time watching the way you pouted, the way you scolded him for his cofee. It made his heart ache.

“Just like…Satoru used to do.” Suguru thought to himself solemnly.

“So, are you going to tell me your name before you harass me for my tastes some more?” Suguru teased, his eyes following you as he sipped on the now sweetened coffee with amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Hmmm, perhaps.” You teased, a soft blush spreading over your cheeks as he stared down at you. His soft and comforting voice had a strange affect on you and it sent goosebumps dancing down your spine.

“Y/N.” You said softly.

“Suguru Geto.”

After that first time, that very first hello, not a single thing on earth could have kept Suguru Geto away from you.

You, who had a toothy smile and bright eyes so full of life, you, who didn’t falter in showing Suguru such a new and sweet brand of stress relief he never thought possible. Everything about you, that place, it all made his problems seem significantly further away.

And so, week after week, despite the bakery being a train and ten-minute bus ride away, Suguru made the trip as often as he could. If he had a particularly difficult mission, he always found himself at your doorstep, craving a dose of your infectious sweetness to wash away the taste of shit that the rest of the world often left behind.

You didn’t take away all the misery or erase anything that had happened, it didn’t change the failures or fix the world, you just made it all more tolerable.

You grew accustomed to his visits, his soft and calm voice, his tired eyes, the way his hands would linger over yours when you two would occasionally brush hands. You couldn’t help but to think about him, his handsome face and his dark eyes filled with a past he had yet to talk about.

That was, until one particular late night. You were working late, prepping inventory and such for the week, the store was closed so to say it was strange to hear a rapid knock at the front door would be an understatement.

What was even more strange was what you found as you approached the door, Suguru was leaned against the doorway in the pouring rain, his eyes puffy and his body soaked down to the bone, his hair damp and dangling in front of his face.

From just that one look at him, you just…knew something was wrong. Instead of his normal black uniform, pressed and clean, he wore a white t-shirt that looked two sizes too large for him and baggy black pants.

“I’m…sorry.” He whispered, looking up at you with desperation in his eyes. “I just…I need you.”

And that was how you ended up in the back room of the shop, legs draped over Suguru’s shoulders as he licked and sucked your puffy clit like it was the only thing he could do.

Your jeans and panties long forgotten somewhere, your shirt and bra pushed up over your tits so Suguru could squeeze and pinch your pretty pink nipples every time his tongue lapped up the slick from your pretty, perfect cunt.

“Ah- fuck, Suguru.” You gasped, back arching off of the table.

Suguru’s fingers dug into your hips as he pulled you closer, his eyes fluttering as his own moans sent low and deep vibrations running through your already soaked pussy as his tongue fucked deep into you, his nose brushing past your clit as Suguru groaned even louder, your taste was something he wanted to commit to memory.

Suguru was fully clothed, his dick painfully hard in his pants, a small wet patch from where he had already come, though he didn’t really care. He relished in your taste, the way your clit twitched and puffed as he dragged his tongue over it. You were the best fucking thing he had ever tasted.

He was probably (definitely) enjoying this even more than you did.

You had already come countless times, your voice was strained and your chest rose and fell so rapidly you were sure that your heart would burst at any moment. Your thighs trembled and your slick dripped down Suguru’s chin and onto the table he had you pinned down on.

He was like a wild animal, no longer the polite and charming man you first met, his eyes were wild, huge pupils the size of the moon as his tongue lapped over your clit until your eyes rolled back, mouth falling open as an intense heat washed over you yet again, your slick creamy and thick on Suguru’s tongue and he gulped and swallowed down every drop like your taste was the damned elixir of life itself.

“So fucking good…I am nowhere near done with you, sweetness. I need more.” Suguru grumbled, his eyes dark as he looked up at you from between your thighs.

And who were you to deny a starved man?

Please do not copy, use my work, or put it through AI without my permission or I'll be really sad about it!

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luimagines · 5 months

Note

I dare you to do one with your favorite trope to write (unless you've already done it)

Oh my goodness, this might be longer that usual. XD

And I really had to think about what I wanted to write. I think I'll make this a one-shot. (unless you guys want more anyway) Prepare for this to be as self indulgent as hell. :D

And I'll make it Time while I'm at it.

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

This was the third time this week that you found something like this. You didn't know who was doing this.

A basket, filled to the brim with goodies and trinkets alike, sat properly outside of your window sill. It would be charming if you weren't on the third floor. Someone was climbing up to your balcony and leaving the baskets for you to find.

It was creepy- to a degree. There was never anything malicious about it though. The baskets typically held a flower, a warm meal (or groceries) and some little thing for you to put around your apartment.

You see, you moved to the Kingdom of Kokiri with nothing but a backpack and small child's wagon. Your apartment wasn't even on a nicer side of town. But it hard to be worried about robbers when you're home is bare and empty.

Slowly, that's been changing though. The baskets always had a poem attached, but no name. You secret admirer would give little things from time to time. The baskets are getting more frequent too.

What used to be a small monthly thing, turned weekly then bi weekly- and you're beginning to suspect that they're turning into a daily thing.

Part of you worries that whoever this is, is spending too much on you.

But seeing that the last basket had a new set of dining wear with plates and cups and a some nice utensils to match- you're not inclined to have them stop anytime soon when they're improve your very living conditions as it is. Even if you feel a little guilty.

That being said, this basket had a warm meal already prepared, still steaming in the glass tupperware. There was a small bouquet of roses near the top and a small little box that you opened to see a single slice of chocolate cake.

The card was attached on the inside but it lacked the typical poem. It simple read: "Rest well, Love. You've worked hard today. Dinner's on me. I just want to see you smile in the morning."

You smiles and tucked the card back into its place, bringing the basket back into your apartment.

You have to figure out who this secret admirer of yours is. It has to be someone with access to your floor but it can't be a neighbor. Right? You're on the corner so it can't be anyone to your left. But maybe your neighbor to the right? That's a creepy thought. You hardy ever see him and you don't think he showers throughout the week.

It can't be him. Or at least you're going to deny it.

Maybe it's someone from above? That's more likely. There is this cute guy that you know lives on the floor above you, but you don't know which apartment. It wouldn't be hard to drop the basket secretively onto your balcony from above if that was the case.

The thought rotates in your head as you eat the food. It's delicious. Decadent, even.

Gratitude fills your heart and soul. you have to return the favor somehow after everything this person has provided for you. But how?

You head to bed with a smile on your face and a full stomach. You'll have to start small but you can think of something.

The next morning you head to the castle and walk straight to the throne room.

It was a deal that the king had proposed personally to you. You get to work concern free in his kingdom but you have to report to him every other Tuesday. Seeing as you had nowhere else to go, you didn't think it wise to refuse.

You've grown somewhat close, but with his power and status by his side, you couldn't help but slightly intimidated by him even now.

The king- like most Royals of Kingdoms of Hyrule- was a dragon. Sure, he could take the form of a typical man, but he stayed in his half form more often than not. His age and strength add to his credentials. As the current senior amongst dragons, all you've gathered is that he's lived longer than he appears. The older the dragon, the stronger they are.

King Link is a force to be reckoned with.

However, he's kind and patient with you. He's not all that bad.

You nod and grin at the Captain, who's affectionately called Warrior. Another dragon hidden among the people. You don't know his story, but he's a hard working fellow. He also came to the king in a time of need, looking for asylum and has been working under his employ ever since. He is the king's right hand man.

Warrior smiles back and salutes you softly as you enter. You'll never understand why you've more or less been given free reign of the castle, but with his approval, you feel better to head on in.

You meet the king and curtsy clumsily, still feeling rushed. He's asked you call him Time and he stands from the throne. His face is kind, amused even. A chuckle tumbles out of him as he walks toward you, his marble like tail swinging behind him. "I thought we were passed the formalities, my dear."

You clear your throat. "Were we? I don't recall."

He laughs again. "Come. We have much to discuss."

You nod and follow. He leads you to the back room with a gentle touch the small of your back. It's a familiar routine that you've grown comfortable with.

There's a small rounded table with a pale blue laced table cloth. There's a delicate tea set and it's covered to the brim with snacks and treats alike. You think you see a few of your favorites and your eyes light up at the sight.

King Time notices and he smiles, pleased. "Sit."

You nod and take your usual spot. Time sits across from you and serves you the pieces that you eyes earlier. You almost feel bad. You're still full from the night before.

Time notices. "Something wrong, dear?"

"No." You shake your head, afraid of insulting him. "Someone gave me dinner last night and I'm still a bit full from it."

Time seemed to be shocked by the tidbit. "Really?... Was it good?"

"It was delicious!" You can't help but gush. "I would normally cook for myself but they send food from time to time and it was still warm so I couldn't resist."

His smile turns a little tight. "Is that so? I'm glad that you were fed adequately then.... May I ask who?"

You falter, the smile on your face turning more soft and shy. "Um... I think it was my neighbor..."

"...You don't know who it is?"

You blush and look down onto the table, playing with the treats on your plate. "I know that I should be more cautious. But they've only ever left it on my balcony... It's a secret admirer so to speak. They've given me trinkets and flowers and food. It seems as if they've slowly been furnishing my house for me. I don't know... I've been trying to think about who it may be, but I'm coming up short. Regardless, enough about my lack of love life-"

Time abruptly puts his hand under the table but you catch the reason why before he can hide it.

He's bent the fork in half with his hand, seemingly without realizing it. He smiles brightly, as if nothing happened and the thought gets put on the back burner for now. "Right... Well, you can always ask for my assistance, Darling."

You shake your head with a small smile. "Thank you, but I'm here to report my work. Let's get to business then."

Time clenches his jaw slightly but nods in agreement. "Right. I believe last time you mentioned that you were following a trail of some suspicious individuals on the property of the farm lands for relief efforts. Did that bloom into anything substantial?"

You pull out a manila folder with a smirk and hand it to the king. "Did it ever."

The time passes before you know it. Little by little, as you give your report, if drifts away and you're talking about your lives as much as you can before you leave.

Warrior comes in, informing Time of another meeting has to attend. He looks apologetic.

The king winces but you're quick to stand up, mid panic. "I'm sorry. I've overstayed my welcome."

"Impossible." Time blurts, standing abruptly as well. He reach out as if to stop you and moves around the table as if to block your path. His tail curls around your ankle, stopping your in your tracks. It's gentle but firm. Even if his grip is painless, you can already tell that you wouldn't be able to escape on your own.

You freeze and after a beat he lets you go. Time gulps and stands, seemingly more aware of what he was doing. His grip falls away and he takes a step back. "R-right... I won't keep you from your work much longer then."

You can't help but blush. He's always been fine with putting a hand on your shoulder or your back... but the tail is one of the most sensitive parts of a dragon. And he just grabbed you with it. For some reason, you find yourself blushing.

You nod dumbly, as if your schedule is jammed packed like his. Your heart is pounding. You follow Warrior out of the room as he leads you back to the main gate of the castle.

"Sorry." Warrior says quietly. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Nonono-" You're still shaken by the phantom feelings of the scales around you. Even if it was just a brush, there was a power there. You don't know why you're so out of whack suddenly. The act was more intimate than you were able to admit. "If you didn't say anything, I would have kept going. Honestly, I swear he's just humoring most of the time."

"This is the only time we get him to actually take a break." Warrior tells you. "He'd work himself t the bone if it weren't for you. It's not like he can't afford it. He's two years ahead of his work. By all means, keep him there longer."

You flush and look away, walking out of the gate. "Oh please, he'll get sick of me before we'd know it."

Warrior is quick to bite his tongue, biting back the instant retort that no doubt sat on his tongue. He takes a breath and shakes his head.

"...He likes you." Warrior looks pained. Like there's something there that he wants to say but can't. You don't see it. "Would you like me to walk you home? If I recall you live far enough away-"

"Not enough to cause concern, Captain." You smile and pat his shoulder. "But thank you."

"His Majesty wouldn't like it if anything happened to you." Warrior tries to push it a little bit.

You shake you head. "And take more of your time away? You work just as hard, if not harder, than the entirety of the castle staff. I think only the King works harder than you."

He presses his lips into a thin line. His own scales poke from under his skin. Something is riling him up but you don't know what. You've never seen his dragon form or even his half. He seems to hide it more often than not. You would never know he was a dragon if the King hadn't said anything earlier.

Warrior sighs and runs his hands through his hair. "Very well... Just... be safe, yeah? I don't think the goddesses themselves would be able to calm the king should things go wrong."

"Like what?" You snort. "I end up in the hospital? I'll be fine. No worries."

You wink for good measure and head home, happy, fulfilled and ready to take on the rest of the week.

You miss the next three visits.

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the-californicationist · 5 months

Text

Guile & Guilt (Ch. 04)

Link to AO3

MDNI/18+

THE SAME DAY

Pidge offered to let you shower and change in her room so that you could be warm again and in clean clothes. You took her up on it, eager to feel the hot water and steam heat your skin.

Roger was already snoring, dead asleep on the sofa in the living room, and Johnny - or Soap, as Bekah had named him - disappeared into his room for a bit, looking for his own shower. He was absent while you and Pidge tried the cake samples from the Stiff Peaks bakery. She gushed about the flavors and the use of spices in the cake and its icing. You even got a few moans of culinary approval from Hamish whose high standards were impossible to reach. All in all, it felt like a success.

So why did you feel so empty? It was more than just the text from Bekah. There was some piece missing, something you got wrong and needed to fix. But, what could it be?

Johnny had confessed his feelings to you, and his kiss had felt… well, it had felt like a kiss should feel. It was the kiss that every young person imagined they might experience one day when the softness of someone else’s mouth finally found their own, their tongue icing the flesh of the other’s like a knife through a creamy, sugary glaze. The heat of their wet lips burning their edges, locked into a primal embrace of ownership and consumption, eating without feeling full. Devouring and yet becoming hungrier, increasing your appetite, gorging on the sweetness, until finally…

Johnny’s door popped open and he came to join you in the kitchen. His eyes went to you before eventually settling on Brigette,

“So? What’s the verdict, then? Dinnae meet the mark?”

“Sure,” Pidge smiled at him, “Right on target, you wee nugget. Good thing I sent you then.”

Johnny nodded to you, sitting in the bar stool next to yours at the kitchen counter. He gestured to you,

“She kept me in line, so she did. Would’ve gone for the chocolate myself.”

Pidge nudged you,

“Aye, what’d I tell you.”

You offered the other half of the cake to him, passing him your fork. He took it, cocking his smile into a mischievous grin,

“You’d have been proud of your wee hen here, Pidge. She made a pretty convincing bride. Might have to recruit her for our next mission. Be needin’ some espionage.”

Pidge laughed without even glancing up at him, her voice full of bitterness,

“So, havin’ you and da’ throw away your life on spyin’ wasnae enough. Should be my best friend, too?”

The whole room went cold. Johnny was mid-chew when he heard his sister’s comment, and he spat out the cake into a napkin in disgust. Pidge cut him off before he could say anything,

“Don’t forget to give little miss James Bond here a ride to her fitting tomorrow. I’m off for my shower,” she squeezed her brother’s forearm, seeming to understand that she had hit a nerve. He did not respond to her words nor her touch.

Johnny turned inward, closing off from conversation. You tried to coax him back out,

“Hey, here’s your phone. I think you missed a call.”

Without saying anything, he took the phone from you. He flipped through the message, and his expression remained unchanged.

“Gonna steal some of tha’ stew Hamish has been hidin’. You want in, thief?” He asked you, reaching for the pots and spoons before cracking open the freezer.

“Aren’t you gonna go to the pub?” You asked, trying to be as unbothered as possible.

He froze in place, holding the pot by its handle, locking eyes with you,

“No, not unless you wanted to do dinner with me, lass. Cravin’ samosas?”

It was a test. You had promised yourself you wouldn’t, but here you were, playing games. Could the party boy resist a party? You were about to find out.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “Maybe a little. We could get take away.”

“Brilliant,” he grabbed his keys and followed you to the door.

Now that night had settled in, it was too cold in the Jeep. You held your arms right to your body and tried to shield yourself from the wind. Johnny dug around in the back and dragged out a camo jacket with his name tacked onto the chest.

You put it on and it swallowed you, warming you up from the inside out. The fold of the collar flapped just under your nose, letting you smell his orange, woody scent. There was something else, too. Gunpowder. You smelled like fireworks and winter citrus.

“Thanks,” you said, wrapping it tighter around you.

“You make it look good,” his smile was bright and full of innocent praise, “Warm enough?”

You nodded, suddenly shy. You regretted your decision to drag him out of the house again. You should’ve kept him all to yourself, covetous and selfish like a hoarder, locking him in like a shorn Repunzel, playing like Circe with her pigs. But, you didn’t want to be Circe. You wanted to be Penelope. Permanent, as impossible though it may have been.

Was he Odysseus? Or Narcissus?

The car park was packed. He dropped you off at the door and you waited for him to find a spot in the back. He pulled the keys out of the Jeep and did a bit of a jog to catch up to you.

He commented on the crowd,

“Match is on. Rangers and Aberdeen. Whole town should be out tonight.”

You made a quiet noise in assent, not knowing enough about football to comment.

He held the gate open for you, and you walked through the smoky, crowded courtyard. Ettrick’s had tons of outdoor space, and the tall heat lamps made it cozy despite the nip in the air.

Inside, the noise hit you like a punch. It was a small space and the din was overwhelming. Warmth and bodies and smells tumbled over you like a wave. Johnny pulled a menu from the host stand, positioning himself as a barrier between you and the chaos.

He had to lean in close to you for you to hear him,

“Samosas, yeah? And we gotta do the chicken khorma. It’s top notch here, lass. Trust me.”

“Sure. Sounds good,” you smiled and watched him look around for the host.

Just as he rounded the corner, you heard a loud shout,

“MacTavish! You made it,” Lachlan’s voice carried through the crowded bar and you watched Johnny’s face light up in recognition.

He shook Lachlan’s hand and Bekah came up behind him, wrapping her arms in a tight hug, which he returned, just as tightly. They chatted together for a moment until you saw Lachlan look over Johnny’s big shoulder right into your eyes. He waved you over, and you tried to control your face. So much regret. But, you made your bed and now you had to lie in it.

“Hey, babes,” Lachlan and Bekah hugged you as well. The tall, handsome man made a point to leave his arm around your shoulder when you pulled away, “You can’t miss the game. We told Johnny you’re eating in, no complaints!”

“Yeah,” Bekah clung to Johnny’s heavy arm, “We’ve got plenty of room. Come have a seat.”

“Well…” Johnny started to make an excuse, giving you an out, but the look on his face was so earnestly disappointed that you interrupted him,

“Okay, thanks.”

You followed her to the table, and Johnny fell in behind. The waitress took your order. You watched the game, and you fell into a quiet lull. The room was bursting with energy, and you watched as Johnny slipped into the excitement. He fed off of the highs and the lows of the match. He barely touched his food, and you ate alone. He was right about the khorma. It was delicious. You wrapped up your leftover samosa and put it near his plate. He’d find it eventually.

You pushed your chair out and stood to leave. He turned to you and caught your hand. You stared at his hand and he stared down at it too, dropping it after a breath, forgetting himself for a moment,

“Where you off to, bonnie?”

“Ladies’ room. See you in a bit,” you ducked out of the crowd and into the bathroom for a moment, trying to get your thoughts together in the silence.

You washed your hands and avoided the mirror until you had to look. Then, there it was, the embroidered “MacTavish” across your chest, a little too ironic.

You took a deep breath and went back out into the fray. The Rangers scored, and Ettrick’s went wild. Bekah and Johnny held each other by the arms and screamed with joy into each other’s faces, nearly leaping over the table in celebration.

Johnny’s focus on her was so intense, the look in his eyes so full of fiery admiration, you could barely look at them. He could have Bekah. There were no rules against her like there were for you. You shouldn’t have had the nerve to even consider that he might choose you. How could he go against the wishes of his own sister? How could you?

You were right next to the back door, so you made your exit. It was a long walk back to his room, and you were nearly frozen by the time you got there. Rodger was still snoring away, and Pidge’s door was closed. So, you stripped down to just your shorts and a tank, and you crawled into bed, defeated.

TWO HOURS LATER

“There you are, mhèirleach! You had me worried sick,” the deep rumble of Johnny’s voice and his heavy weight shifting onto the mattress pulled you from your sleep.

You groaned, trying to deter his attention. He smelled like the bar, and himself, but mostly the bar. All you felt was guilt and shame and you wanted it to stop.

“Are you alright, lass? Why’d you go? I would’ve taken you back.”

“It’s fine,” you mumbled.

He didn’t reply. You fell back to sleep, starving for something you couldn’t eat.

…BEFORE MORNING

You awoke to a strong nose and jaw nuzzling your hair and neck, taking long deep inhales of your scent and breathing heavy. Johnny had his arm snaked up through the bottom of your shirt, his huge hand sticking out of the crew collar, holding you firmly against the base of your clavicle. His thumb was feeling the crescent curve where your throat met your body, over and over like he needed to memorize it. Like he wanted to find it again in the dark and know it was one and the same.

Was he awake? You couldn’t tell. You could tell, however, that his cock was pressing hard between your thighs, the fabric of your shorts shoved out of place by the fabric of his boxer briefs, straining against the thin cloth.

“A bheil thu milis, a mhèirleach?” Are you sweet, thief?

You decided that no, he wasn’t awake. He knew you didn’t speak Gaelic, and you had no idea what he was asking. Yet, your body seemed to. It recognized his aching timbre, its dark dulcet layers folding over your senses like silky caramel.

His hand retraced its path, sliding back through the valley of your breasts, exploring southward, finding the gaping waistband of your shorts and your lack of knickers under them. Upon discovery, his big body rocked into you, his thick rod riding into your thigh, begging for relief. A ragged, shuddering sigh left his lips and you felt it race across your skin.

“Feumaidh fios a bhith agam.” I need to know.

His words all slurred together. You were too busy melting under his hand to care for a translation. His wrist finally dipped low enough for him to slip one thick finger into your wet heat, soaking itself there like a wick in wax, coated and milky.

Your breath stalled. You couldn’t breathe in, nor out, and you felt your pussy clench around his knuckles, kissing his fingertip as he slipped it back out. Then, you watched as he slowly brought it to his lips, right next to your face, and you saw him feed himself with your slick, sucking it off of his skin, licking the knuckles of his fingers, eager for any missed drops.

Wild, crazed pleasure mixed with cold guilt in your chest. So, you called for help,

“Johnny?” Your voice was just above a whisper.

He breathed into your neck again, and then his tone changed. His language changed. He changed.

“Mm,” he whispered, “Sorry, thief. You stole my covers.”

With that excuse, he took some of the blanket from you and turned back over, breathing deeply again, leaving you there in a million little pieces.

+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+

Chapter 05

#johnny soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #soap x you #soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #soap cod #soap mw2 #john soap mctavish x reader #sergeant mactavish #john mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #call of duty fanfic #guile and guilt

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mrsbuckybarnes1917 · 1 month

Note

started my period last night and today even talking is exhausting so i was thinking about what bucky would be like with reader on their period who’s suffering from fatigue/exhaustion :)

Hi @brnesblogposts! I'm still half under the assumption that you might have sent this to me by accident, because I haven't had anyone talking to me in months! LOL. Anyway, I hope your period is over soon! And I hope you enjoy this little bit of what my brain came up with!

How many trips could you possibly make to the bathroom in one evening? you thought as you hobbled back to the couch. The cramping pain in your lower abdomen was unrelenting and you were exhausted.

Since the age of fifteen, you had suffered from debilitating period pains just before and as your period started. It usually meant missing a day of school and now work. You’d beseeched your doctor for a cure, but nothing seemed to abate the anger your uterus seemed to have. The pill. It had helped a little.

Flopping down on the sofa, you pulled your knees up towards you and groaned into the nearest cushion.

“Doll?” Bucky’s concerned voice floated across the living room.

You had just moved in with your boyfriend. He had never seen you like this before because you had always hidden away on days like these. Now you regretted keeping this from him as you were in no mood to explain the issue to him.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” he rushed over and sat down beside you on the couch. Bucky’s eyes were wide with fear. “Are you sick? Do we need to go to the hospital?” he asked, a little frantically.

You couldn’t help but snort into the cushion. He was a real worrier sometimes.

“I’m fine, it’s fine, I’ll be just fine,” your muffled voice tried to convince him of the fact, even though you didn’t feel it.

“You don’t look fine.”

“Trust me, period pain is not a reason to visit the emergency room.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

You looked up dismally, into Bucky’s weary face.

“No.” You didn’t want to add any more tension into his already stressful day.

“Have you taken any ibuprofen?”

You shook your head.

“Can I get you some?”

“Please,” you nodded.

As Bucky wandered into the kitchen, a sharp stab told you that you needed to take another trip to the toilet.

This was just too exhausting but you didn’t want Bucky to see you cry but when you went back to the living room, you couldn’t stop tears rolling down your face.

Not because of the pain, but because you had the best boyfriend anyone could ask for. Bucky had piled the coffee table with several forms of pain killers, a steaming mug of tea, a variety of cakes and a hot water bottle.

“Oh Buck,” you whispered.

He smiled and beckoned you back to the sofa. As you settle yourself into a comfortable position, Bucky covered you with a blanket and handed you some pills, along with your favorite fruity tea. Gently he placed the hot water bottle onto your tender abdomen and pulled your bare feet into his lap. You moaned quietly as Bucky massaged your feet with his deft fingers.

All of his comforting measures were starting to take effect and you found yourself nodding off. You jerked awake, almost kicking Bucky in the face in the process.

“Woah, it’s alright, you’re fine. Just go to sleep.” He stroked your legs gently.

“I can’t.”

“Of course you can.”

“Not unless you want there to be a huge patch of blood on the sofa when I wake up.”

Bucky scrunched up his nose.

“Exactly!”

“Sorry I didn’t mean to -”

“No, you were right with the ick face.”

“Doll, you were in a lot of pain earlier.”

“Yeah, it sucks.”

“Shouldn’t you see a doctor?”

“I did, I’ve tried everything. I just have to suffer it seems.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You shrugged. “It’s no big deal. Just gotta ride it out once a month!”

“I could -” Bucky tried to search for the right words.

“Be here with me?”

“Yeah, that.”

“I’d like that. Thank you.”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fan fiction

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peachesofteal · 1 year

Text

Vanilla Latte

Same pairing as Double Espresso and Farmer's Market and yeah, I guess this is becoming a fic. thing. something. It's becoming something.

Simon Riley/reader 1.8k words Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI, no smut but this fic has mature themes. There is a man staring at you in the cafe.

There is a monster in your life.

It is a shapeshifter, a horrible creature that no one else seems to be able to see. During the day, it is fairly unsuspecting and blends in with its surroundings, but at night, it sheds its skin and rears its ugly head, exposing it’s true nature when it drags itself up the stairs of your apartment complex to bang on your door, its rage filled voice calling your name over and over, forcing you into your bedroom closet, where you sit in the dark with your hands clamped over your ears. Sometimes, it hurls its entire body against your door to break it down, and you hide in your locked bathroom, knees to your chest in your tub, little pocketknife handle digging into the skin of your palm.

No one seems to know your monster exists.

No one cares that the monster followed you across an entire ocean when you tried to run away from it.

Your neighbors have turned a blind eye. Those who do see, have fallen to the bystander effect.

The ones who were organized to protect people like you from monsters say they can’t do anything unless you have proof, or it gets worse.

You don’t bother to tell them that if it does get worse, you’ll probably just be dead.

Sometimes, you see it on the street during your walk home from work, standing with its hands in its pockets, dark eyes tracking your every step, waiting for its chance to strike. Sometimes, it follows you onto the train, a car ahead, watching you between the shoulders of the people that separate you from it, their presence the only thing preventing it from making you disappear.

You tell yourself that eventually it will get bored and move on, that it’ll go away, leave you alone for good. But days pass, and it still drags itself up your apartment stairs to torment you, still stands on the sidewalk across from your building.

Sometimes, when it’s really bad, you wonder if you should just open the door and let it kill you. Let it take what it wants, let it make you disappear forever. You think it might not be so bad, not living, if it meant you were free of the monster.

But then, the sun rises. The monster leaves and the day begins. The air is warm, and the birds chirp, and the breeze is just right, and it’s enough. It’s enough to remind you that you can feel something other than despair. It’s enough to keep you going.

And right now, that’s really all you can ask for.

“Oh good. Was starting to worry.” Your boss, Tiana, or just Tee as she constantly reminded you, breathes a sigh of relief when you come through the back door. Your apron comes off the hook easily, and then over your head before the waist ties wrap around your middle. It’s even still got some flour caked on it from yesterday. You shoot her a pointed look.

“You know, if you want to take large orders, just schedule me ahead of time, that way we’re not running around like chickens with our heads cut off.”

“It was last minute, and I couldn’t really say no. But! I am here and will help you with whatever you need.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You pull the laptop that’s sitting on the prep table towards you and scan the typed-out numbers. “Forty-five people?” you raise an eyebrow. You called me in for this? She gives you a helpless look, and you roll your eyes affectionately while she puts a mug of coffee down in front of you, heat pulsing off of it like it’s practically boiling. “Alright, let’s get to it I guess.”

Steam floats in the air from the ceramic mug that’s cradled between your fingers. You’re sitting in the back, leaned against the stainless-steel sink, sipping your fifth cup of coffee, waiting for the dishwasher to finish while Tee rings up and helps load the order that you just cranked out.

You don’t do any of that. You don’t even talk to customers unless you absolutely have to, and even then, it’s less than enticing. You leave it for Alex, who works the counter, and puts up with everyone’s bullshit with charm and grace.

You yawn, trying not to melt into the floor, wrists sore from rolling dough for the last three hours. Outside, traffic on the street hums, busses and cars and bikes all moving in the same direction down the little one-way avenue, horns honking and music occasionally blaring out someone’s window. Usually, this was your favorite time of day. After you’ve finished the afternoon rush, the prep table has been scraped and scrubbed, most of the dishes are washed, and there’s one left over croissant with your name on it. It was in these kinds of small moments, that you still felt like yourself, felt like you could enjoy things. Like you were still just a baker, just the pastry chef, just another person, out there living their life. Not a husk of a human, always looking over your shoulder, hiding from a monster.

The back door chimes, jolting you from your spiral, and Tee hands you a folded over banknote.

“They tipped. Generously.” You frown. You don’t take tips because you’re a full wage hourly, and she knows this.

“Give it to Alex.”

“They get one too. We all do… By the way, the new scones? Orange vanilla?”

“They’re vegan.”

“I know. They’re amazing. You’ve outdone yourself.”

“Thanks, Tee.” You want to sound enthusiastic about the praise, but you’re too exhausted to get the inflection right. Instead, you just sound like a deflated balloon. Or Eeyore. Sympathy flickers across her face. You turn before she can watch your expression shift into annoyance. It’s not her fault. “Dishes are almost done.” You tell her, pulling yourself free of the apron and shrugging on your knit sweater. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow.”

Every day after work, you walk the six blocks to the corner café to sit by the window with your book and a decaf latte. Vanilla, usually, or caramel if you’re feeling like it. You settle at the little table that’s almost always open because it’s rickety, balancing on three legs because the fourth one is missing a foot. You have an exchange worked out here since you bake their pastries, they give you all you can drink espresso, and you get to curl up with your book like you’re a cat every day after work. You feel safe here. You’ve never felt exposed, the café is off a side street, and as far as you knew, you’ve never been followed. You’ve never seen your monster outside here, or in this area really at all. Never seen it on Sunday mornings at the farmer’s market, or at the cramped, darkly lit bar that you sometimes stop at to grab a pint when you’re feeling up to it.

You hope that means it doesn’t know too much about your routines, but you can’t be too sure. Even so, your monster isn’t a danger to other people, just to you, never approaching you when there are others around, and that small fact brings you small slivers of relief. At least when it finally gets you, no one else will have to watch. No one else will have to suffer.

You’re reading page three hundred and two of The Name of the Wind and drinking your second decaf vanilla latte of the day, when the incident (which is what you’re calling it, in your mind) happens. The girl behind the counter is calling a name, her voice pitched with irritation, and the change in her tone immediately puts you on red alert. You scan the shop, eyes landing on a massive man with a mask and a hoodie on who’s standing by the counter, oblivious to Clarissa, who's just trying to get him to pick up his order.

He’s oblivious, because he’s staring at you. His gaze never falters, the intensity of his eyes kicking your nervous system into high gear, and you physically clamp down on yourself, so you don’t sprint out of the coffee shop right then and there.

It’s not the monster. That is a man. This man is not your monster.

Clarissa gives you a helpless look and gestures to the queue that’s quickly forming in front of her register. You give her a nod in return, and stride over to where the behemoth of a man stands frozen, Patrick Rothfuss still in your hand. You take a closer look at him, and swallow when you see his eyes, their amber reflection gorgeous in the afternoon sun. Something hot stirs in you, prickles across your skin and you take a sharp inhale. It’s been so long since you’ve felt the pull of attraction, felt the presence of butterflies in your stomach, that you almost mistake what you’re feeling for fear.

Something pulls you closer to him, like you're tethered together on an invisible string.

“Sir?” the man in the mask doesn’t respond. He just… stares at you. Okay… weird? Is this dude on drugs? “Sir.” You drop the question at the end of your statement adding a little more authority, trying to get his attention, and it seems to work, because his spine straightens, and then he nearly stumbles backwards, away from you like you’ve struck him. You blink in confusion. “I think that’s yours.” You point to the white cup that Clarissa was gesturing to, but he still ignores you. “The uh, double espresso?” Something is off here. You pull the tiny cup from the counter and hold it out to him, imagining he’ll just take it from you and be on his way but when he doesn’t move, worry starts to build in your mind. What if he can’t hear? What if he’s having a stroke? What if something is wrong? “Sir? Are you… is everything okay?” You take a tiny step closer to him.

He steps back quickly, banging into the glass side door, and it swings out behind him. A second passes, and then he’s gone, turning on his heel in the breeze, disappearing down the corner while you stand in the café, a double espresso in your outstretched hand.

#it will come back #peaches writes #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod mwii #ghost x reader #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #cod mw2

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elisela · 1 year

Text

you’re my only hope sterek, 1k, thanksgiving fluff

“Turkey hotline, this is Derek.”

“Derek!” Stiles says, looking frantically around the kitchen, phone shoved between his ear and shoulder. “I know that usually you’re supposed to thaw the turkey for days but last night I was nominated as the place to go for everyone who didn’t have a place to go and all the store had was a fifteen pound frozen solid turkey and I’ve left it out since I bought it but the damn thing is still frozen solid and I’m supposed to serve it in four hours. What the hell am I supposed to do?”

The wooden spoon he’d been looking for is balanced on the open refrigerator door. He snatches it up and spins to stir the gravy, the only thing he could think to make ahead of time that Lydia won’t kill him for nuking in the microwave right before dinner.

“You can cook it from frozen. It’ll take longer, about five hours, but serve some drinks and your friends will be fine waiting.”

Stiles looks at the compound butter he’d gotten—he can read recipes, thank you, he’s just in a panic—and frowns. “What am I supposed to do about, you know, seasoning?”

“Pull it after two hours and season it then. You’ll have to baste it, but you’ll be okay.”

“Great,” Stiles says, then curses when he realizes he’d laid his dish towel too close to the burner and it’s smoking. “Thanks!”

-----

“Turkey hotline, this is Derek.”

“This isn’t a turkey question, is that okay?”

The voice that comes through the line sounds almost amused. “We’re here to answer all of your Thanksgiving dinner related questions.”

Stiles taps the pie pan on the counter. He’s unsure if it’s necessary, but he’s seen people do it to regular cakes on YouTube, so why not? “Dangerous,” he says, “because I have a lot of questions. Like—why? How is this the thing you want to spend your time doing on your holiday? What are your qualifications, anyway? Because for all I know you could be making shit up, but I have to admit the turkey is no longer frozen solid under your possibly-sound advice. Which leads me to: can I bake a cheesecake at the same time as a turkey? The oven’s at 375 if that makes a difference.”

“If that—you shouldn’t be cooking your turkey at 375!”

Derek sounds affronted, and Stiles would find that cute—at least he finds his semi-outraged voice cute because for God’s sake, it’s a turkey—but he doesn’t have the time. “The cheesecake, Derek. Can I do the cheesecake at the same time?”

“Not unless you’re good with soggy turkey skin. The steam from the water bath will affect it too much.”

Stiles frowns. “Yeah, the … water bath,” he says, and hopes it doesn’t sound like he has no idea what he’s doing. “What if I don’t mind soggy turkey skin?”

“You mind soggy turkey skin,” Derek says firmly, and Stiles laughs.

----

“Turkey hotline, this is Derek.”

“Seriously, you’ve been at this for three hours,” Stiles says, because he had fully expected to get someone else on the line. Unless Derek is the sole employee—volunteer? He has no clue—he should have gotten someone else by now.

“Try eight,” Derek says. “Please tell me you turned the turkey down.”

“I’d feel bad lying to you,” Stiles says, grinning. “So it turns out I forgot the rolls, and I have a box of pancake mix but it says I need eggs, which I don’t have because I used them all in the cheesecake. Help me, Obi Wan, you’re my only hope.”

There’s a pause, and Stiles has a moment to hope he hasn’t broken Derek’s brain before he finally replied. “Oh, you’re thinking about making biscuits.”

“That’s what I said,” Stiles says, poking at the cheese sauce for his hopefully tolerable mac and cheese.

“You did not, but you don’t need eggs. Or pancake mix. Google a recipe for drop biscuits and so help me do not bake them at the same time as the turkey.”

“Aww, you know me so well, boo,” Stiles coos, and flips off the burner. “Why do you do this, anyway?”

“So people like you don’t give your friends and family food poisoning,” Derek says. “You’re safe, by the way, if you keep roasting the turkey at 375. It’ll be charred.”

“Drama queen,” Stiles mutters, and then puts his foot in his mouth by asking, “you’re not too busy cooking your own dinner?”

“My family’s across the country,” Derek says after just a moment. “My sister usually made dinner for us and her friends, but she just got married so she’s with his family.”

“Sucks, dude,” Stiles says, cursing when the doorbell rings. “Gotta go. Hopefully Scotty brought the alcohol or I’m gonna have a riot when they learn the food’s not ready. Thanks again.”

He hangs up, pauses, and calls right back.

“Turkey hotline, this is Derek.”

“Derek,” Stiles says, “you should come over here. We’ve got plenty of food. Some of it even edible, thanks to you.” He gives him his address before he loses his nerve, adds in a few key landmarks he’s near just in case, and hangs up before Derek can respond.

---

Lydia looks at him suspiciously when the bell rings, glancing around the room like she’s mentally counting the people in it and wondering who the hell else Stiles knows that’s not currently in the room, which, rude, but he’ll deal with that later.

Or not. He probably won’t bring it up at all, because she would have been right if he hadn’t been calling the turkey helpline all day, and he doesn’t want to get into it.

For now he sidesteps Scott, who had been helpfully on his way to the door, straightens his shirt, and flings it open.

Holy good Jesus.

He probably gapes—not his most attractive look, but he can’t be blamed when the man standing on his front porch is the literal definition of perfection. “Hi,” he manages to say, “Derek?”

It’s probably not Derek. It’s probably Jackson’s new boyfriend checking up on him, or a neighbor ready to yell at him for taking up so many parking spaces with his guest’s cars, or—

“I never caught your name,” the man says, and it’s Derek’s voice, it’s Derek, and Stiles is still standing like an idiot half-hanging out the door.

“Stiles,” he says, and waves a hand automatically to brush off the inevitable question. “I’m glad you came. Come in, come in.”

Derek’s shrugging out of his leather jacket, and if Stiles wasn’t already formulating ideas to make Derek fall in love with him, he certainly is the moment it comes off and reveals a soft looking maroon sweater underneath it. “Well, you said I was your only hope. Come on, Skywalker, show me your kitchen.”

#sterek #sterek fic #thanksgiving #fluff #eli writes #stiles stilinski #derek hale

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teyvat-temptation · 6 months

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PLZ PLZ PLZ POSSESSIVE YANDERE NEUVILLETTE WITH BREEDING??1

You got it honey! TW: yandere shit, unhealthy relationships, NSFW, breeding kink

Neuvillette is the worst type of yandere. He isn't violent (unless he needs to be) but he is smart. Too smart. Every move, every meeting, every single step of the way has been planned out to a disgusting degree of detail. Nothing is left to chance, fate no longer exists, once he has his eyes on you, it's game over.

It starts off innocent enough. A chance meeting at a party, a few shared glances over wine and cakes picked out by the Archon herself. Neuvillette spends the evening listening to you chatter about your life, your job, your hopes and dreams, and he knows, you are the one to be his mate.

Perhaps it's just how a dragon's mind works. He doesn't know, he's never met another dragon in all his 500 years. Maybe they mate for life, maybe it's just the possessive nature of dragons? No matter the reason, his plan is set in motion by the end of the week, and he has you in his grasp before mating season begins

~~~

Neuvillette keeps you locked away in his bedroom. He leaves you with books to read, music to listen to, and "toys" to play with. Meals are brought to you twice a day, by himself personally. No one else can set foot inside of his home, let alone your room. Not that it would do you any good anyway, no one was crazy enough to piss off the chief justice, less he dig up some dirt from their past and ruin their future.

You can try to run away, if you manage to get outside you aren't going to be able to slip past the meka guards stationed at every exit point on the property. Even if you did get past them somehow, the only way out of Fontaine is on a boat, and there isn't a soul in the nation who would go so far as to smuggle Neuvillette's wife.

He's patient with you the first few attempts to escape. Neuvillette doesn't anger easily, even if he is displeased, he will simply tie you down to his bed for a few days, till you wear yourself out from crying and screaming. However, if you don't learn your lesson by the time breeding season comes around, it won't be so tame.

The dragon part of his brain goes haywire in the spring, and the all-consuming thought of "breed, breed, breed" fills him to the point of bursting. For a solid week straight he ravages you, pulling you so full of cum your belly swells, and the sight of how adorable you look so heavy with his seed just spurs him on more.

By the time he finally regains some sense, the mattress is soaked with cum and your body is past its breaking point. You can hardly feel your legs, your holes filled and leaking a steady steam of seed, your neck and chest and back clawed up and down, bite marks covering your arms and thighs.

It takes months before your body fully recovers, and by then, your belly is growing heavy with the Iudex's child. He keeps you by his side at all times now, at work, during trials, and at parties, you are always within his view.

There's no need to keep you hidden away anymore. Your swollen belly is enough to keep you shackled to him, because, who would be crazy enough to help take a dragon's mate and child away?

Neuvillette makes sure to keep one hand resting atop your stomach, muttering under his breath how beautiful you look carrying his child, and how he will be sure to keep you knocked up for the rest of your childbearing days.

#genshin impact #neuvillette #yandere #pregnancy

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urlocalnonbinarybastardwrites · 14 days

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Steve Randle headcanons?? Not dating one’s just headcanons about him

Yessirrrrrrr (Happy Late Birthday to him btw)

Steve Randle Headcanons

-anger issues I’m sorry ANGER ISSUES

-he rarely talks about his feelings unless it’s on a pretty bland/baseline level

-he only really ever opens up to Sodapop

-it would take at least months of knowing him to crack open his exterior

-he’s actually one of the “toughest” greasers besides Dal

-I feel like working on cars is how he mainly blows off steam/expresses himself

-when soda isn’t there cars usually are

-speaking of which probably has to mask his excitement for when someone asks about cars

-bro has the urge to jump up n down

-I feel like he doesn’t like coffee or tea, but he likes drinking milk

-he’s really used to being in sodapops shadow

-he gets to be the “ugly best friend”

-it doesn’t bother him most of the time, no

-he gets why everyone thinks soda is so amazing, he really is. He’s lucky to have his place by his side

-but sometimes… he wishes he could step out of sodas shadow

-scared as shit of police (this is more movie canon)

-I think he is super careful around police

-I think he really does care about Ponyboy but doesn’t quite know how to show it

-and he sort of sees Ponyboy as competition for sodapops attention which is hard enough to get

-because…. Sodapop, wether he’s resenting him or not, is all he really has

-he dreams of opening up his own place to work on cars, and maybe even going into engineering

-he never tells anyone though

-it’s not like he’d belong there anyway….

-also he loved chocolate cake before throwing up after eating too much at the Curtis’s and now he can’t stand it

#the outsiders #the outsiders hcs #the outsiders headcanons #Steve Randle #the outsiders Steve #the outsiders Steve Randle #steve the outsiders #steve randle the outsiders #outsiders steve randle #outsiders Steve #urlocalnonbinarybastardwritesanswers

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active-mind-15 · 3 months

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I need another excuse to talk about Akashi, so here is another headcanon.

I've already talked about Akashi having a sweet tooth, but lemme talk about the type of sweets I think he would enjoy.

Given the type of sweets/snacks he's canonically talked about and eaten, he strikes me as someone who prefers mellow flavors. Think about his favorite food, tofu. There are many ways to prepare it, but his favorite is simply just boiled tofu. Even for the maiubo snack sticks, Murasakibara shares with him, Fjmk said Akashi's favorite flavors were the steamed ones. So, he seems to like more subtle flavor profiles that don't overpower his senses.

From this, what kind of sweets/flavors would he enjoy? I would think any sweets that have flavors like vanilla, strawberry, matcha, etc. This could apply to candy or baked goods.

But I also see him digging desserts with rich flavors like chocolate, caramel, or coffee (I have a whole headcanon of him being a Nutella fiend too, so I think that falls under the "rich flavors" category). I think he would try and balance it out whenever he has dessert. So, if he were at a cafe eating a cake, he'd have it with an Americano or something. Unless he was eating traditional Japanese sweets. Then he'd probably choose tea for that. And you know that boy loves his tea.

I could see him occasionally go for more citrusy types of desserts, but idk if that would be his favorite. Citrusy flavored things are pretty sharp-tasting, so maybe he wouldn't go for it too often, but he can appreciate it in small doses. I think he'd like the occasional sorbet.

One thing I think he'd hate, though, is a lot of American sweets and snacks. As someone who has lived in the US most of my life, I am fully aware of how salty/sugary our snacks can be. I think if Akashi were to eat some of our candy, it might have the same effect as giving a Victorian child a can of Monster Energy. It's just too much of a sensory overload for him. He leaves all of those snacks to people like Murasakibara and probably Kagami as well.

Anyway, I think I'll wrap this headcanon up. I just had to indulge in my chronic Akashi brainrot for a quick sec. Thank you for listening.

#ahhh yes nothing like talking about akashi to ease the mind #i had a long day alright #and i just came out of my last lecture of the week after presenting a seminar with my group for 1hr30 so i deserve this #kuroko no basket #knb headcanons #akashi seijuro

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kentosdoll · 4 months

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𝑁𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑛 headcanons .ᐟ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ mr autism feat. his antics

content: sfw wc: 623

a/n: look, i know there is a small minority of us in the jjk fandom that believes nanami kento is autistic, so this post won't appeal to the masses. if you don't like this, nor agree with it, that's fine (that's why fanon and au's are cool). just don't be a dickhead and leave mean comments. also, this was co-written by my beloved sibling @lesbian-choso. go check out his blog; they make lovely traditional art.

banner credits:⠀@/dollienini + @/chilumitos

Flat affect — no explanation needed.

Stims: jiggling his watch, cracking his knuckles and other joints, pacing around.

This man cannot stand loud noises, though controlled loud sounds, like listening to his screamo playlist, is totally fine.

I firmly believe he sleeps like a dead person at an open-casket funeral. His bed sheet is in a straight line across his chest, with his arms lying flat on either side of his torso — Back Sleeper™️. Best believe he can't sleep unless his room is 18°C, with his bedsheets and duvet even on each side of the bed, and a fresh bottle of water on his bedside table (in case he wakes up and feels parched).

Whilst he isn't a fan of journals and diaries, Kento makes sure to regularly update his calendar on his phone, as well as the one attached to Outlook.

Spreadsheets and to-do lists, he thrives off of these. How else is he to keep up with life?

He is very aware of the fabrics and textures that make contact with his skin. This is why his wardrobe is predominantly made up of soft materials like cotton and cashmere. If he has to wear anything woollen, a lightweight layer of clothing goes underneath; he can't stand the itchiness.

Kento doesn't like mixing cold and warm food, and he tries his best to keep the food on his plate from touching each other (this doesn't apply to food like fried rice).

He irons his bedsheets and underwear — don’t ask. Kento also regularly washes his curtains and steams them once they’re dry (no creases, he hates them).

Exclusively purchases one type of deodorant; it has something to do with the smell and texture. He can’t stand aerosols because of the intensity of their smell (it gets into the back of his throat), and the gel deodorants feel uncomfortable on his underarms. Kento also isn’t a fan of perfume, though, there was one he liked that he stocked up on. Sadly, he hasn’t been able to find anything similar.

“Don’t come in the kitchen whilst I'm cooking.” — Kento to Satoru when he senses him about to step in. He can't share the space, it becomes claustrophobic.

Baking is his special interest; he has an absurd amount of information about this art form stored in his noggin. Dare I say he would own a bread encyclopaedia if it existed. Whilst bread is his favourite form of baked good, from time to time, he attempts to make confectionary, specifically those made of phyllo pastry. On the rare occasion, he might bake a pie or cake.

This man owns a lint roller because of his pet cats; he is not a first-time cat owner. Whilst his home is relatively clean, he can't help but feel the need to pick up those stray cat hairs. He doesn't want to accidentally get any in his mouth.

Speaking of his home, Kento's apartment is relatively minimalist, though the colour palette is warm and welcoming (lots of blues and browns). The only part of his home that is “messy” is one nook in his living room. The bookcase is overflowing with unread books, some sitting in neat stacks on the floor, whilst others are in cardboard boxes acting as surfaces for his potted plants. There are a few old newspapers and magazine recipes strewn on his desk, a cold cup of coffee, and two pen holders jam-packed with various dry markers and inkless pens. It's a sort of organised chaos.

He exclusively wears slippers and thongs/flip-flops indoors. He can’t stand walking around barefoot, it’s uncomfortable, and he doesn’t like his feet being cold or picking up any hair, lint, or crumbs that collect on the floor (despite his home being borderline sterile).

#jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen hcs #jjk headcanons #nanami kento fluff #nanami kento headcanons #nanami kento hcs #kento nanami headcanons #kento nanami hcs #nanami kento drabble #kento nanami drabble

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shzmluvrs · 8 months

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very very specific request but 2019 freddy x clown collector reader? like reader collects clown dolls and all that kinda jazz and just how freddy would feel about that

(😭)

For some reason, as I go through dark times, this triggered such motivation and inspiration within me, so I thank you deeply🥲🫵🏽🫶🏽.

Also, I'm gonna name you bc I can pretty much guess you have a thing for specifically 2019 Freddy and that's pretty unique about you, so your name is 2019 (unless you have something more creative in mind lmao-).

~ Star✨️

Circus Baby

Prompt: The weird and overly fan-obsessed didn't particularly have a place at Fawcett Central. But, there they were, anyway, to be gawked and mocked at by the relatively common and "normal" student body. And while yes, Freddy was a prime suspect in the 'overly obsessive' category, he had to admit you definitely took the cake for the 'weird' department. In a good way to him, of course. Besides, who else is he gonna jokingly refer to as a wanna-be Gotham villain?

Timeline: Post Shazam! Pre S!:FOTG

TW/Content: Clowns (if they scare you, you not gonna like this at all, I'm sorry😭)⚡️Cursing⚡️Mentions of insecurity/anxiety and whatever relating⚡️Me being a little unhinged about this subject (for some reason-)⚡️Cringe? A little. But get over it tbh...

Reader: Fem! She/Her/Hers Pronouns! Clowncore Aesthetic/Style!

Requested By: Anon (2019?)

Back to Master List

I know you said clown collector, but because I'm literally insane, I wanna take this a step further...

Reader who is just full steam ahead into the clown-lifestyle😻🤡!!

Surely, it all started at a young age with your odd habit of collecting any bit of clown-related memorabilia you could get your grubby little hands on. But it soon escalated (and I'm betting startling your parents💀) into you basically being a clown.

Well, not literally.

I mean, you entertained the idea that you were decently humorous, and the occasional animal balloon tricks were attempted, but besides that, you managed to take something known for its silly (sometimes scary) wackadoo nature, and made it ✨️girlboss✨️.

And it helped that you didn't exactly shy easy, so you were proudly showing up places in your colorful, rainbow, clown-esque outfits...

Unless, of course, you happen to have a specific and favorable color, to which then it was your clown-esque wear themed specially in that color.

And your creative makeup that managed to be both cute and clown. Clute, if you will. Or maybe Cu-own...? Uh...😬...

And you could never forget about your hair. Unless you're a huge fan of styling and coloring your actual hair in cool, funky colors and ways, wigs were your best friend...

"Places" included school, for the most part, and you had thankfully become desensitized to the rude and teasing stares and the unprompted comments and whatnot... And at some point, so did the rest of the student body and staff, because it was clear no matter what they said, you weren't gonna tone down yourself for them.

Plus, it was fun! You felt as though the positive outweighed the negatives, thoroughly enjoying the bright-eyed and excited looks on younger grade's faces when they saw you occasionally pass through their section of the building, or when you'd actually receive compliments on your makeup from some of your peers. Plus, you were routinely asked to do other people's theater makeup, so-...

You got to try out new looks, new styles, new whatever every day without a care in the world!

──────────── •⚡️• ────────────

It was something Freddy found himself admiring about you from afar. It's not like you were exactly hard to miss, but it didn't change the fact that every seventh period, he'd wake himself up from an exhausting school day in complete, full anticipation for your arrival. He adored your outfits, your makeup, your hair, and once the day came when he'd finally gain the courage to speak to you, he'd hopefully adore you as whole, too.

That day came when you two were assigned to be partners for an upcoming project. A bittersweet emotion ran through his chest. Wasn't this what he wanted? The perfect excuse, chance, opportunity to get to know you? He was so nervous, he broke out into a cold sweat. Hands growing shaky and clammy, watching as you approached through the gaggle of other students shuffling around to get to their partners. And once finally sat, he stared, completely tuning out the teacher's next set of instructions.

At first, he couldn't bring himself to speak. For what seemed like the first time in a long while, Freddy Freeman was speechless. In complete awe by your presence (and ecstatic you hadn't grimaced or groaned when he was announced to be your partner), he admired every single detail of your purposefully paled face, the random little specs of glitter, elongated eye and mouth features thanks to eyeliner, and the outfit was definitely another one for the books.

At first, this boy's intense stare up and down your figure made you hope he wasn't actually the weirdo he was coming off as. Granted, you...did look like a clown, but once the stare surpassed the entire rant the teacher had gone on and then some minutes afterwards, you felt it necessary to speak up.

"Um... So, do you know how you wanna go about the project? Or...?"

"Sorry for- Oh my god, I-...Sorry for staring, that was probably really creepy for you and that's, like, the opposite of what I wanna do here-. I just think that this, whatever this is, this whole..." He used a big hand gesture to reference your ensemble. "...Is the coolest ever and I'm literally blown away."

"?!?😃 Oh my god, thank you 😃?!?"

And that was all it took before the two of you were hyperactively conversing back and forth on, not even just style choices, but on any and everything else that came to mind. It was like a force had been sparked between you two, the fire unable to be put out, let alone dimmed. It led to the start of an immediate and solidified friendship. Which, of course blossomed into something more. But I wanna focus on more of the "firsts" for now.

──────────── •⚡️• ────────────

Aka, The first time you had entered his home and met his family, which was the same day y'all met. He hadn't prepped you or anything, simply guaranteeing that they were bound to love your company and to pay no mind to any comments they might make. And while sure, you were pretty much used to having that mindset already, for some reason, this time made you nervous. Nervous like the very first time you had truly discovered you even liked this style and wanted to go out in public dressed as such, nervous. It had you adjusting your pins, clothing, and other accessories the entire walk there, and you swore that you had probably stress-sweat all of your hard-work makeup away.

To keep this short and sweet, every interaction was... unique, to say the least. First, there was a tall brunette sporting prep-wear, waltzing around the house with her phone pressed against her ear and determination in her voice to ace this interview for a nearby community college. But upon seeing you, stopped dead in her tracks and (much like Freddy) s t a r e d.

"That's Mary." "Your sister?" "Yes, out of two." "She's pretty."

"Freddy, why is there a clown in our home? Darla's birthday isn't for another four months."

Ngl, that stung you a little, but nothing you haven't heard (or expected to hear) before...

"Wh- No, shut up, that's not- She's a friend from school, we have a project together. This is just what she looks like, this is how she looks." "...Oh :). Well, you're gonna have to teach me how you have such a smooth base, because my products could never. Anyways, talk later, interview..." And with a shy point to her phone, she left you with a grin that you returned, growing flattered at the compliment on your makeup.

Then there was a boy, about shoulder height with glasses, who barely gave half of a glance in your direction. It's not that he didn't see you at all. He just... didn't care. Clearly, too focused on the TV screen that he stood basically directly in front of. "Optimal gaming stance, he claims..." Freddy informed, swiftly pulling you along before you could become engrossed in the Mortal Kombat fight yourself.

You were lead to the kitchen, Freddy rummaging through the pantry and fridge on the hunt for proper sustenance while you worked together. It was there, you were met with his mother, who gave a very "mom-happy" yet clearly confused smile. "Hi...!" She greeted suddenly, which urged you to awkwardly strike out your hand for her to shake. If you knew you were gonna be literally seeing his entire family same day, you would've toned down a little bit, at least. Just to let them get used to it all... but alas...

"Hi, I'm (Y/N). I'm just here to work on a project with Freddy." "Oh, I see! A theater project."

"Nah, science." Freddy corrected with a tone of casualty, kicking the fride door closed with the stub of his crutch, his other hand/arm supporting the weight of all of his gathered snacks and drinks.

"Oh." Rosa smiled again, still innocently confused. And before you could try to explain, Freddy was already insistent on the hurry to his room. It's okay, though, because once Rosa realized what you wore was just a creative, style choice a while later, she found it just that. Creative. And totally supported and compared it to alternative styles she'd seen back in her high school days, bless her heart🥰😭.

On the way towards/up the stairs was where you encountered what you had to assume was Freddy's father and older brother, who breezed past the two of you at first, but then did quick double-takes. "Ohooh, you look sick! What is this, like a statement, or...?" You received an immediate compliment from Victor, a chuckle leaving your throat along with a shrug of your shoulders.

"Something like that, I guess." And then Pedro, who did a scan up and down your figure much like Freddy had in class, before giving a satisfactory nod.

"Cool." "Thank you :')."

Walking down the hallway en route to Freddy's room, there was one more escapade that involved your purse accidentally falling open and your makeup going everywhere. It was the glittery stuff, too, so not only was it an expensive loss, but it was now going to be permanently marked onto the hardwood floor (yes, you felt beyond terrible, but it doesn't really matter bc a. There's already stains and glitter and whatnot everywhere in that house that are permanent, Rosa and Victor have given up on them, you can't convince me otherwise. And b. They ended up renovating by the second movie anyway, so it's fine😭).

It didn't stop you from desperately trying to scoop it all up, anyways, though (cuz I would, too, ngl-). Freddy informed that he'd go to his room to set the food down and would be back to help you, which was fine, but it left you in his hallway desperately scrambling at loose makeup like a weirdo. But clearly, that isn't what Darla saw when she poked her itty bitty head out of her room at the commotion. In her eyes, you were a mystical, magical being that harbored one of her favorite things in the whole world (glitter, duh), and she squealed so l o u d-

It scared you at first, especially when she came barreling towards you and almost managed to tackle you in an unexpected but returned hug. Rambling on and on about what a honor it was to meet you, "...whatever you are...!" She added, which pulled a giggle from your lips, and how excited she was and how she had so much to show you and-

"Oh my god, D, why..." Freddy sighed, having left for what was barely even a minute or so and had come back to find his youngest sister perched in your lap and talking your ear off. He should be doing that! Well, I guess minus the sitting in your lap part.

Unless you're into that🥴.

Idk. Anyways-

"DID YOU KNOW ABOUT THIS, DID YOU KNOW SHE WAS HERE?!" "😐Yes, I did. I brought her here. She's my friend and we're BUSY, so you need to go back to your ROOM, and mind your BUISNESS, please."

It took a lot more convincing, but after promising you'd converse with Darla another time (without Freddy💀-), she did as told and you two had finally entered his room. You found yourself quiet impressed with his superhero memorabilia, something about it reminding you of your own "little" collection back home. Maybe the obsessiveness of it all, or simply just how much of it there was. But you didn't have the pleasure of questioning, because-

"What the hell...?" "Dude, don't start-" "-I wasn't gonna say anything." "You literally were, I can tell by that dumb look on your face." "Freddy, I guarantee you, I'm not the dumb looking one in this room. And don't get me wrong, it isn't her either..." "Harhar, you're so funny. Why don't you leave and go do stand up comedy? I think you in particular would make an excellent CLOWN, don't you think, (Y/N)?"

"I... uhm...uh... ;-;." You weren't expecting a fifth sibling, that's for sure. His family was clearly very diverse. And at first, you couldn't quite tell if he was getting ready to bully you or not, seeing as Freddy was very quick with his wit in order to defend you. You wouldn't doubt it. Billy seemed to suffer from a bad case of RBFS.

Resting Bitch Face Syndrome.

"Ignore him." Freddy advised, whipping open his laptop while Billy scoffed.

"I'm right here, y'know. This is my room, too, you guys can't just-" "Okay, fine, then ignore him harder."

You giggled. It was grounds for Billy to address you separately/on his own.

"I like your outfit. It just...caught me off guard." You smiled, giving a nod of understanding. "Thanks, I get that a lot."

──────────── •⚡️• ────────────

The first time Freddy visited your house was months after the initial meeting. Not for any particular reason, there just hadn't been any real excuse until now...

"My parent(s) have been dying to meet you, like, I swear, if they keep pestering me about it, I was going to actually go insane. On some Joker type shit."

Freddy laughed at your last remark, but as we all know, the boy is quick-witted and smart-mouthed, so it was always easy for him to launch off of literally anything you say with a teasing remark that... sometimes you swore was him actually flirting. But, you couldn't be too sure. You didn't wanna ruin a good thing.

(You say as you literally bring him home to your parent/guardian(s) as if that's not the literal thing you do when-...nvm).

"Oh, so you've been gassing me up, huh~? Cute, cute... D'you tell them how much I adore you? Wouldn't want them thinking I'm neglecting you or anything." "Stop it." You giggled, nudging at his shoulder before pulling out your house key.

Freddy didn't exactly know what he expected upon entering your household. He supposed it'd reflect yourself. Colorful and creative, lots of little knick-knacks and trinkets, endless amounts of stuff to fill any empty space... At the very, very, fantasy like most, your house would be some foreign cottage in the woods that resembled a lot like the witche's candy house from the Hansel & Gretel tale (before it rotted, ofc).

So naturally, he was a little thrown off to find it was his very least thoughts that had come to play, the house almost gray compared to you. White walls, furniture organized hyper-symmetrically, every last item in its very clear-cut place. Not a spec of dust or dirt, not a thing out of place... and quiet. Almost eerily so. Well, maybe not. It could just be the fact that he wasn't used to seeing and hearing a house as such, given his living situation (loud family, messy-homey-actually looks lived in house...). But regardless-

"...I'm home!!" The call out to your parent(s) startled him for a moment, and though you did receive an answer back that sounded like it came from a room close by, it was almost like it echoed against the silence. Freddy shook it off. You didn't judge anyone or anything when you had first come over to his place, so he wouldn't do the same. If anything, they were just loose observations he couldn't help but make/notice.

But anyways- You lead him into your kitchen and there, he met your parent(s), who was quick to make a comment on how surprisingly "normal" he appeared to be. And usually, something like that might sting a little (for you, because like, uh, rude?? But dw, they meant it in a teasing/jokey way). But to Freddy? Normal? That meant the world, seeing as usually, most people couldn't see past his crutch, should they choose to see him at all. But he supposed the apple didn't fall far from the tree in the "non-judgemental" department. You must've got it from them.

That went relatively well, but here came the part you were always nervous about when inviting guests into your room...

"Woah..." The same way he was captivated by you was the same way he felt about your room. It was the splash of color amongst your house. Figures, all of what he'd expected of the whole/entire house would be crammed off into your one room, I mean, duh, where else would it be? It was littered with posters and trinkets and stuffed animals, clothes lying around that you scrambled to pick up and shove into your closet out of sheer embrassment. Even the walls were painted the color(s) of your choosing/liking, and my god, did you have so many different shelves full of things he wanted to mess with. He wouldn't, for now, waiting for the right time to ask permission before touching anything.

And then...he saw it. The corner of your room dedicated to that one specific, niche little thing you loved so much and based your entire personal being around...

The clown corner🤡.

"Oh...my god..."

You quickly spoke up before he could say anything more, the initial shock of your odd clown figurines, dolls, books, whatever the fuck else could possibly be clown-themed/related collection being enough for you to just assume the worst of thoughts he may have. "I know, it's weird. I mean, weirder than normal weird. But-" "I love you." He had whipped his head towards you just as fast as the confession left his person, a lazy smile etched into his features while you grinned almost manically because like, huh??

"...Excuse me😃?"

He shook the expression away, shaping himself back to normal as fast as possible at your reaction.

"No-! I don't. I mean, I do! Like, I meant it like, I love how you're like me, with the whole, "corner of the room being dedicated to this thing," thing. Superheroes are my thing, clowns are yours... obviously, and I love that. I love that you're me and I'm you and we're basically one."

"Freddy-..." You sighed, only able to laugh to yourself and at his rambling before gently pulling him closer to one of the shelves by the hand. "Look at this..." You encouraged, watching him lean closer to inspect some of the figurines and newspapers and other lose things in one specific place on the shelf.

"Oh my shit, that's Harley Quinn...!!" He gushed while you nodded proudly.

"My idol." You added, Freddy turning to you as you explained. "I know people consider her a villain, or whatever. Or that's she's crazy. But, I don't understand how that could be possible when the woman literally has a PhD and was an entire psychiatrist before she met Joker. Not to mention, the only reason she did half of the crazy shit she did was 'cause of that cunt-wad, so when I heard she finally emancipated herself from him, you have to understand... I literally love her."

Freddy didn't know how else to respond. Here he was, in your room, being one of your closest best friends, you talking to him (willingly, might I add, because even after all this time, he still can't even fathom how and why you genuinely love spending time with him and being his friend even though you remind the poor boy 24/7😭), and rambling to him about his favorite subject no less! And how it relates to your favorite subject! A combination of niche interests!! He-!

"I'm going to kiss you on the lips, (Y/N)." "Pfft-!" You snorted, the second confession catching you off guard in a flurry of amusement and surprise once again. But this time, he didn't have any excuses to back the claim up. Like, surely, he could easily pass that off as a joke or an intense way to say something along the lines of, "You don't know how much this topic interests me, especially coming from you, and it's making me so excited and happy and I want to talk/hear more."

But at the same time...

"What, like, actually?"

So now, you've presented Freddy with the option to mean it. For real. Which, like...

"I- Uh, like, only if you'd let me or you did it first or something." He laughed boisterously. "I wouldn't just do it without asking, that'd be craz-"

's m o o c h !'

You giggled. You had left some of that white and red behind on his lips.

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Okay, beyond this point is just some random other stuff I thought of...

DOING THE MAKEUP!!! Omg the way this boy BEGS you do his face the way you do yours, and girl, lemme tell you, you pop off...! You turned him into the clown-boy of your dreams, call that a Laughing Jack makeover/cosplay.

...*coughs*...ignore that, I had a phase, don't judge me.

Anyways, seriously, I think Freddy would rock the clowncore look so well, especially if you take advantage of his freckles and make them all individually a different color against white/pale foundation.

I also think he teases/flatters you by randomly gifting you trinkets he finds to add to your collection. So dolls he finds in thrift stores, or figurines he saw at a random strip mall shop, things like that.

Hella Harley Quinn discussions ensue, y'all love her.

Kissing him or him kissing you anywhere on the face is always funny because the white/pale foundation will transfer and it's the cutest thing. Or when you hug him and he's wearing super dark or super light clothing so your makeup is just smeared across his shirt and he's looking at you like, "😐" and you're looking at him like, "😕my fault bro🙂."

He also likes to steal some of the dolls/stuffies you might have, so if a clown is missing, you know that he probably has it. Y'all be treating them like your lil' babies, naming them and all😭. He sends you blurry, chaotic, cutsey type pictures of them and it'll have a corny ass caption like, "Jester won't lay down for his nap, I think you might need to come over and cuddle for a bit or something" yk💀.

Him stealing your wigs, too. And just literally any loose/baggy clothes of yours that will fit him. But it's okay bc you do the same with his when you're dressed down for once. He actually is so used to you all clowned up that when you're bare face and in one of his sweaters and shorts, you look like this cute little random girl to him.

"Who are you and what have you done with (Y/N)😧🫵🏻🙊?!" "Dawg😐..."

Ngl he hates sleeping in your room at night. He loves you and all of your quirks, of course. And don't get me wrong, he loves y'all children (the clown dolls n stuff)...but look man, they a lil' scary at night, just staring down at him from the shelves and shit and it freaks him out more than he wants to admit. You have a night light just for him when he stays over, though (it's a jumbo ladybug pillow pet you've had since you were like, eight, but the shit is so bright, it'd be a waste to just throw it out. Plus, it now helps Freddy sleep at night so win-win).

On that topic, bro has been jumpscared so many times bc you play too much and like to place your life-sized dolls around the house. He'll be thinking someone broke in and will be on the b r i n k of saying "Shazam!!" out of total fear before he realizes it's you just fucking with him. And is mad he can't do it back bc you're too used to seeing them💀.

Nicknames!!! Lord, this boy has some many! Just to name a few, "Circus Baby" "Harley" "Funny" As in he'll use it the same way one uses "Pretty". "Hey, Funny, you feelin' okay? Yeah? Okay, good." Also, "The fourth Flying Grayson" which you find pretty distasteful🥴.

If you post on social media, he spam likes and comments on all your post, especially if you make TikToks. He doesn't care what content it is, either. It could be you just talking about your stuff, it could be you posting little scenarios, it could be you showing your makeup routine, you could be making cringey ass thirst-traps for all he cares. You're posting and showing off your style? He's giving you all of his support and love shamelessly. He always does and will💙.

This was long but that's okay, that's just what I do lol😆.

Sorry again for my long hiatus, y'all. I do be struggling in this economy😔✊🏽. I hope anyone who sees this is doing well, Moon and I love y'all's support so much, it makes our day🫶🏽!

~ Star✨️

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themonsterthing · 5 months

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Sunrises and Solo Polyamory

Today I met god.

I don’t normally eat breakfast, but this sweet middle-aged Italian man pushed the freshly plated bread pudding at me. It was a faintly steaming, overwhelming pile of blueberries atop a moist cake layer. A stronger man than I would have crumbled. “Try it!”

I took a bite. I died.

I came back to life, and the Italian was beaming at me. “Yes? Yes!”

This morning I woke up obnoxiously early. I am hitting that old person stage of life (at the ancient age of 36) where you get up hours before everyone else, so by dawn, you’re cranky about no one else being ready to do anything. So I laid in bed, read a chapter of my book, and decided to go find the sunrise. I wandered a pre-dawn empty pier, stumbled upon some enthusiastic elder humans (see? my people) splashing into the freezing water in the fog, their little brightly coloured buoys bobbing after, the only signs they ever existed in this ethereal landscape, before I went to treat myself to sugary caffeine at a nearby bakery.

Bakers, swimmers, and photographers: sacrificing the comfort of a warm bed for our joy in life.

I left heaven clutching a to-go container of pure joy and one perfect hazelnut latte, and drove to the top of the mountain to eat it and watch the fog roll in.

And this, my friends, is why I identify as solo polyamorous.

Solo polyamory is an oft misunderstood branch of non-monogamy. It does not mean I am single but polyamorous — which is often how it is used, even by those who should know better. No, what it means is that, no matter what, I come first. Well, let’s be real, it’s my cat, my art, and then me. The definition of solo polyamory is that our first partner — our “primary” — is ourselves. Even when entangled, we come first.

This does not mean you’re not responsible for your emotions and how they affect others. To be a good human means community, and care. It does not mean I always prioritize my own needs. I am really good at empathy, at compromise. It just means that in considering how I interact with others, I negotiate from that framework.

What that looks like, in my life, is that I live without a partner, and while that may change eventually, I don’t want it to currently. And if I did, I would always need my own bedroom. Why?

Because I want the ability to wake up at 5am, read a chapter of my current book, then decide I want to go watch the sunrise — without worrying about someone in bed next to me. My cat may grumble, but he grumbles whenever I’m not in bed with him. (He’s pretty codependent.)

I want to prioritize sunrises, books, adventures, my cat.

Does it mean I don’t want to wake up next to my loved ones? Not at all. I do. I love it. But instead, I don’t want to take it for granted. I don’t want to get so comfortable, to expect their presence, that when they do choose to sleep over, my priority becomes cuddling up with them. I want my moments with them to be intentional, to be important. The trade off is not getting comfortable and lazy with a person because you know where they’ll be most nights. But that is a trade I find desirable.

I want the interactions in my relationships to be an active choice.

This is a choice I make because of trauma, I know that. Does it make it wrong? No. It is right — for me. Is it your choice? I have no idea, I’m not you. But I hope whatever you choose is healthy for you.

I want sunrises without worrying I’m disturbing my bed mate. I want to listen to music at midnight. I want to go alone to the museum, to wander undisturbed — unless I choose to do it with a companion. And then I get the joy of their presence being a choice, being intentional. I will never take it for granted, because I know it was not a given. I had to reach out, schedule, organize time with them.

It takes more effort, but that is an effort I want to give my humans. And if I need to have a quiet day with someone, where we just sit next to each other in comfortable silence, I can have that too — I just have to ask.

I am not saying it is not possible to find someone perfectly aligned, who would give you comfortable lazy mornings, and wild adventures. I just don’t want that. I don’t want just one. I want wildly different brains, different perspectives, different ideas, different backstories. And thus, polyamory.

The beauty of polyamory, of the way I live my life in general, is that no one person fills all my slots. And so it means I have a lot of room for everyone to find their own niche. Some, it’s sitting quietly. Some, it’s laughing forever over stupid internet jokes. Others, it’s wild sex. Some fill a lot of slots — I often have partners who are sex, love, friendship, adventure — but maybe not art. Maybe not getting excited by plants. I want everyone to flourish in a way that feels best to them, and authentic to our relationship. I am a wildly varied human — I have lots of space for others. And so when I have a space I feel longing for, I reach out to a friend who might fill that need.

Conversely, my friends know the spaces I can take up; the spaces I avoid. I am not your bar friend, but I am your ocean friend. I am not your gossip friend, but I am here for deep conversations at 2am about the meaning of life.

So I choose scheduling over comfort, over ease. I choose to make a lot of effort, I choose to have a deep love affair with my calendar. I choose intention. I choose sunrises, and delicious blueberry bread, and delighted bakers.

(Originally published on Medium, this is the sunrise I found.)

#polyamory #solo polyamory #values #photographer #non-monogamy #queer #thoughts and such #personal

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rgr-pop · 3 months

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meal plan text asmr

i normally have breakfast at work because of my proton pump inhibitor. tomorrow i wfh the morning to do a training so i’ll be having sesame toast with a boiled egg, feta, and whatever pickle and veg looks good. then for the rest of the week’s breakfasts i have one yogurt (lucas found me the icelandic coffee yogurt!!) and friday morning tbh, probably the last of my ezekiel toast with communal work peanut butter unless i pick up cottage cheese/yogurt. today i worked remotely at a coffee shop and i grabbed a bad scone, RIP. (adding to shopping list: ezekiel bread, greek yogurt, cottage cheese, bananas, the icelandic coffee yogurt but that’s only at whole foods.)

at work right now i’ve been having paramount (local brand) k cups that corey gifted me. i got him a gift card for the new downtown coffee shop so he can grab it between his bus job (he herds teenagers for the school public bus program. his real title is abussador :)) and he got me k cups for my work. i froth half and half to dress up the k cup, and my coworker brought in half and half she needs used up, so i don’t need to bring mine. (another week before i have to buy more.) i hate using the disposables and am considering literally committing to work french press like an absolute psycho—i just can’t get myself enough time before work to make and bring it from home and the refillable k cups will do but are gross. if you have to survive a keurig at work i recommend nasty refillables + steaming and frothing milk. i have half a bag of not great beans at home. I’ve been spending more on nicer beans for home and it has been worth it, but I am still not quite sure what I like. (on shopping list: coffee beans, decaf beans for winter evening treats.)

came home with a coffee shop noise pollution migraine and made myself cheese ramen with cilantro, sesame seeds, green onion, and a side of this week’s pickled carrot slaw. ramen made two servings for me. it was the last of my shin black and third to last slice of ramen cheese. my cilantro will last another weekend and i have at least week’s worth of parsley and green onions. (adding to the shopping list: shin black, cheese singles, frozen corn, and since i’m thinking about it, shredded mozz for buldak/corn cheese.)

for lunches wednesday-friday i will have dumplings from the freezer (the ones i made and some other ones i have), leftover ramen, and a carrot and cucumber salad (my last two fresh salad vegetables, but i will probably wait out purchasing more). to prep tonight: jar of dumpling sauce, salad. (dumplings are already on my shopping list when i see some that look good. adding dumpling wrappers—making and freezing them was so worth it, but i felt like making the dough wasn’t.)

complicating factor: i should make myself something sweet to keep me out of the vending machines at work. at home i’ve been having what i believe to be yaourti me meli (greek yogurt, walnuts, honey, cinnamon?) but i’m out. i’d like to make a second french yogurt cake to compare it to the other recipe, but again, out. i would also also like to make a coffee cake type food for someone coming over saturday afternoon. do i make a little loaf cake with what i have tonight to get me through the week and then a second thing then? do i have friday plans? if i bake a little quick bread or pound cake for myself tonight it will really cut down on my food ruminations. (adding to shopping list: greek yogurt, walnuts, honey, dried fruit, butter.. baking supplies need inventorying but i’m almost sure i have enough of the basics.)

what am i having for dinners? i need to minimize the chance that i spend any non-grocery money before next week—i will be having a crazy week and likely blowing money i don’t have. tonight i’m having leftover cannellini beans cacio e pepe (‼️ make this ‼️). i have enough beans (although running low) to continue having beans meals, but i really really really desire to put my beans meals on potatoes. (‼️ fusion jacket potatoes ‼️ make this ‼️). matias made these perfect black beans with pork and salsa verde and it’s all i can think about. can i pull this off with freezer bacon… i have enough of a serrano to get me through. (adding to shopping list: russet potatoes, garlic, sour cream, avocado, cheap canned black beans, decent looking dried black beans, slightly nice italian brand butter beans and cannellini beans, bell pepper, tomatillos, tomatoes, mexican oregano, sweet potato, pork?? i will put this on my list but never buy it.)

i would also like to make salmon rice bowls with avocado, pickled veg/carrot slaw, cucumbers, etc. to use up my freezer salmon. i would prefer to wait to do this til i’m keeping salad greens (leftover salmon for salads is key for a working woman…)

in two weeks i will make something for a certain someone’s birthday and batch up some granola. i’ve been wanting to try making coffee granola. i also have to make a lasagna before the end of winter this year or i must be executed.

what i’m bringing to work tomorrow for the rest of the week: salad, bags of dumplings, ramen, cilantro (packed separately), one boiled egg, one yogurt, dumpling sauce and any other condiments that look good, and a sweet if i can pull it off.

the question i can only answer for myself tomorrow at 4pm: am i going to the grocery store?

#grocery influencing #food

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