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#i have no reason to take dryer sheets

actual-corpse · 1 month

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Buddy.... Do not act like this.

I took my detergents and iron. There weren't any dryer sheets on the dryer when I went to get my cat. I knew it was fine to take the detergents using context clues.

I left cat litter

I left a gravity waterer

I left trash bags for said cat litter.

I'm leaving RubberMaid bowls

I think he's just pissy because he's now got a whole new list of chores.

I am in pain that I would rate a 7 (it makes me nauseous). I scrubbed the toilet and bathtub.

There are so many things that I'm leaving, even though I paid for them... and he's going to be a bitch...

#he still hasnt had to buy a tv #i just woke up #and ive got patchy signal so I just got that message #im not mad tho #just dissapointed #this is the second time ive been blamed for something upon discovery #the first time it was an open door (which was a huge deal). A different roommate didn't close the front door correctly and it was assumed it #was me who did it even tho I wasnt at the apartment that day #i use dryer balls #i have no reason to take dryer sheets #the person this text is from (my ex) doesnt use dryer balls. he uses someone else's dryer sheets #i think hes mad he has to actually do shit for himself now #idk #its just frustrating #i really went out of my way to SCRUB a dirty bathtub even tho Im in a 7 pain

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in-som-niyah · 2 months

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Attentive!Jason who feels you toss and turn away from him in the night, signalling that something was wrong. He didn't know what, but upon feeling you curl into a ball, holding your stomach, it clicked.

Attentive!Jason who turns on his side to pull you back into his chest, hoping the warmth would soothe you enough to go back to a deeper sleep. Sighing sadly, he realizes that this time might be worse than he thought.

Attentive!Jason who kisses your hairline and slowly untangles himself from you in order to get up. He goes and puts the kettle on, fills a glass of water and brings your painkillers of choice, making a mental note of buying you more the next time he's out.

Attentive!Jason who sets the glass and painkillers on your nightstand, then slowly makes his way back into bed. Gently, he wakes you with kisses and firm strokes on your back, soothing some of the ache.

Attentive!Jason who, upon gently waking you, helps you to the bathroom to get cleaned up and take a hot shower.

Attentive!Jason who kisses your lips every time you try and apologize for ruining the sheets followed by a "no more tears querida, just let me take care of you"

Attentive!Jason that fills up your hot water bottle and a cup of herbal tea with extra honey just how you like it, and brings both items back to your room. He wraps the hot water bottle in a thin, fuzzy blanket, as to not burn you.

Attentive!Jason who puts your towel and clean pyjamas in the dryer for 5 minutes to warm them up for you before you get out of the shower.

Attentive!Jason who helps dress you when your shower is done, but leaving you to do what you need to privately. He just wants you safe and comfortable.

Attentive!Jason that guides you back to bed, not in a smothering and demeaning way, but just to make things easier on your aching joints.

Attentive!Jason that bundles you up snugly after you finish your tea, and reads to you to help you fall back asleep. The painkillers seem to be working, and he knows his voice soothes you.

Attentive!Jason that kisses your forehead and presses the hot water bottle to your sore abdomen once you begin to stir again, in effort to ease the tension.

Attentive!Jason who will, no matter what time it is, get up to get what you need. This boy is so madly in love with you, nothing you could ever need is too much for him. It doesn't matter if he just came back from a gruelling patrol, a fight with Bruce, or recovering from his own ailments. Jason Loverboy Todd is going to bring you tea at 4am. No complaints. No questions asked.

Attentive!Jason who secretly researches new ways to help you when you're hurting, always wanting to learn and improve.

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

a/n: answered this ask that disappeared for some reason???? it was from some general attentive!jason hcs when reader was on their period/cramping but i genuinely have no idea where it went....

anyways time for bed its 2am

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lynnielovestlou · 1 month

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I haven’t seen or read any sleeping with Ellie or Abby headcons and you’re such a lovely writer!!! I wanted to ask if you can write something like that maybe?

i'm gonna give you both because i'm in a good mood today!!! also thank you for the compliment i love you

masterlist nsfw!!

having sex with abby!!!

ꕤ₊˚ i've said this in sooo many of my fanfics, but abby is the most gentle person ever. in contrast to her large build and huge muscles (and ability to manhandle you however she pleases) she's such a softie. she's such a soft!dom and nobody can change my mind on this. she's never rough with you unless you blatantly ask her to be, but she much rather prefers slow and gentle sex and just taking her time with you.

ꕤ₊˚ abby is also big on toys!!! there, i said it. she buys/finds all these weird things to use on you in bed because it's such a turn on for her. yes, she does like seeing you get off on her fingers or her mouth or anything else, but she much rather prefers to use a strap or a dildo or a vibrator or something because she thinks you're just so damn pretty like that.

ꕤ₊˚ abby is definitely a whimperer. like, this girl is quiet because she much rather would like to hear you instead of herself. so she'll muffle her pretty moans s just so she can hear yours.

ꕤ₊˚ abby is big on kissing during sex (unlike ellie, but i'll get to that in a second) she likes kissing your lips, your cheek, your forehead, your hairline, your neck, behind your ear, your collarbone, your titties (and when you choose doggy, she'd kiss your bum cheeks every once in a while)

ꕤ₊˚ that's another thing. abby is an ass girl! even when you're not having sex, her hand will be in your back pocket. she'll pinch your booty as you walk by her sometimes, and she can't resist spanking you when she sees you bent over getting clothes out of the dryer or taking food out of the oven.

ꕤ₊˚ abby likes to put you in a ton of crazy positions. she likes doggy, when you're bouncing on her lap, literally anything but basic ol' missonary

having sex with ellie!!!

ꕤ₊˚ unlike abby, ellie prefers skin-on-skin. it's way more intimate to her, and she can feel you better when you're coming on her hand, her mouth, or even her thigh. that's why she loves taking baths or showers with you, so she can feel every curve and every inch of your body. she'll use her strap SOMETIMES but she prefers to be able to feel you on herself and not on some plastic dick. she loves tribbing with you, for this exact reason.

ꕤ₊˚ even though she likes the intimacy of being skin-on-skin with you, she likes to pound tf out of you. she'd never hurt you intentionally, obviously, but she loves hearing your moans grow loud. plus, ellie has a thing for making you squirt. she was slam into you until the sheets are soaked or you pass out. she's not aggressive, but she definitely likes it rough at least a little bit.

ꕤ₊˚ unlike abby, ellie likes to use names on you during sex. like "whore" or "slut", but she'll apologize once it's all over to tell you she doesn't really mean it. when you ask her to go more gentle, she'll call you things like "honey" "baby" or "beautiful." depending on the way that y'all are fucking, she'll use different names.

ꕤ₊˚ ellie doesn't like kissing you during sex!!! it's not that she's opposed to it, per se, but she would much rather take eye contact with you over kissing you. she likes the idea of watching your face as she fucks you so good, knowing that nobody compares to her. she'll cradle your head, her elbows propped up on the bed on both sides of your ears. your legs are wrapped around her hips as her pelvis snaps into yours, and she's just holding your face, pressing and occasional kiss to your hairline. ugh, i need her so bad.

ꕤ₊˚ tbh i dont think ellie has that many kinks, but she definitely likes to get high before a nice fuck. the two of you will spend half and hour or so just rolling joints and smoking, etc. until eventually she beckons you to sit on her lap and you'll grind on her thigh n everything. until eventually you both just give in and she'll fuck the life out of you.

ꕤ₊˚ ellie is the queen of aftercare. even though abby is also very good at it, ellie takes it very seriously. she'll clean you up and shower you with kisses. and then she'll put some of your clothes in the dryer to warm them up a little bit before dressing you herself. she's so sweet :').

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norrisleclercf1 · 2 months

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Norstappen taking care of a reader dealing with period cramps ;)

( you’re free to imagine how )

A/N: Good little study break writing, but I'm also putting my experience with my periods as having PCOS on this, everyone is different with theirs, but when I write periods imagines I can only go off mine hope that's okay deary

Sitting up in the dark, you knew something didn't feel right as your stomach was tightening yet you knew you weren't sick, Lando didn't cook dinner. Shivering slightly you tried to understand the reason for the tremors.

Getting out of bed was anything but graceful, you had two F1 drivers sleeping on either side of you, moving you felt your world tilting as you stepped on either Lando or Max, in the moment you didn't care. Rushing into the bathroom you slam the door as you barely get there in time before you're hunched over the toilet losing control of your stomach.

The taste of battery acid and the lower cramps in your pelvis have you whimpering. You felt the tall tell sign of your period starting, and if you getting sick from it meant anything, it meant you were not about to have an easy time. Stomach curling and throat burning you cried as you threw up yet again another cramp taking over your body as you finished.

Flushing the toilet you laid your head on the cold tile floor, your body shaking from the cramps rolling through your body like a tsunami. "Y/n, love?" You whimper hearing the groggy voice of Max, and thump at the door means Lando was awake, but leaning on it. "Y/n, let us in, come on." Lando coaxed gently knocking on the door again.

"Please, we know what's happening." Max whispered, he didn't want you to feel the need to hide from them what is happening. "It's not locked," You whimper, tears falling down your face at the horrendous pain. Max pushes it open and Lando doesn't wait for the door to even get a crack before he's by your side.

His nose twitches, but doesn't say a word as he checks on you, then goes to the shower and turns in on, to the highest tolerable temperature knowing the heat would help you best. Max takes off his shirt and moves to you. "Come on, we'll get the shower." Max whispers, eyes fluttering with sleep but moves with such care you could cry for a different reason this time.

Lando makes sure the temperature is perfect and gathers your clothes and walks out, he comes back just as Max is baring all your weight moves you into the shower with him. He doesn't make you stand, but slides down the wall and sits as you cry, the heat untwisting the knots in your stomach and the brittle tension in your muscles.

Lando moves around the house as Max closes his eyes and slowly moves his hands to rub soft but firm circles into your body. "Hurts," You whisper, you hate feeling this way, but thankfully over the years the boys have learned what they can do to help you. The shower door is pulled open and Lando pops his head in, squatting down.

"Are you alright? What do you need?" He asks, his brain finally awake and the worry in his eyes bright. "I'm okay, the shaking has stopped and the cramps are lessening," "Give us another 10 and we'll be out." Lando nods and leans forward skillfully missing the water as he gives both you and Max a kiss.

You close your eyes and get lulled to comfort, but whine when you feel cold but stop when something warm and fluffy is wrapped around you. Opening your eyes you notice it's a black towel fresh out of the dryer and Lando is cleaning you up slowly. "Step in," He holds out a pair of his boxer briefs and smile up at him. He stands and gives you a soft kiss before helping you into Max's larger t-shirt.

"Let's get you into bed," "The sheets?" "Don't worry about it," Max comes up behind you two and herds you both into the bedroom. Lando scoots in and you slowly crawl over him and get back into your spot. You smile knowingly at the fact Lando had indeed changed the sheets, even if you hadn't bleed through. Max walks over and climbs into his side of the bed.

"Do you want us to cuddle you or do you want your space?" Lando asks, voice soft as his fingers graze your cheek. "No cuddles, but just stay close?" You ask and Max chuckles and does just that, you three are close but not to close where you get annoyed at their touches. It was stupid, you body hated the unnecessary touching and it did nothing but annoy you.

Lando moves close and smiles at you through the dark, but like always he's the first to fall asleep. "Sleep well, don't worry about anything tomorrow, we'll be with you all day." Max whispers, words fading off as you both fall asleep.

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repulsiveliquidation · 1 month

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Claire De Lune || Alexia Putellas

reader and alexia have a child together. angst. inspired by one of my favorite songs.

warnings : death, mentions of pregnancy. do not read if this makes you uncomfortable.

It all happened so fast.

“Ellie, stop running please!” Alexia begged, laughing as her daughter giggled loudly. You sat at the top of the hill smiling, plating up the sandwiches you had made at home. The picnic table was full of all your girls’ favorite snacks, and Ellie’s toys were scattered on the plaid blanket right next to you. She had her little football to kick around with her mother, her pretty sequin shoes abandoned next to your purse in favor of her custom bright pink cleats.

You hear your wife’s huffing and puffing as she treks back up the slightly steep hill. In her arms was a squirming toddler who had her giggle and cheeky smile. You stand and pretend to look mad, hands already on your hips with a slight smirk on your face.

“Did you run away from Mama again, sweetie?” you tease, taking Ellie from your wife’s arms. She nods and buries her face in your neck, skin hot and flushed from all her running.

“Did she outrun you, my love?” you ask Alexia with a smile, holding Ellie in one arm and popping a strawberry in your mouth with the other.

“Like a bat out of hell, she’s gotten that speed from you.”

Before you could clap back at your wife, Ellie tugs at your shirt and whines that she’s hungry. You sit with her under the warm Barcelona sky as the sun begins to set, handing her a little ham and cheese sandwich which is her favorite at the moment. She happily munches on her food and you look at Alexia who was looking at you. She reaches out her arm for you and you hold it across the table. It was a perfect little family day and you would trade it for nothing but a chance to do it again.

There was no time to think.

You wake up in the middle of the night to Ellie screaming for you. Alexia sits up at the same time and scrambles out of bed with you. You rush into her bedroom and see that she’s crying and sitting on the edge since she wet the bed. She rushes into your arms and you scoop her up, cradling her close. Alexia rubs her back and holds you close, soothing your daughter so she can tell you what was wrong.

“Bad dream Mommy,” she sobs into your neck, her clothes starting to dry and her body beginning to shiver. You take her into the bathroom and get her cleaned up as Alexia changes the sheets. You walk out of the bathroom 15 minutes later to Ellie’s bed made and her clean pajamas warmed up a little in the dryer.

Alexia dresses her and you find her nightlight to bring back to your room. Alexia walks into your room with a dead-asleep toddler and her favorite blankie clutched tight to her face. You plugged the little dinosaur nightlight into the wall next to your bed as Alexia gently climbed into bed with your daughter. You pulled Spotify up and turned on Clair De Lune which helped Ellie sleep. She nestled herself right into Alexia’s chest exactly how you did, leaving a soft smile on your wife’s face. You climbed in beside her and fell asleep immediately, Alexia’s heart feeling full as her girls fell asleep safe in her arms.

You never thought you’d come face to face with your worst nightmare.

“Ellie collapsed while playing football today. We’ve sent her to the nurse’s office but I think it’s best if you take her to the hospital just in case.”

Alexia ran. Faster than she ever has on the pitch. The sound of her cleats rang through the hallways of the Johan Cruyff stadium the moment she got off the phone with you. The look of panic on her face said all she needed to Jonatan and the rest of the girls.

The number of traffic laws she broke would guarantee fines that could amount to her entire week’s salary but she didn’t care. The fear in your voice and the sound of you being close to tears was all the more reason for her to have her foot on the pedal right to the floor. Her Cupra roared as she sped down the highway, tears threatening to fall.

She had one cleat and a slipper on as she rushed into the emergency room, eyes searching for you. You were sat alone at the end of the hallway, head in your hands. She called out your name and you looked up at her, unable to hold it together any longer. You broke just as she grabbed and pulled you into her arms. Alexia couldn’t hold it together the moment you cried in her chest and she broke down too.

“Where is she?” Alexia asked after your crying subsided and she managed to pull herself together.

“She fainted again when I picked her up and they took her…the nurses haven’t said anything either, I’ve asked.”

Alexia stood and kissed your hair, walking over to the nurses’ station just as she heard her last name being called.

“Mrs. Putellas?” the doctor asked, walking out of the trauma room with a look of concern.

“What’s wrong with my daughter?” you jump out of your seat and hurry over, Alexia’s arm immediately around you.

“I need you to come with me,” she said cryptically. You and Alexia follow her into a little discussion room and your heart sinks.

You sit and reach for Alexia whose hand finds yours immediately. She holds it tight in her lap and you listen to the doctor break the news no parent should ever hear.

“She’s dying.”

“No!” you wail, falling into Alexia’s arms. You sob and feel your heart break into a billion pieces, pain just excruciating at the thought of losing your daughter.

Alexia held you tight and listened to the doctor as she explained your daughter’s next steps on how to care for her and how to keep her comfortable. When the doctor left, Alexia held your face in her hands, her tears of pain and anguish mirrored yours.

“We’re doing to do everything we can for her, mi amor. I promise we will get through this.”

But she was a miracle.

Alexia stood in the bathroom with you, nervously biting her cuticles. You sat on the counter and swung your legs, eyes locked on the timer on your phone in your lap.

“How much longer?” Alexia asked, standing right in front of you between your legs.

“2 minutes,” you whisper, hesitantly looking up at her.

“Okay, don’t look so worried amor.”

“What if it’s negative again?” you say, watching the numbers on the timer go lower and lower. She takes your hands in her big ones and you feel their warmth. She kisses them both and caresses her hands up your arms. They gently move down your back and pull your hips closer to the edge. Your hands rest on her chest and she smiles up at you when there’s a minute left on the timer.

“We’re going to have the most beautiful baby, amor. He or she will be perfect in every shape and form. She will have your gorgeous hair and your silly laugh. She will have your mother’s eyes and your father’s smile. She will play football for Blaugrana because I said so.”

You smack her chest and roll your eyes, yelling in shock when the timer goes off. You physically feel your blood pressure skyrocket and your anxiety tingles in your chest. You gently jump off the counter and reach for Alexia’s hand. She takes the test in her hand and slowly turns it over. You’ve got your hands over your eyes and you can barely breathe before she gasps. You’re about to start crying when she whispers the words you’ve been waiting to hear for three years.

“It’s positive.”

She drops the test on the counter and picks you up, hugging you tight. She puts you down and your lips smash together, excited for your miracle baby to enter your lives.

Nine months and the easiest labor all the nurses told you, you held Ellie in your arms. She was the most beautiful thing you ever laid your eyes on. She was gorgeous, a perfect blend of you and Alexia.

She grew up in the blink of an eye, taking her first steps in the gym of Johan Cruyff, saying Mommy as her first word much to Alexia’s chagrin, her first birthday in Eli’s backyard with all the Barça girls, the girls doting on her every time she followed Alexia to training, playdates with Mateo and being pampered by Alexia when you were away for work.

Now at 6 years old, how do you explain to a child that she’s going to die?

I’ll hold your hand till the very end.

No parent should ever bury their child. Everyone knows there is no pain like losing a child. Ellie was in no pain as she deteriorated. She lost all of her beautiful brown hair in three weeks since you found out her diagnosis. She couldn’t go to school and could barely kick a football with Mama. It broke Alexia’s heart when Ellie could no longer pass balls to her in the backyard. You put Ellie to bed for the night and cradled an inconsolable Alexia in your arms for an hour till she stopped crying.

To everyone’s surprise, Alexia was the one whose face was not without a tear even for a second. You held it together well, making all the necessary arrangements to make Ellie as comfortable as possible. After everything was done, you drove home together, hand in hand in your lap. No words were exchanged but all the words that needed to be said were said.

The moment the front door locked, it was like a dam was broken. The wail you let out was a sound that even Alexia had never heard you make before. The pain in your chest was like nothing you’ve ever felt before. You felt your heart being ripped out of your chest at the thought of having to wake up without Ellie jumping on your bed begging for Alexia to make her breakfast.

Alexia could only hope that time would put you back together and that the loss of a child wasn’t something that would ruin you both past the point of no return. ��

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas angst #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #fc barca femeni #espwnt #woso x reader #woso soccer #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso imagines #woso one shot #woso #woso community

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1d1195 · 9 months

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Faking It

Sometimes while I'm listening to music, things just pop into my head about Harry and I have to write it out real fast before I forget. This is just a little random blurb that I’m posting for no reason.

best friend/roommate!reader x famous!Harry

Warnings: sexual tension, sexual wording

Not proofread (written in my drafts on my phone)

Harry is watching her dance her little heart out to whatever is playing in her ears while she aggressively folds the sheets and towels out of the dryer. He can hear the music playing from where he's standing in the kitchen getting a glass of water. They've been best friends for years and since Harry is often on tour, it's nice to have someone keep an eye on his place, water the flowers, and just...be there when he gets home or shoots home during one of his quick breaks.

She's funny and lovely. One of his favorite people. She doesn't mind acting silly around him and doesn't care if he never cleans up when he's home. "I just like when my best friend is here," she says.

"What are y'even listening to?" She turns down the music so she can hear him.

"It's called Little White Lies, it's by this great band. M'sure you've heard of them: One Direction?" She has the most impish smile on her lips.

He stares at her and blinks slowly. He hates when she does this. It's so annoying. But he finds her adorable anyway. It's been a while since he's been home and he likes seeing her in her element. As if he weren't here. He likes that she's comfortable with him. It feels...like home.

But then, since she's his best friend, she has to go and ruin it.

She shrugs. "Y'know, Harry. Bet you would get a nice girlfriend if they knew they didn't have to fake orgasms around you all the time," she winked at him pushing the laundry basket toward the hallway to the bedrooms before she starts in on the second load of clothing.

He doesn't want to know. If he asks, he'll regret it. "What are y'on 'bout?" He tilted his head back. It was one of those conversations he knew he was going to be exhausted by before it even started.

"When she's alone she goes home to a cactus. In a black dress, she's such an actress?" She quoted his own lyrics to him but phrased it as a question. "Such an actress?" She repeated. "Too bad Harry," she tisks. "You even gotta talk about a dildo being a cactus...like one of the rabbit ones,” she giggled.

Harry wonders if he strangles her if they'll question him first. He's a popstar after all. "M'gonna kill you," he says darting toward her around the half kitchen wall to tickle her. She squeals and takes off to the other side of the room, hiding behind the couch.

"Cause you've been telling me, all night with your little white lies."

"Nobody fakes orgasms with me," he grumbled. "Liam and Louis wrote that song."

She smirked. "Sensitive. I don't mean anything by it," she giggles. "Just think it's funny."

"I'll prove it," he says hopping on the couch and reaching over to grab her before she can escape. She squeals at his aggressive hold as he tosses her down (gently) onto the sofa. "Take y'pants off," he orders.

"Harry," she gasps, face blushing. The headphones fall from her ears, her phone drops to the floor.

"Take 'em off," he repeats. "You'll see."

"Harry," she whispers breathlessly. "I was just kidding."

But his eyes are hungry now. He's looking her over if he's just noticing that she's a girl. A beautiful, adorable, pain-in-the-butt, girl. His best friend that he adores with all his heart. "M'not," his voice is low. Her heart hammers erratically against her ribs.

She can't say she hasn't been dreaming of this. She wants this. She doesn't believe she'll have to fake it. But she doesn't want to force him to do it to prove a point. "Harry," she tries again, but her voice is weak. The protest is faint in her voice. "You don't have--"

"Bet y'have t'fake it all the time, hmm?" He's hovering above her. His legs straddling her hips, his arms pinning her shoulders down. She can't move her gaze from his. She's immobile. He drops his mouth to her ear. "Don't you?" He murmurs so lowly it vibrates all through her body. Right to the space between her thighs. “Bet y'dream about me when m'not here. When you're with someone else,” his lips brush the pulse along the side of her neck. He kisses the space at the bottom of her throat. "I dream about you when m’alone,” her brain is spinning to keep up. She was just joking him. He was too brave to admit that. She’s terrified she’s going to mess up. But he’s inhaling her skin like he’s sniffing out a weakness. Her whole body is one weak spot for him. “S'that why y'like it so much?" He mumbles. "S'that why y'like m'song. Because you're an actress for everyone else? You're not gonna be an actress for me, right? You're gonna be a good girl and not tell me any little white lies?" He asks it as a question, but she knows it's a statement.

"Harry," it was her last chance to protest.

“No, love. M’sure,” he promise sensing the question in just the way she uttered his name. Maybe the benefit to being her best friend he knew what she was thinking. Always. “Jus’ say the word, love,” his lips are a breath away. If she inhales too deeply or exhales at all she’ll be kissing Harry Styles. “Do y’want me t’prove it?”

His eyes are so green his skin smells so good. She can’t breathe or move.

“Yes.”

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ominoose · 1 month

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𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

Pairing: Android!Nathan Bateman x GN!Depressed!Reader Summary: Your therapist advises you buy an android as a companion. He's a pain. Warnings: None, just fluff. WC: 1.5k Thank you @jinjersnapz for beta reading :*

The moment he stepped out of the box you wanted a refund. Thinly veiled disappointed creased his eyebrow and tugged down his lips as the android, Nathan, took in the cabin. It wasn't much, that you'd concede, wooden floors, walls and roof with a bathroom, office, kitchenette, living room and bedroom. The basic rooms filled with what one needed to live, or as your therapist called it “bare essentials” and “not willing to take up your own space”. Bullshit, essentially.

And now the result of not listening to said bullshit was taking in your abode like it was a one star Air BnB that posted fake five star reviews. He probably wanted a refund as much as you. That was an accurate description of life since he was shipped into it, ‘I want a refund.’

“You're wasting time.” Said the most annoying alarm clock since the creation of alarm clocks.

You only responded by turning over and pulling the covers over your head before they were ripped off the bed and cold air attacked your now exposed and cold skin.

“Stop spending all your time in bed just to go bitch to your therapist about how you're worthless and your life has no meaning. Either get your ass up or I'll dismantle the bed and hide the screws.”

The petty, blunt asshole would. Last week he messed with the dryer's wiring, leaving your bed sheets wet until you finished your book (that he'd recommended, ordered on your Amazon and held you at laundry point to read), citing “intellectual enrichment” as the reason.

Getting out of bed was rewarded with him asking for a cup of coffee while he worked out (apparently the extra use of his metal tendons strengthened them over time), knowing full well he'd only complain about it being cheap. It was a hellish routine, but a routine nonetheless, as your therapist annoyingly felt the need to point out every session. Begrudgingly, you'd also be forced to admit it was the truth. He got you out of bed, engaging with the house, energizing yourself and having some sort of start for the day.

“Why don't we go out for a hike?” Nathan rounded you to grab the steaming cup of coffee, grimacing at the taste.

Broad shoulders rolled openly, clad in simple grey tank top and black joggers. Despite knowing he had no skin, no actual flesh underneath the tanned synthetic layers stretched over his biceps looked soft enough to bite. Not that you'd let the android know.

“A hike? Outside? Today?” The spontaneous request caught you off guard, already openly reluctant.

The deadpan stare he gave you behind the silver frames wasn't fond.

“You live in Butt-Fuck Nowhere and want to just sit in this shitehole. Wasting your innate opportunity to explore nature's beauty.”

“Yeah, I do. Have a fun hike Nathan.” That statement was meant to be closed by you swiftly turning and walking back to your room, but a warm, calloused hand gripped your arm sternly and rooted you to the spot.

“How am I meant to have fun if you aren't there to bug? A walk in nature is an easy hack to ease your disease riddled brain and you don't take advantage of it. It's a wonder androids haven't taken over yet.”

The way he refused to handle you and your depression like a porcelain doll was something you loathed to love about him. How odd that an arrogant android treated you with the most humanity.

“I'll upload a virus into your cloud if you don't let me go, see who has a ‘disease riddled organ then.”

“An STD threat, how cute. Try successfully updating your Sims mod folder and I'll personally walk you through the virus myself.” Logically, there shouldn’t be a lively spark in his eyes, but it was there all the same, goading you into spats with him, time and time again.

“I bought you, the least you could do is fix my Sims!” Another thing you hated needing from him was the way he fed and stoked your fire, turning you from dying embers to a roaring bonfire. It always happened before you were aware of it, always when he got that cocky smirk as if this was exactly what he wanted.

And following routine he simply walked away, rolling those ridiculously handsome shoulders to add salt to the wound and leaving you to seeth.

“Hurry up and get ready.”

When you finally crested the hill, sun shining down through dark pine trees, birds chirping around you, part of you conceded it was worth it. The other part was whining over the stitch aching at your side.

“God I feel like death.” The panting breaths came out as a fog in the cold forest, but Nathan paid no mind to the temperature or your whining.

You never once questioned his ability to enjoy the cold whistle of the wind, whether or not he could feel the numbing chill in his finger tips. Why did it matter why his favourite spot was the waterfall, always cold no matter the season, a hint of a smile plucking at synthetic lips when the mist tickled his beard. It didn’t occur that it should matter, but it was noticed by him the way your mouse didn’t entertain the news articles discussing the ethics of how closely androids now resembled a human, drawing comparisons to fictional history of Dune.

Nathan knew more than anyone that you weren’t the academic, whizzkid genius he was. Your mind physically could not scramble through numbers and piece together advanced mathematic equations. You weren’t book smart, but it wasn’t something he considered lacking.

You dismissed stupid opinions (like the aforementioned article) as if they didn’t exist to you as easily as you stood toe to toe with him to defend other stupid opinions (Aristotle was just some annoying old guy). You were acutely aware of your depression, the way your mind functioned against you and plodded on, taking it in your stride your own way.

As you keeled over, huffing out cold whisps, his dark brown eyes scanned every inch of you. There was no part of you he hadn’t cataloged and stored carefully in his memory banks, no quirk or habit was unfamiliar to him. Yet it always felt like a small surprise to see them unfold in the intimate privacy of the small bubble you both shared.

“Why’re you staring? You better not say I told you so, I’ll ship you back and enjoy going back to my solitude inside.”

“You wouldn’t have to be alone. You’re pretty enough to coax someone into your little hovel.” Said like a passing comment on the gathering clouds.

“Pretty?” Said as a reaction, completely caught off guard.

“Yeah? How many times do we need to go over how your mind will distort how you perceive reality before you finally listen to me, sweetheart?” How was he managing to still be so condescending while arguing about how beautiful you were, how the softly filtered sunlight through the trees settled against your hair like the sun was made to do just that

No wonder humans had wasted so much time on artsy poetic bullshit since the BC’s, beauty really could be all you had the capacity to think about.

“Based on what? I thought you didn’t abide by societal constructs Mr Bateman?” It was a shoddy attempt at acting normal, but the supercomputer android would’ve already noticed the quiver in your voice and the red dusting your face. Maybe if you pretended you didn’t know he could do that, he just wouldn’t.

“I’m abiding by my standards.” His eyes stared right into you. The words words hit you right in the stomach, no time to brace.

And he takes advantage of the hesitation.

“We both know I’m capable of noticing when you ogle me when I work out. We both know I'm equipt to sense when your heart rate picks up, which it does every time I lean over your shoulder to correct your shitty work. We both know I can literally measure the heat in your cheeks right now, want me to?”

The speed at which your head shook had your hair lashing your face, something that only grew his smirk.

“You sure?”

“Fuck yo-”

His lips were warm when they cut you off, subtly soft in contrast to the calloused hands cupping your face. Your mind instantly jumps to satisfaction that you’d been right in your assumption about the feel of his lips until the actual realisation that he was kissing you kicked in, and by that point he was already pulling away. You didnt even have time to savour how the cold metal of his glasses pressed against your nose.

“Lets go, it’s gonna start pissing down and I hate fogged up glasses.”

Nathan was already walking back home, back turned until he realised you weren’t already trailing after him. He turned. You were still staring, lips slightly parted and wide eyed, not yet finished processing what had happened. His smirk turned soft.

“C’mon sweetheart, I need my shitty cup of coffee.”

#nathan bateman x reader #oscar isaac #omiwrites

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siempre-bucky · 2 years

Text

Nomex

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Fem!Reader

Summary: Jake loves seeing you in soft delicate fabrics, but he still thinks you're pretty in your flight suit.

warning: oral sex (fem recieving)

this is a follow up to Silk, but can be read as a stand alone

a/n: wrote this during a 9 hour call with the unimind... I just have this thing for Jake and fabric...enjoy!

The blond aviator woke up in the most amazing smelling sheets. He inhaled deeply at the clean scent, it was so unlike the stuff Coyote bought. They smelled like flowers and fresh laundry straight out of the dryer. His tired eyes opened, green irises scanning the unfamiliar environment before landing on the dainty bottle of water and red and blue pills to soothe his hangover that sat on the bedside table.

"Fuck," he groaned as he sat up, bones cracking as he leaned forward. It all came back to him after he swallowed the pills. Begging Natasha to bring him to your place, crashing into you in the hallway, kissing you as your robe hit the ground—the silk nightgown.

He hadn't even looked at you yet. His eyes were trained to the wall as he slowly stood up, hesitant to turn around. There was no reason to be nervous, he tried to tell himself. It was just you.

But even still, his heart was pounding and his fingertips itched for the touch of your skin and his lips still tingled hours after your first kiss.

Turn around, turn around—turn around, Jake.

Jake had seen you sleep before. He'd catch you napping in the ready room with your legs splayed out and your arms folded across your chest for extra warmth, lips slightly parted. He'd nudge you out of your snoring while on the plane to your next mission and would laugh at how your face was squished into the shitty pillows they gave you on the carrier. You slept like a normal person: dead to the world with a smidge of drool dribbling down your chin.

This was different. So every different.

You were sleeping peacefully on your back, one hand delicately placed on your pillow beside your head while the other clenched the blanket on your stomach. It was as if you were sleeping on clouds with the way the white linens circled you with their gentle creases.

It was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen. He praised the universe for the way the golden morning light hit your features and made the silk fabric glow. Jake's tongue swept along his lower lip before he gently bit down on it with his teeth. He slowly sauntered over, his eyes glued to your frame taking it all in before he disturbed you.

He lowered himself next to you, placing one of his arms on the spot beside your waist, closing you in. The sudden dip in the bed made you shift with your head turning to face him, pillow soft lips gently parting. Your name was on the tip of his tongue, hesitant to say it. “Y/N,” he managed.

“Hmm,” you chimed, still half asleep and squeezing your eyes shut.

“You need to wake up,” he told you softly.

Your eyes slowly opened and narrowed as they adjusted to the sunlight. His frame towered above you, then you saw how his extended arm over you. A bashful heat was quickly running up your neck and onto your face at the sight of his toned arms. Timidly you put your hand on his wrist, gliding it upward until you stopped at his bicep and your thumb dipped under the hem of his t-shirt. “Jake,” you whispered softly, pushing yourself higher on the mattress with Jake’s face closer in your gaze. “How’s your head?”

The aviator exhaled and looked at your clothed stomach, a small smile graced his lips before looking up at you through his lashes. “Better,” he chuckled, “Thanks for the meds, sweetheart.”

You smiled in return at the southern charm he unknowingly exuded. Your eyes fell from the top of his tousled blond hair to his soft pink lips; they tempted you every time he pressed them together, every time he fought back words. “Why’d you come here last night—after you left the bar?”

He took a moment to sift through the alcohol induced actions from the Hard Deck. “I wanted to see you,” he decided on saying. You arched a brow, showing your lack of confidence in his response. Using his arm as leverage, you sat up with your clothed chest touching his exposed arm, your head resting on his arm. Jake shivered at the cold silk material touching him, his eyes swiveling between your torso and your face.

“To see me,” you repeated slowly, trying to bite back the giggle.

“Honest, I did. Then I saw you in that, one thing led to another and I—” he paused to lean in closer “—I couldn’t deny my feelings for you any longer.”

A bright smile broke out onto your face, the hand on his arm rising to cup the back of his neck. He felt the pull on his neck, so we went along with your motions and leaned in closer. “I meant every word I said when I kissed your skin, darlin’,” he whispered before closing the gap.

You glanced over to the clock, he woke you up with plenty of time to prepare for training. Your brain calculated as he kissed you, his lips gliding along your own, his fingers grazed the hair on the back of your neck. “Tell me again,” you requested shyly as you pulled back, dragging your lower lip between your teeth.

“I can do so much more,” he smirked before removing himself from you. He stood and gently started to pull back your blanket and let it fall to the ground with a light thud. You were suddenly very short of breath, your legs timidly closing. “If you’ll let me…” his smooth voice trailed off, forcing himself to go slowly.

With a nod, you watched every little calculated movement: from the way he stood on his knees in front of you and allowed his hands to slide up your calves and pulled your knees up higher while the skirt of your nightgown pooled in between your legs. You didn’t imagine his hands to be so smooth. They slid up your calves once more before slowly spreading apart your legs.

Jake looked up at you wantingly, the self control of the southern gentleman wavering thin. “It’s ok, Jake” you whispered in reassurance.

The thread holding him together had finally snapped. He lowered himself and pushed the fabric higher on your stomach. “Jesus,” he muttered as he came face to face with the matching silk panties that covered your core, “Do you always match?” he joked as he took his pinky finger and dragged it along your clothed slit, the gentle pressure soaking the fabric with your wetness. He smirked triumphantly.

“When I want to,” you answered lightly.

He pressed his lips to the inside of your thigh and hummed against your skin before littering the surface with open mouthed kisses. Your back lightly arched as you felt the cool air touch the saliva-ridden skin, his name softly falling from your lips. “You’re so pretty,” he whispered as he got dangerously close to the thin lace hem of your panties. “Perfect,” he complimented as he hooked a finger around the fabric and pulled it effortlessly to the side. He moaned at the sight of your glistening pussy.

“Please,” you whispered, slightly bucking your lips. He scoffed and admired you, ignoring the little protests that came in the form of breathy whimpers. He took your panties off and let them join the blanket at the foot of the bed. “Don’t tease me, Seresin,” you grunt, your hand finding his hair.

“You’re so impatient, baby,” he smirked, his eyes flashing upward before he flatted his tongue over your pussy.

“Shit,” you cursed at the warmth, the tingles spreading over your body. Jake Seresin shouldn’t have this much power over you with not even one swipe of his tongue. But he did, and you absolutely let him. He moved slowly, letting every spot of your folds feel him.

“It’s already swollen,” he teasingly marveled at your clit as he pulled away, letting two of his fingers run along your slick folds, the bundle of nerves coming into sight. “Do you want me to make you cum before training?” he asked, his voice lower than normal.

“Please, Jake,” you pleaded, surely you’d be embarrassed later at how meek you sounded in front of him. “Make me cum—make me feel good.” Your pretty words sent a sudden wave of pleasure to his groin, his own soft moaning escaping his throat.

He started with gentle kitten licks to your aching clit, relishing in feeling the way your thighs clenched under his hands. His tongue swirled around and around in slow painstaking movements until your hips started to grind against his face. “Just like that, sweetheart,” he groaned against you, “tell me how good I’m making you feel.”

“That feels so fucking good,” you whimpered, your fingers threading through his soft hair and tugging softly. “Jake, Jake, Jake,” you moaned pathetically as he sucked in your clit, his soft hums sending vibrations to your core. “You feel so good.”

You could feel him smirk at the praise, your breath hitching every time he swiped along your needy core. The knot in your stomach didn’t take long to materialize, and the weakening and shaking of your legs were close behind. “I’m gonna—”

Jake reached up, his large hand covering your clothed breast and giving it a tender squeeze as a way of telling you that he was there. “Cum for me, make those pretty noises when you scream my name,” he moaned out, the tip of his nose brushing your clit.

Your hand dropped to your side, knuckles white with how tightly you gripped the sheets.

The white hot pleasure took over as you bucked your hips one final time. “I’m cumming, I’m cumming—Jake—Jake!” you cried. His fingers intertwined with yours, the pain of your knuckles subsiding so could squeeze the digits that fit perfectly into yours.

He licked and sucked until your hips stopped grinding and your jagged breaths slowly became regulated. He let go of your hand and sat up, only to settle himself between your sensitive legs and pull you close, rolling you over on your side. “Did it feel good?” he asked as he kissed you, letting you taste yourself.

Your tongue shyly swiped his lower lip, your hand pressed against his neck and feeling his rapid heartbeat. “So good,” you sighed deeply, your breath once again hitching. Everything that I dreamed of.

“Y/N, I wanna tell you somethin’,” he confessed as his arms roamed your warm body.

“Hmm?” Your eyes flutter shut and let yourself rest your head in the crook of his neck. His heart wasn’t slowing down, just like last night at the bar when he told Phoenix he was in love with you. The three little words rested behind thinned lips.

Before he could speak, his phone vibrated on the table. He groaned in annoyance and checked it, “Coyote’s outside, he’s takin’ me to base.” In unlucky unison, your alarm went off, the harsh bells making you jolt.

“Go, Hangman. You got pushups to look forward to,” you said playfully, sliding out of his warm embrace and off your bed to turn off your alarm. He rolled and caught your wrist gently, you turned to see his sly smirk.

“Can’t wait to see you in that flight suit.”

—

You emerged from the locker room in your green Nomex flight suit. It felt like a second skin, wrapped around your body and your beloved patches sewn on with care. Callie and Natasha nudged your sides, both begging for details about the night you spent with Hangman. "He was drunk as shit and crashed on my couch. Literally, nothing happened," you lied through your teeth.

The slow, caring touches of his tender hands, beautiful words of praise, and sinful flicks of his tongue would remain your best kept secret.

"Uh huh," Callie rolled her eyes and nudged your arm with her helmet

"Whatever you say," Nat winked, her head motioning towards the door. You looked away from your friends and saw Jake standing by the door, his frame beautifully illuminated by the sun.

The girls went ahead and shot back one more look. They said their snickering hellos to the man before exiting.

"Did you tell them?" He asked cautiously as he sauntered over, meeting you in the middle. You shook your head and leaned up against the wall.

"Told them you were a funny drunk," you joked, making the taller man laugh. He stepped closer and looked down at you and all the little creases and folds your suit made. "Giggled like a schoolgirl till you fell asleep."

"You're hilarious," he retorted, chuckling mockingly as he rolled his eyes.

You felt the familiar ache for his touch. His fingers twitched at his sides. He looked up to you already staring at him, your eyebrows knitted together as a silent plea for him. Jake took his pointer finger and touched the golden embroidery of your callsign badge. "You look pretty," he whispered as his hand trailed lower until he gently held you by your waist. "I told you, you would."

The Nomex material you wore was made fire resistant, protecting you in the box as you flew— but it was no match for Jake Seresin. His other hand found your waist, drawing you closer, a wildfire igniting on your lower back as his hands moved upward. How bold of the aviator, holding you so intimately in the hallway.

Your body was pressed against his, and the little squeak from the fabric rubbing up against each other made you smile. "What were you going to tell me this morning?" You asked, your voice just above a whisper.

Jake, like this morning, was cut off. The sound of a door pulled you two apart, Jake ran a hand through his hair while you adjusted your clothes.

False alarm, the two of you exhaled a sigh of relief as a janitor walked out of the supply closet.

"Tell me later," you smiled, lovingly patting his shoulder.

"Over dinner?" He questioned as you walked down the hall together. You hummed and let him open the door for you, the sounds of the jets sounded like music.

"I'd like that, Hangman. I have a dress I've been dying to wear to that place downtown."

Your comment perked his ears as he put on his sunglasses. "What kind of dress?" He pursed his lips before smirking.

"Velvet."

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x fem!reader #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin fanfic #hangman x reader #hangman fanfic #hangman imagine #top gun #top gun imagine #top gun maverick

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delopsia · 4 months

Text

Silver & Gold | Bob x Reader x Rhett

Word Count: 7,200 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, Bob's in deep internal debate, mentions of wedding planning, setting up a Christmas tree (no religious themes included, we're doing it for the ✨vibes✨), domestic fluff, protective Rhett if you squint, usage of a ribbon for light bondage purposes, cunnilingus, hand jobs, and thigh fucking. Brief Summary: Bob's having a crisis over whether he wants a silver or gold wedding ring. All you and Rhett want to do is set up the new Christmas tree. Shenanigans on the couch involving a ribbon ensue.

There goes that damn snowman again. Moving across the screen in all of its vintage, stop-motion glory, strumming his banjo, singing that infuriating song about silver and gold. Like it's so simple. Like you just get to up and have both. All willy-nilly, fully embracing the concept of childish indecision, ignoring the constraints of society, and normalization of picking only one.

...or maybe Bobby has simply fallen into the curse of overthinking.

It shouldn't be that hard. Silver or gold? It's simple until he's once again struck with the fact that he will wear this ring for the rest of his life. He had such an easy time picking metals for you and Rhett; he knew your favorites inside and out.

So why can't he make a decision for himself, the person he should arguably know the best?

"You're lookin' at that phone awful hard," Rhett grumbles from his left. Snug against the naked mattress, jeans clinging to his hips, tattered cowboy hat resting atop his belly. An offhandedly placed thing that both adds to his rugged, cowboy glory and conceals the softness he's acquired, hard muscle a little squishier now. Thicker.

Healthier.

"Like you haven't had your nose in that notebook all month," there's a pop in Bob's neck as he tilts his head, muscle, and bone protesting movement after being still for so long. "What are you working on, anyhow?"

Rhett's mouth closes, teeth audibly clattering together. Soft blue eyes darting up to the ceiling, "It's nothin'."

Those furrowed eyebrows suggest otherwise, but in the back of his mind, Bobby supposes he'll leave it there. Rhett'll talk about it when he's ready. It doesn't alleviate the genuine curiosity that has been brewing ever since that notebook appeared last month, but alas.

Door hinges squeal. Bare feet padding across the floor, a bundle of sheets concealing the face of the third person in the room. But he recognizes those arms as well as he does the ring on that dainty little finger—perfection, in your favorite metal and all.

"I thought one of you was gonna fix the door?" You chirp, dropping the sheets onto the bed in an unceremonious heap. Pillow cases and a stowaway face cloth spilling out, still warm from the dryer.

Rhett's eyes dart to meet with Bob's. Who's plan was that, anyway?

"I'll take a look at it in a minute," Bob's thumb blindly feels its way to the power button of his phone. Turning the screen off before he can be caught staring at rings for the umpteenth time this week.

But even though he's no longer staring mindlessly at his phone, those little rings sit in the forefront of his mind. Burned into his eyes, as he helps pull the sheets onto the bed. Silver and gold, and a make-believe third option, rose gold. All of them menacing with their ridiculously high numbers; within a reasonable price range, but still strange to think about. That much money for a uniquely shaped hunk of metal.

"Bobby."

Whatever happened to simpler traditions? A fancy rock would do him much nicer. Free of their metal confines and special in their own natural way, unhindered by the standards of man and artificially constructed value. Blue lace agate would quite suit him, or a nice geode, picked out with the vague guide of what felt right, then split into three.

"Bob?"

What ever happened to simplicity? Marriage sounded awfully simple as a child. Why couldn't it have stayed that way? Who can even settle on just one flavor for cake, and who the hell decided that more than two flavors were too many? Why can't there be multiple small cakes that each suit them, rather than fighting to even out clashing styles? Why must there only be one big cake?

"Robert Benjamin Floyd!"

"What?" Lifting his head, not quite expecting to find you and Rhett staring back at him. Rhett's hand is still outstretched, offering up a corner of the comforter. "Oh."

"Thought we'd really lost ya this time," Rhett's chuckling, a softened tease that he's uttered three times today. A newly formed habit, triggered every time Bob's mind slips down the slippery slope of what-ifs.

Your eyes narrow a little suspiciously; always have been the one to catch on to his internal stresses before Rhett does, or anyone else, really. The voice in the back of his head openly wonders what triggers the alarm bells, if it's the spacing out in thought or some minute shift in his expression.

For a couple of hours, he's able to forget about the concept of wedding rings entirely. Preoccupied with tackling the task of fixing the squeaky doors that were supposed to have been repaired before the house was sold to the three of you. Jumping from that and straight to dinner, bustling about the kitchen, gingerly guiding Rhett's wary hands in a feeble attempt to teach him how to knead dough.

Then there are the dishes to be cleaned, flour that needs to be ruffled out of a cowboy's hair, and the movie you three agreed to watch under the assumption that someone else had one picked out. As it panned out, nobody had a single title lined up, and it fell back on Rhett's number one Christmas default.

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

In fact, Bobby doesn't catch himself thinking about the rings for the entire night. Until two tiny rings clank against the bedside table as you and Rhett remove them for the night.

Will his ring sit on that table, too?

"You're thinking again," he doesn't remember when you got into bed, but you're right here next to him. Pawing at your nose with the side of your hand after an itch that seems to have been bugging you all afternoon.

The pains of getting dusty Christmas decor out.

"I'm always thinking," he murmurs, blindly reaching out to curl a hand around your cheek. A daunting task without his glasses. Can see just enough of your face to know where all of your important features lie, but the finer details have gone blurry. Left with no choice but to move based on the terrain of your body, roaming up the soft skin of your cheekbone and up the hill of your nose.

There's movement from behind his back. The weight of a cowboy settling down, throwing a heavy arm around Bobby's waist, as he squirms closer. "Ain't we s'posed to be always thinkin'?"

Your eyes roll so hard that Bob worries they'll get stuck in the back of your head. "Something like that."

Rhett hums, the soft whiskers of unshaven scruff tickling Bob's shoulder, his head perfectly snug in the cap between shoulder and neck. In the very place he will stay for the rest of the night until Bob inevitably pries himself free come morning.

For now, though, he's not going anywhere. Making it so, so easy for you to snuggle in, your legs tangling with his and Rhett's, just close enough to steal some of their body heat but not enough to melt. A comfort that has taken you months to perfect and only works when Bob's body is there to block Rhett's burning velcro hands.

But you do take the liberty of blindly stroking your cowboy's arm beneath the covers, soft ups and downs that trace an exposed vein until you're certain he's smiling.

Sleep comes early, but then again, it always does when all three of you are here. Free of life responsibilities and the incessant call of the Navy, determined to take your favorite backseater away. Dreams burn a little sweeter when the three of you are crammed up against each other, even with all the space granted by this oversized Alaskan king mattress.

You're caught between the edges of sleep when you feel Bobby's hand against your cheek. Gingerly stroking something free of your skin, an eyelash, you suppose. A movement that sealed with a soft kiss, like it'll keep anything else from disturbing you.

Rhett whines. Bob shifts. Audibly giving him a kiss, too. Always keeping things equal.

It feels like your eyes are only closed for a couple of seconds. One moment, Bob is sliding his arm over your waist, and the next, you're snug as a bug in his arms, squinting against a bright beam of light. Aren't quite sure what woke you, but you're more than content to sleep a little bit longer. Squirming closer, readjusting your head against the pillow.

Thump thump thump.

One eye opens.

Thump thump thump.

Is someone at the door?

You don't have a clue who it could be. Nobody mentioned coming over for a visit, and you're more than certain nobody would invite themselves over without asking first. Not after you've made it clear that this weekend is reserved for setting up the—

shit.

The Christmas tree is here.

Your feet hit the ground before you can even comprehend what you're doing. Stepping into the pajama shorts you left on the floor as you scurry out of the bedroom. A slow-motion race that you're hardly awake for, darting down the stairs, through the living room, and past the kitchen.

The front door opens so quickly that the delivery driver jumps. Caught halfway off of your porch, ready to head back to his truck and mark it to redeliver another day.

You can feel his eyes raking across your body as you sign the little box on his tablet, but you're quite frankly not awake enough to find the words to do something about it. Sleepily resting against the door frame as he begins to head back to his truck, chirping that he'll even carry the box into the house for you.

His smile drops before he's finished turning around.

Rhett.

Forearms crossed over his chest, a protective, looming shadow that settles up behind you. His palm bracing against the frame next to your head, scruff tickling as he leans in to press his lips to your cheek.

"I'm glad you heard 'em," he grumbles, voice still at that deliciously low tone, rough with sleep and unspoken perfection, "'cause I sure didn't."

"That's because you could sleep through the rapture," you're speaking through a yawn, halfway into leaning against him when the driver comes back around the corner, oversized tree box in tow.

He leaves it right on the doorstep.

Evidently, carrying boxes into the house is a courtesy reserved for the single-folk. Yet, you can't complain too much because now you get to watch Rhett's biceps bulge as he lifts the box. A sight that could damn near make you drool this early in the morning. It's almost unfortunate that he doesn't have to carry it further. Is it too late to request to move the tree upstairs?

The box hits the ground gently, right by Rhett's feet; you wonder if he's realized that he only has one sock on.

Based on how he's hardly got his eyes open, you're beginning to wonder if he's even awake. His jaw pops as he opens his mouth, "'Y reckon we should wake up Robby?"

"He'll wake up soon enough," though you're the only one speaking, you're fairly certain that both of you are sharing the same thought.

Bob's always been quiet, keeping to himself on most occasions, but the silence that's overtaken him as of late isn't the kind you've come to know and love. His eyes going unfocused when he thinks you're not paying attention, wandering off into his own sort of world. There are no rules defining when it may happen: in the grocery store, in the middle of a movie, hell, he's done it in the middle of a conversation.

Just like he did it last night, with making the bed.

Surely, it can't be second thoughts about this whole wedding thing. No, that wouldn't make sense; he's the one who proposed.

You'll have to worry about it some other time; him, his thoughts, and Rhett's curious notebook be damned, there's a Christmas tree that needs to be set up, fluffed, and decorated.

A very big tree. Ten feet sounds a lot smaller on the screen.

"We either get one too big," Rhett's eyes flick over to the tiny tree sitting on your left. Scrawny, hardly two and a half feet tall, and happens to be last year's lesson about reading the dimensions, "or too small."

Your head tilts up. Straining to get a look at the top, still crooked from its time spent crammed in the box. "Do we still have them ornaments in the garage?"

Rhett's sigh echoes. "We're 'bout to find out."

Locating the ornaments is the easiest part; they're still sitting in a neat stack on a shelf, stacks, and stacks of unopened bulbs and a box of garland—silver, gold, fake popcorn,, all tangled with the neverending red ribbon and faux pine that decorated the banister last year. It's a lot, but it felt like so much more when it was just a memory.

"Where did the silver come from?" You don't remember those making their way onto the list of ornament colors, but unless your eyes are playing tricks on you, those on the bottom right are certainly silver.

In an instant, Rhett's face drops. "Was I not s'posed to buy silver?"

"We were only doing red, pink and gold, remember?" The color list Bobby wrote out last year is still taped to the box of ornaments you're holding. A long ranking of colors, all crossed out until it left you with three. Silver never even made it onto the list.

Rhett's eyes dart away, suddenly too embarrassed to look down at the offending color of bulbs he's collected in his arms. "Oh."

"Did you..." you're still connecting the dots as you speak, eyes flickering between Rhett's fading smile and the plastic decorations, "want silver?"

Wordless, he nods.

Okay. Silver it is. But as you go to put your armload of gold decor back, his frown only deepens, like that's not what he was expecting in the slightest.

"Why can't we do both?" He asks, brows furrowing.

You don't get what he's on about. "Silver and gold?"

His head tilts to the side, and you can almost see the puppy ears flopping with the movement. All big blue eyes and pure confusion. "Ain't they s'posed to go together?"

"What makes you think that?" Maybe it's the sleep still clouding your mind that's making it so difficult to understand what he's on about.

"They got that song," he's nodding in the direction of the living room, like that'll help him explain, "in that Rudolph movie."

So it's a Burl Ives song that gets a fourth color added to the tree—red, pink, silver, and gold.

Two dozen bulbs were perfect for the strangled excuse of a Christmas tree that you had last year. But with every bulb that you take from Rhett's hands, curling its brand-new hook into an artificial branch, you begin to wonder if there are even enough. The boxes of red disappear quicker than planned. Then come the pink, and now you're grabbing for the silver and soon the gold.

And it's still not enough. This tree is so large that it swallows up every ornament you hang from its branches. The massive gaps between bulbs are impossible to ignore, even from across the room.

"Y' think puttin' the garlands on will make it a little less...?" Rhett doesn't need to finish his sentence. You already get the picture.

"It can't hurt?" What's the worst that can happen, you make the tree look a little less baren?

Though it's easier said than done.

The bottom half of the tree is relatively simple: passing the garland back and forth, trying your best to keep previously placed bulbs from dropping to the floor. They fall regardless. One after the other, clanking across the floor and rolling every which way.

Then comes the middle portion, and suddenly, you're standing on the tips of your toes. Have long since given up on caring about what being knocked off, the muscles in the back of your neck straining to keep looking at what you're doing. Then comes the top of the tree, and neither of you can be bugged to even begin to try that without a second ladder. Instead reaching for the silver garland, beginning to wrap it in the opposite direction of the gold.

"Getting festive without me, huh?"

That isn't Rhett's voice.

And it certainly wasn't yours.

"G' mornin'," Rhett's smiling at the half-awake figure standing in the threshold.

Bobby's eyes aren't even halfway open, leaning his weight up against the wall. His sleepy grin doing nothing to distract from the short hair sticking in every direction, cheek still imprinted from a fold in the sheets.

He's heard Rhett. You know he has because his eyes dart right to him. But he doesn't react. Staring aimlessly at the shimmering tinsel in Rhett's hands, eyes seeming to conceal every thought in the world and nothing at all.

Right as you're about to call his name, his mouth opens.

"What if we got rings in both metals?"

Your hands freeze. "I'm sorry?"

"I mean—" His eyelashes are fluttering, pale pink tongue darting out to lick his chapped lips. "Rings in silver and gold."

"You fixin' to put another ring on us, Robby?" Rhett's quicker to catch on than you are, thin lips twisted into a wild grin. Slowly spreading across his cheeks until his eyes curl with it.

Your attention darts back to the tinsel in your hands, silver overlapping gold, then to the thin golden band clinging to Rhett's ring finger. Your own is still bare, the ring sitting safely in its dish on the bedside table. Forgotten again.

Nobody ever talks about how hard it is to work up the habit of keeping a piece of jewelry on.

Bob doesn't realize it, but his thumb is idly stroking his empty ring finger. Not yet brandished with jewelry like you and Rhett because he hasn't even answered your question about what metal he prefers for his ring—

"Is that what you've been thinking all this time?" You blurt, hardly able to fight the urge to spring to your feet.

He doesn't need to even open his mouth. You know you've gotten your answer the moment his face turns a brilliant shade of ruby. Socked foot kicking at the floor, suddenly unable to look at you or Rhett any longer.

"I didn't..." his face only seeming to grow redder by the second, as he shakes his head back and forth, "you..."

You're so fortunate that this isn't your first speechless rodeo with Bobby. Have seen him fight to translate thoughts into words so many times that you have already put together what he's trying to say.

And you've only got a half second to realize that Rhett is bolting across the room before your ears are being met with an earth-shattering thunk. The house rattles as Rhett all but tackles Bobby to the floor, with no regard for the fragile decor sprinkled about around them.

Bob's feet are scrambling for purchase on the hardwood, socks giving him nothing but a smooth glide as he squirms beneath Rhett, squealing something you can't interpret. His big hands clutching Rhett's biceps, knuckles whitening as he tries to shove him off. But Rhett's got the upper hand, downright smothering with his weight.

"That's what you've been on about?" Rhett's shout is broken apart by his own giggles, knees thumping against the floor as he tries to straddle the wriggling hips below him. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Bobby's still kicking up a fight, hips bucking up hard enough to lift Rhett with it, if only for a second. "Like you ain't been secretive with that notebook, Abbott."

"It ain't secretive. It's a surprise!" Rhett's arms cross in front of his chest, frowning.

Did you miss the memo that you were supposed to have a secret project to be working on, too?

"Baby," Bobby begs, reaching aimlessly in your direction as if he has any hope of reaching you from a few feet away. "Help me."

But you're not entirely sure if you can do that. As you scoot closer, Rhett's attention darts to you, excited eyes daring you to try him. He's figured out how to win recently, and it's only a matter of time before he has you pinned on the floor, too.

You can't be bugged to even try fighting him for Bob's honor. Not only because you would lose horribly but because you're already preoccupied with leaning down and pressing your lips to the side of his cheek. Feeling the warmth of his flushed skin, the way his face wrinkles with that content smile.

"'s this what we're doing?" Rhett's asking as if he's not already leaning in, too. Audibly pressing kisses to the soft underside of Bob's jaw, where he's garnered the slightest bit of stubble overnight. "Kisses?"

And this room is far too quiet for Bobby's soft inhale to go unnoticed, his uneasy hand gliding up your arm. Always has to be holding on to something. In the corner of your eye, you can already see his other hand making a grab for Rhett's bicep, greedily squishing the thick muscle between his fingers.

Rhett's blindly reaching off to the side, mouth only briefly leaving Bob's flushed skin as he produces a thick, red ribbon. The silky soft one that had been hiding in the box of garland.

"Huh?" Bob's nose wrinkles, unable to do anything but watch as Rhett collects his wrists together, wrapping them in that smooth material. Only begins to squirm when it's too late. Rhett's already cinching the knot closed, forcing those pale arms back together as he finishes it off with an obnoxiously fancy bow. Perfectly pinned over his head.

"There we go," Rhett's grinning, leaning back in to nip at Bob's jaw, "first present of the year."

Bobby's eyes roll so hard that you briefly lose sight of those pale blue irises. Arms flexing as he tests the strength of Rhett's handiwork, frowning when he finds no give at all.

Not a word spoken, you flip to the same page that Rhett is on. Resuming your peppering kisses, tongue poking out to lick down Bob's pretty neck, working your way down to his collar. Nibbling where he's most sensitive, relishing in that surprised grunt. There's hardly any room for Rhett to fit, but he's squeezing in any way. Shoulder bumping into yours as he torments the opposite side, peering at you through the corner of his eye.

"In the middle of the floor?" There's no way Bob could have seen that look, but he's already understood what you two are up to. Wasting no time, with the way your unruly hands dip beneath his shirt, roaming over the soft expanse of his belly. Not quite as defined as Rhett, but equally loveable and squishy.

Rhett's beating you to it, shoving Bob's shirt up without a single shred of grace. "Y' got a problem with that, flyboy?" Thin lips wrapping around a soft pink nipple, yanking a gasp out of him.

"My back does," Bob's words are more of a mumble than anything else. An uneasy confession of the one thing he's guaranteed to suffer with in his career.

There are a number of solutions to this. Migrating upstairs to the comfort of the bed, grabbing a couple of the many decorative pillows off the couch and propping them beneath Bob's back, or even standing up and backing him up against the wall, perfectly cornered while you and Rhett have your way with him.

That list of solutions did not involve you sitting on the edge of the couch, with Bobby kneeling between your legs and Rhett sidling up behind him like the minx that he is. Wasting no time with peeling that thin t-shirt from Bob's pale body, exposing miles upon miles of lightly freckled shoulders and pale skin. And all Bob can seem to think about is getting his mouth on your inner thighs, daring to start right where the fabric of your shorts ends.

"'s this better?" Rhett downright purrs with those half-lidded eyes.

He doesn't get much of an answer. Just a weak 'uhuh' that's muffled by your inner thigh.

Idle, your hand combs through Bob's short hair. Has had enough time to grow past the rigid constraints of Navy regulations, the perfect length to curl around your fingers, tugging gently. Drawing his eager mouth closer, hot tongue trailing along your skin. Sending superheated bolts of lightning rippling up your nerves. Familiar warmth blooming between your legs, head beginning to spin the slightest bit.

That soft mouth of his is the definition of heaven. Sucking gently, adding his handiwork over top of Rhett's extensive assault from a few days ago, so dark that they've hardly faded at all. A mottling of patches that only worsen the further he works, all too eager to mark you up.

But it's a far cry from Rhett's vigor, working away at the crevice of Bob's neck. Loud. Reckless as he sucks a darkened mark into the thin skin stretched over his collarbone. Crafting a sinful trail leading down his back, a soft mark over every little knob in his spine.

Fingers curl into your waistband. Wordlessly urging you to lift your hips to let them slide past the soft curve of your ass, yanking the fabric down your legs and tossing them off to the side, underwear and all.

But Rhett's hands are on Bobby's hips, and they're certainly not yours. Which can only mean...

You're cut off before you can even begin to speak. Bob's flat tongue stroking between your folds, peering up at you from beneath his lashes. Dark, hardened gaze daring you to call him out on his antics.

He's slow. His hands dropping onto his lap, quietly concealing his newly found freedom, working with his mouth alone. Leaning in until his glasses fog with his own breath, lazily lapping at your sex, roaming feather-light over your clit, a ghost of what he could be giving you.

"Bobby," you gasp, and though your thighs are squishing his cheeks, it's impossible to miss the way his lip upturns into a grin.

Rhett bumps into him from behind, and that's all it takes to have the tip of his tongue pressing directly into that rapidly swelling button. A sudden pressure that damn near makes you squeal, yanking a hand out of his hair to muzzle yourself with. That darkened gaze hardens into a glare. Craves the sound of you whimpering his name, but there's not a damn thing he can do about it. Not if he doesn't want Rhett to see his untied hands.

He's pushing harder now. Aggressive strokes, swiping invisible x-shapes with this audibly wet noise that threatens to make your head float right off your shoulders. Fuck, fuck, fuck, that's a lot all at once.

Rhett's hand bumps into yours as he tangles his fingers in Bob's hair. Gently yanking him back with this absurdly loud pop, chin already glistening as he's hauled back to lean against Rhett's chest.

But it's not to torment Bobby or for Rhett to steal his fair share of attention. No, he's shoving Bob's pajama pants down his hips. Half-hard cock bouncing the moment it's free of its confines, a sight so distracting that you can't bring yourself to look away.

Until you realize that Rhett has long since lost his pants, that is. Your thighs squeezing together from the sight of them alone.

Rhett's brows knit together, suddenly perplexed with a realization you've already made. "When did y' get your hands—"

The end of that sentence never comes. Cut short by Bob's sudden burst of energy, blindly reaching behind himself to grab a handful of Rhett's dark hair. And it's like the fight immediately dissolves from Rhett's bones. Face softening as he's held in place until Bob can get behind him. Nothing but an unruly puppy that got put back in his place.

"Thought you knew better than to tie a sailor with a basic knot," Bob's chuckling into the shell of Rhett's ear, reaching forward to wrap Rhett's pliant arms in the ribbon. Not as decorative as before, opting for an intricacy that has you tilting your head, unable to keep up with what his nimble hands are doing.

You should have seen it coming. But quite frankly, you can only think about one thing right now, and it's certainly not the intricacies involved with tying a ribbon. Speechless as Rhett's pretty head is pushed between your legs. The scruff of his jaw scraping your mottled inner thigh, peppering it with a kiss.

"Sweetheart, can you look under that pillow for me?" Bob's pointing toward the decorative throw in question, the small square one that used to sit in his apartment, "Think we left the lube under there last time."

Blindly, your hand reaches behind it, patting against fabric and cushion until your fingers graze the cool plastic of the bottle.

But then Rhett's tongue darts to lap at your clit, suddenly too hungry to wait anymore, and you're fumbling with it. Nearly dropping it onto his back before Bob can even reach out to take it from you.

"Jesus, Rhett," you breathe, falling back to rest against the couch cushion, gazing down at the new, messy sight you've gained. The too-eager cowboy who doesn't have the strength to string you out like Bob does, so content that his eyes seem to smile as he gently sucks on your clit.

"'m sorry," he grumbles directly into your pussy, unable to draw himself away for even a second, "couldn't help it."

He's everywhere. Laving your clit with all the attention he can give and then dipping down to nudge his tongue against your neglected entrance. Shallowly working his tongue in and out, downright drooling into you, short little jabs that make you flutter around him. Only for him to break away the moment he's found a rhythm. Licking his way back up and over your clit once more. Collecting every bit of you, and yet he's still not satisfied.

Your hand settles against the back of his head, tangling your fingers in those long locks, pulling until you can guide him right where you want him, holding him in place. "Right there," you murmur with a shiver, "right there."

Though your grip is strong, it's not enough to stop him from jumping at the sudden appearance of Bob's lube-slicked hand dipping between his thighs. Carefully spreading the cool substance against the thin skin there, working his way up to his balls and the underside of his cock.

"What..." the rumbling of Rhett's voice sends sparks racing up your spine. Sends you involuntarily jolting up into his mouth, "are y' doin'?"

Your eyes are just open enough to catch the way Bob grins. "You'll see," is all he provides. Kneeling down to place his hands on the sides of Rhett's thighs, pushing them together so quickly that Rhett squeaks.

The first pass of Bob's cock between Rhett's thighs is a thing that surprises all of you. Rhett at the sudden appearance, you with the obscene sight, and Bob's muttering something about those pretty thighs being so fucking soft. His dick just long enough to brush against Rhett's heavy balls, gives him the slightest amount of attention.

And oh, does it have him whimpering into you. "Keep doin' that," he stutters, pushing impossibly closer into your cunt. Working you in earnest now, swirling his tongue around that swollen bud, punctuated with a soft suction that has your heart jumping in your chest. His body rocking with Bob's deep thrusts, bound arms helplessly pinned against the couch.

It's so much. Oh, it's so much. Your hips are beginning to squirm, legs clamping down around his shoulders, squeezing impossibly tight. Yanking on his hair, pulling him closer, only to try dragging him away. Don't know if you want more or less or exactly what he's doing right now, or, or—

"Untie me," Rhett's babbling all of a sudden. Sounds as far gone as you feel. "Please. Want, want...wanna hold..."

His biceps flex, straining against the thin ribbon with everything he can muster, the threads of the fabric audibly ripping as it's stretched beyond its limit. And it's all Bob can do to lean down and yank on the knot. Undoing it before it can be torn in two; technique doesn't always outweigh pure strength.

Rhett's arms are around your hips in an instant. Hugging you close like a man starved, and it's all you can do not to fall apart right here and now. Frantically pawing at his biceps, pushing at his head, unable to stop his hungry mewl from vibrating up your core. Impossible to avoid the pleased smile that plasters across his face, lightly sucking on your clit like it's his favorite candy.

"Rhett," you're whining, squirming helplessly as he downright eats you alive, tongue so sloppy that it's loud, has a sickly wet noise ringing in your ears,"Rhett I...I'm—"

"Cum on my face," pleading in that hopelessly deep voice of his, "Please, please, please."

You hardly feel it hit you. All you know is that your head is falling back against the couch cushion, and you're cumming on his burning tongue with a strangled whimper. Legs damn near locking around his scruffy face as your back arches up, fingers pulling so hard on his hair that it has to hurt. And yet he licks you through every jolted spasm, hot breath fanning out against you, humming in tune with your noises.

Bobby's pulling him away right as you grow oversensitive, pulling on those soft brown locks of hair, but you hardly expect him to haul Rhett up onto his feet. Blindly pushing him forward onto the empty space next to you, his back flat against the cushion, head falling haphazardly into your lap. Unshaven jaw glistening with you as he pries his eyes open, gazing up at you with that far-gone emptiness you've seen so many times.

Doesn't react as Bob squeezes into the little bit of space available, pushing Rhett's thighs up and together, guiding his cock through the small gap in them. Pretty pink cock head bumping right where Rhett's weeping length begins.

And Rhett's whimper sounds like your name. Big hand pawing around until he can get ahold of yours, squeezing it gently.

"Ain't you two a sight," Bob's grunting. Has only just begun to find his pace, but he's already begun to shake. Too close. Too fast.

It's enough to get Rhett's eyes fluttering, hips jolting upward, "Y' like my thighs too much." And he's going to be so sensitive once Bobby's done with him, thighs red and tender from the abuse, but fuck is all of that worth this. The sight of his trembling legs being held together, flushed cock leaking against his belly as his thighs are fucked for all he's worth.

On its own, your free hand lifts, traveling down to wrap around his neglected length. Letting the weight of Bob's thrusts push him in and out of your grasp. A shallow, lazy motion that makes his mouth fall open.

"You like that, cowboy?" You're teasing, voice a touch hoarse. Thumb finding its way beneath his plush head, swiping back and forth at the precum-covered underside.

"T-tighter," his hand squeezing yours a little harder as if to demonstrate what he's craving. And as soon as you follow his instruction, his back is arching off the couch. "jus' like that, jus' like—fuck."

But that's not enough. No, no, he's opening his mouth again. "Harder," he begs, pale feet defiantly kicking where Bob's got them held in the air, "Robby, fuck me harder."

"You're purty demandin' for a pillow princess," you don't know what's made Bob's accent slip out so suddenly, but it damn near makes your head spin. And though he's complaining, he wastes no time hardening his pace. Balls smacking against Rhett's flushed skin as his thrusts become heavier. Rough, just how Rhett likes it.

Knocks the rest of Rhett's words right out of his mouth, silences him right and proper. Dissolving into nothing but pitchy whimpers and hitched breaths. Noises growing higher and higher, until he's beginning to twitch in your grasp, your only sign that he's close.

"Cum for us," Bob's egging him on, pulling those shivering legs up to his chest, drawing him back into every thrust, "c'mon, be a good boy 'n cum."

Rhett's head lolls backward, eyes rolling, gazing up at you and nowhere at all. Eyelashes beginning to flutter and fall closed, cumming with a feather-light gasp that ought to knock you off your feet. Ropes of white paint his spasming belly and your hand, coating his spasming length.

And Bob's still fucking him, rhythmic pace dissolving into something sporadic, rubbing right against Rhett's oversensitive balls with every push and pull. Rhett's whines rising into hopeless cries, squirming, fighting to escape the way Bob's still railing into him.

Only takes a few shaky jerks of his hips for him to stall, too, staining Rhett's thighs and cock with rope after rope of cum. Glasses obscuring the way his eyes roll, head tilting back to show the new mottling of marks on his collar.

Everything is still. Quiet, except for two labored breaths, intertwining like the tinsel on the tree. Bob's shaky hand dips down, collecting some of the mess he's made of Rhett's thighs, lifting his cum-covered fingers to Rhett's swollen, parted lips. And all your cowboy can do is open his mouth and lick it off, too far gone to fuss.

Two pairs of exhausted eyes peer up at you as if to check that you're on the same page as them.

"What 'bout Floytt?" Rhett's blurting, all of a sudden, evidently unable to keep the silence for too long.

Bobby's eyebrows furrow, tilting his head down. "Pardon?"

For a moment, Rhett flounders. Mouth opening and closing. Seems to have completely forgotten how to conjure up the words he needs to speak. "Remember, the uh..." he tries, "las' name thing?"

You can't help but giggle. "You two are horrible at bringing up your ideas." Because what are the chances that you'd wind up with not one but two fiances who can't seem to give context to save their lives. Wildly blurting what's on their minds, under the assumption that you'll know what they're talking about.

"I take it that's what the notebook was for?" Bob's question is more of an observation than anything. To which he receives a nod and a faint 'uhuh' from Rhett. Can't be brought to provide a proper 'yes.'

It's not the solution you'd expected when it came to this last-name debacle. Debating on whose last name to take, the three of you are too passive to insist that your name be taken out of fear of hurting feelings. But the concept of picking an entirely new one didn't feel so personal. There's no special weight to the names you've found online.

"Floytt." It feels strange in your mouth and yet oddly familiar, as if it's been present from the moment you all met. Lifts your tongue like it does for the beginning of Floyd, still carries the short and sweet ring of the Abbott family name.

"Floytt." Bob's parroting you, pausing if only for a moment to think, and then opens his mouth once more, "I like it."

For a three-month-old debate, it sure did end abruptly. You can see it now: a pretty new name engraved on a plaque hanging below the mailbox. An obnoxious, cursive sign in the kitchen, as if you and your families can possibly forget something like a last name. Bills and new dog tags with the name stamped in pretty letters.

"Now we just have to plan the actual wedding," your smile wavers; you've got a little over seven months to figure out a theme, outfits, finalize who is being invited, and, worse of all, figure out the cake situation.

How is anyone supposed to layer Bob's beloved lemon on top of Rhett's affectionately chosen bananas foster? And then still have space for yours as well? Who gets to be the biggest layer? Who draws the unlucky straw to have the smallest? And how do you even begin narrowing down three icings to one? And themes. How the hell do you get a cowboy and a pilot theme to look good together on the same damn canvas?

You wonder if they'll object to three separate cakes.

"And finish the tree." Bob's nodding his head toward the half-finished decor; you've got to make another ornament run if you want to get anywhere close to having it done.

Rhett's resounding "ugh" resonates to your core. "C'n we take a nap first?" He grumbles, punctuated with a big, whining yawn. Batting those long lashes of his up at the two of you like it'll earn him some favors.

It does.

You're snuggled up with him in an instant. Squeezing in on one side while Bob takes the other, barely fitting onto these wide couch cushions. Your arm splayed out across the soft fat of Rhett's belly, squishy until he intentionally flexes the thick muscle there. Has rounded out in all the right places, in the chest, cheeks, ass, and cum-covered thighs.

A clean-up should have come before the nap, but you can't be bugged to get back up. And by the looks of it, neither can Bob.

"You're really gettin' us more rings?" Rhett's asking, half-lidded eyes flicking between the two of you as if he can possibly garner an answer from your expressions.

Bob's shoulders rise and fall with a shrug. "Why not?"

And it's only now that you tune into the soulless drone of the television. A familiar, festive song chiming to life as a stop-motion snowman twists across the screen, mindlessly strumming his banjo, singing about silver and gold.

Quietly, Bob begins to hum along to it. A soft rumbling that draws a heaviness into your eyelids until you can no longer lift them. Drifting off to the tune of an old song and the deep rumblings of a Navy pilot who reaches over to stroke an eyelash from your cheek. Your wonderful little unconventional trio, with your extra partner, two colors of rings, and three separate wedding cakes.

Something pops. Hitting the ground with a shrill clatter; ornaments bouncing across the floor, twinkling lights flicking off within an instant.

One eye opens, peeking at your newly fallen Christmas tree.

It closes.

Rhett's elbow finds its way to nudge Bob's chest, "you're settin' it up this time."

"I wouldn't have to if you two woulda woke me up," you knew Bob would hit you two with that eventually. Always does, at some point.

"We were tryin' to let you have yer beauty sleep, flyboy," Rhett's chirping, in that taunting sort of fashion that can only mean one thing. You don't need to open your eyes to feel the playful glares being fired back at one another.

And then comes Bob's too-calm warning. "Don't start that."

"Well, I'm startin'!" And there they go, tumbling off the couch in an instant. Ornaments knocking around as they tussle about on the living room floor. Fighting to see who's stronger, as if this outcome will be any different, swearing between giggles as they twist and turn.

You don't get to take that nap.

#bob floyd #rhett abbott #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader x rhett abbott #oneshot #x reader #afab reader #hawthorn au

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artfullheart · 20 days

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Laundry Tips

I've been meaning to make an extensive list of tips as someone who worked in a laundromat. Some basics and a few things I noticed not many people know. This is also coming from someone who learned to take care of my clothes early on to save money cause we're all broke here, so these tips also save you money:

•If you're not sure how to separate colors, have 2 piles, lights and darks/brights. Obviously black clothes and bright colors like red or yellow should be separate from whites. But when you get any color clothing that's not a light color, or if you're not sure if it counts as "light", take a corner of the item and run it under warm water, then squeeze the water out and check if the water comes out with dye. If it does there's a high chance it will bleed dye on your clothes, so wash it with the darks.

•You do not need brand laundry detergent. Any laundry detergent will do. I experimented with a few brands and all brands cleaned just fine. Just know, if you use powder detergent, check the instructions because most have to be used with warm or hot water.

•Don't use that much soap. You're using too much. More soap doesn't mean more clean, the measurements on the container are made to be the exact amount you need. More soap means the machine has to work harder to rinse it out and you get soap residue more than likely, which can make you itchy or make allergies worse.

•You don't really need to wash anything in hot water regularly. Cold water is fine for most things, and makes your clothes last longer. You only really need hot water for things you clean less frequently or things that need disinfecting, like pillows, bath rugs, and comforters.

•With things that need disinfecting like bath rugs, pet blankets, reusable period pads/undies, and soiled sheets, use half a cup of hydrogen peroxide in the bleach tray. It's a color safe bleach so you can add it to any color item. For items that stink, like pet items or workout gear, add half a cup of vinegar instead of softener. It works better than the expensive "sport" detergent. Even on urine smells. I got this tip from a nurse that works in a hospice.

•To be honest, softener is unnecessary. You can soften clothes with half a cup of vinegar in the softener tray. You won't smell it once it's washed, in case you're worried about that. Softener is terrible for clothes, it actually ads a coating to fabric so if an item is supposed to pull sweat from your body, like workout gear, towels, or summer clothing, it looses the ability with just a couple washes with softener. And fire resistant clothing like baby clothes will lose the ability if washed with softener.

•If it's the smell you want, I recommend wool dryer balls. They help dry your clothes better anyway. But for scented clothes, add like 5 drops of any essential oil to a couple of them, or dip them in a hydrosol like rose water for a bit and then toss them in the dryer. I've heard people do this with perfume too, but I've never tried it.

•Treating stains is easier if you do it as soon as it happens. Or as soon as you get home. If you can't wash it right away, put a couple drops of laundry soap on the stain and dab it into the stain with a damp cloth, or use a stain spray if you have one. If the stain is cooking oil, hair products, or any type of grease, put a couple drops of Dawn dish soap on it. There's a reason they use it for oil spills. Just don't add any to your washing machine, it can cause the machine to suds up too much and break it. When you wash the item, check if the stain came out. If not, air dry it. Heat sets in stains so drying it in a machine will make the stain impossible to remove.

•If you have the space please air dry your clothes in the sun. Please. It's so good. It makes your clothes smell great, makes them last longer, helps remove stains, and brightens whites like bleach never could. I live in an apartment but I hang clothes next to the window in the spring/summer and its so good.

-Clothing labels lie. Here's a breakdown of what needs special care and what doesn't:

•Wool and silk are cold wash only. Hand wash if you can, but if you must machine wash, use cold ONLY. Use a delicate setting if your washer has one. It should be air dried. Get a drying rack. If you absolutely cannot air dry, dry wool clothing on cold/delicate for 10 minutes at a time until it's barely damp, then leave it open on your bed/couch or over a chair. Do not dry silk. It's expensive, why would you ruin it. Hang it on a hanger and hook it over your door if you have nowhere else to hang it. It dries quickly.

•Cotton can be washed any temp, but everything lasts longer in cold wash. Dry on normal, only dry on high if the item needs disinfecting or if the item is thick, like a pillow, bath rug, or comforter.

•Linen is indestructible. Linen is stonewashed to soften it, which means people put the fabric in large washing machines filled with rocks to beat it so it softens. Wash on high and dry on high to soften it more if the item is stiff, but a cold wash and normal dry is fine otherwise.

•Synthetics like polyester, acrylic, nylon, etc. are best washed cold and dried on normal/warm. More delicate items like thin blouses, stockings, and anything with lace is best air dried, but can be dried on cold/delicate if necessary. Synthetic clothes are more prone to staining so treat stains as soon as they happen.

•SOME dry clean only clothing is fine in the washer, but I'd say dry clean it if you're not sure. If it's an item with no lining it's usually fine, but always air dry these. Dresses, blouses or skirts with stiff linings will lose their shape in the washer. Easiest way to tell, if you turn a dry clean item inside out and there's a white paper like fabric lining certain areas it can't be machine washed. That's a stabilizer/interfacing and it will get ruined. Always dry clean suit jackets, coats, and anything labeled dry clean that's filled with feathers. Some suit pants can be machine washed, but make sure it doesn't have any interfacing. If a dry clean item has lots of colors on it, like a multicolored shirt, or a black dress with a white collar, dry clean it. It will get ruined otherwise.

__________________

I think that's everything, but if anyone has any questions, especially for doing laundry with a disability/low spoons, ask on this post or in the tags. My inbox seems to swallow messages but I'll keep checking this post.

#how to #tips and tricks #laundry #laundry tips #my post #artfullheart

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thefirsthogokage · 9 months

Text

So, the AMPTP basically said that the studios take too much risk to pay people anything for streaming shows. Here's John Rogers and David Slack responding to that.

(link to top of thread)

[Image ID: A tweet thread from John Rogers on July 23rd, 2023 that reads in its entirety:

Last time I had a failure - which was collateral damage in an argument between the studio and the network - I had to personally fire 200 people, they all were off payroll by that afternoon, and I was also out of a job. The executives all continued to get paid. So fuck off.

Actually, that’s not true. The failure after that one happened as collateral damage in one of the mergers, so it had nothing to do with the quality of the show. And I had to wait, forbidden to work, not earning a dime, as they shopped it for six months.

Also several of my writers were cheated of their expected salaries, some losing up to 75%, for reasons too complicated to explain here. Those executives, both studio and streamer, all kept their jobs. So double fuck off.

Actually no, my last failure was a show where after delivery the network made us wait *seven months … for a PASS*. Seven months where I was in first position, and again, was forbidden from working.

Do that was one pilot fee, cut in half with a partner, for a year and a half’s work counting development. Those executives, both studio and network, kept their jobs.

So *triple* fuck off.

Luckily I had my tiny sliver of back end from TRANSFORMERS - no, wait, no, because according to the Hollywood accounting while that movie grossed something like a billion dollars all in, it unfortunately wound up $36 million in the hole.

So QUADRUPLE fuck off.

If you’re dumb enough to take that AMPTP statement at face value, responsible adults should remove all the scissors from your home. You are the reason hair dryers have the “Do not use while sleeping” warning.

/End ID]

I believe that merger one was Leverage or The Librarians. Both were doing REALLY well before they got cancelled due to network shit, I know that much. So the network/studio one could be either of those as well. Probably Leverage?

(Link to top of thread)

[Image ID: A tweet thread from David Slack posted July 21st, 2023 that reads in its entirety:

The studios claim they shouldn’t have to share revenue for the success of the shows we make succeed because they assume all the risk.

Well.

To paraphrase a famous actor: There’s more than one type of risk, motherfucker.

While the studios and their new hedge fund besties may assume some modest financial risk, any losses just go on a balance sheet next to the C-suite’s golden parachutes.

The workers in this industry, on the other hand, risk a hell of a lot more than that.

Most working actors live with the constant uncertainty of never knowing where their next paycheck will come from or how long it will be between jobs. That’s risk.

If they work a second job, they often risk losing it every time they take time off for auditions or jobs.

Actors also generally have little control over the final product, so *every* role is a risk for them. Sure, it could be the hit that changes everything. But it could also be a flop that hurts their career for years. They become “the guy from that thing” and can’t get more work.

Under our old contract, writers put in untold hours of free work developing and rewriting pitches and scripts for features and TV. Much of this work is on spec. That’s a huge risk writers take on — yet the studios are happy to benefit from the upside without taking on any risk.

Writers, actors, crew, and directors also risk our personal relationships, spending long hours at work, frequently across the country or around the world. Our partners soldier on without us. Our kids miss us and we can only hope they’ll understand.

That’s a huge risk.

Stunt performers literally risk their lives for the shows we make. Productions and crews take every possible precaution to ensure their safety, but accidents still can and do happen.

You gonna try and tell us that’s not risk?

All of us risk our health and safety working insane hours to keep up with the schedules our bosses create. When was the last time David Zaslav or Bob Iger worked a Fraturday? Do they even know what one is?

In production, where 14, 15, and 16 hour days are common, people have died from falling asleep at the wheel driving to and from set.

And the studios have the fucking gall to say they’re taking all the risk?

We risk our finances, our families, our friendships, our futures, and sometimes our lives to make a product for you that you have no idea how to make yourselves.

All you risk is money.

And by the fucking way, we *know* you can afford to give us success-based pay — because you’ve been doing it for 83 YEARS.

Remember 1960? When both the WGA and SAG went on strike and won…

residuals for TV?

Residuals for TV *are* success-based pay. Great movies and TV shows re-ran more often, so the people who created and starred in them got more money as a reward for that success. It’s a great system that incentivized workers to bust their asses to make great shows.

And you know what happened to the entertainment industry in the 8 decades studios have been making these success-based payments?

IT THRIVED.

Studios made billions in revenue selling our product all around the world.

But now, the studios say they can’t afford it. They say it’s not “fair” for actors to ask for success-based pay because they don’t take on any risk.

That’s stupid.

It’s offensive.

And it’s a lie.

It’s shameful that the AMPTP and their studio bosses are trying to deny the workers who make their product a bonus for success that is time-tested and has 83 years of precedent.

And that they’re lying about it?

That’s just… uncivilized. #WGAStrong #SAGAFTRAStrong

/End ID]

The absolute fuckery of this statement that came from the AMPTP is that the studios thought this would gain them sympathy. They were wrong. They genuinely thought this was a good statement from them because they DO think they take all the risk because they can't see people who don't have their wealth as real people. They can't.

Wealth is a disease.

No one should make the kind of money these people make. It makes them so out of touch they think of themselves as gods among ants. They step on those ants? They don't notice. They don't care. They just keep moving forward to gain as much money as possible, even though they have no way to spend it.

Fuck the studios, a new system needs to be built around them so that they'll die.

#wga strike #sag aftra strike #wga strong #sag aftra strong #double strike 2023 #solidarity summer #fuck amptp #fuck the studios #john rogers #david slack

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gyeomsweetgyeom · 1 year

Text

[3:43 pm]

(cw: angst)

The last 2 days had been awkward to say the very least. Two days ago you and Jeno had gotten in a big fight that was initially followed by a day of silence. Not so much silent treatment but more so silence so you could both collect your thoughts to hopefully talk them out. However, you were both very passionate and hard headed people, so the conversation had started off as well- a conversation that eventually became an argument. You were both on the brink of yelling at each other moving past trying to express your feelings and just trying to hurt the other, which you were both successful in doing.

It was only a few minutes ago after a morning of avoiding each other with very brief conversations that you and Jeno finally sat and peacefully talked out your feelings. You had gotten to the root of the original issue and promised to communicate the next time a problem came up.

Fights with Jeno were few and far between, but that didn’t mean they never happened. There were more arguments than there were full blown fights, the first fights of your relationship had resulted in at least one of you storming out with complete radio silence for at least three days. As you both matured and grew in your relationship together some things just got easier to deal with, but that didn’t mean there weren’t exceptions. Things like miscommunications and misunderstandings were usually the root of these fights, like this last one. These fights were ugly things where both of you forgot the reason for the beginning of the supposed conversation and just began hurling digs and insults at the other until you ran out of energy or were too hurt to carry on. The usual routine for these fights was well, first the fight, a day later the conversation, and then the awkward day where you tiptoed around each other so as to not trigger the other with any remaining sensitivities after the mess of the fight.

This meant that now it was the awkward period after a fight where you both tried to get back into the habit of happy, loving couple. Even if you both weren’t aware of your awkward actions- they still happened. Did you hug each other? Did you cuddle while watching TV? Did you guys even send each other the stupid videos that made you laugh? You were sitting on one end of the couch while Jeno sat on the opposite end, both of you stiff with your eyes locked on either the TV screen or your phone screen.

You had busied yourself most of the day by doing load after load of laundry to keep yourself distracted with the routine of getting up at least once an hour to start a new load or fold a load. The last thing that had gone in was the sheets of your bed, everything else had been washed, all the dirty clothes, the towels, the throw blanket on the couch, after this there would be nothing left to distract you. Maybe cooking a dinner with a lot of preparation.

You got up for the last load of laundry, taking the sheets from the dryer and back to the bedroom. You began putting the pillow cases on the pillows and laying out the fitted sheet when a hiccup from the doorway stopped you. “Do you hate me that much that you won’t even do the bed with me?”

You turned with wide eyes, catching sight of Jeno with tears brimming his red eyes, “Jeno, I- of course I don’t hate you.”

“We always do the bed together because you get frustrated that the corners come off. We haven’t had our morning coffee together for two days and I know you said you’ve been waking up late, but you lied to me. I sat in the kitchen for 20 minutes alone with two cups of coffee while I heard you move around the room. You didn’t even care that I’ve been playing our show while you’ve been busy all day and you usually make me pause it if you so much as go to the kitchen for a cup of water. You’ve been cuddling a pillow to sleep instead of me which you never have, even in past fights. I don’t want to lose you,” Jeno let out through choked sobs.

You stood frozen, processing everything he had just said. He was right, you had been avoiding him and your usual routine. You stepped forward, bringing Jeno into your embrace which he immediately responded to, hugging you tightly while his tears were soaked up by your t-shirt. “I could never hate you Jeno. I love you with every fiber of my being and I will until the end of time. I love you.”

He let out a relieved breath, still not able to stop his tears of hurt and nerves while he kept you in his tight embrace to ground himself. Eventually the sobs subsided into sniffles, his breathing slowly evened out, he had calmed down enough to sit and talk about the feelings that you had both assumed to be resolved.

You wiped the remaining wetness from under his eyes with one hand while the other rubbed circles on the back of his hand. “I thought we had already fixed everything, but all day today its been me alone. I hate being in our home together but feeling alone,” Jeno told you.

“I’m sorry I hurt you, it wasn’t my intention. I just didn’t want to go back to how we usually are in case I accidentally did or said something to reignite the argument.”

“I don’t want you to be scared to talk to me after an argument, I’m sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me,” Jeno replied sincerely.

“We both said some really mean things to each other, maybe I kept my distance because I’m still a bit hurt. I know we were both angry and in the heat of the moment, but what you say matters to me. You’re one of the most important people in my life and hearing you say some of those things isn’t something I can get over in a day. I wouldn’t expect you to do the same, I know I said really nasty things to you too.”

“I’m sorry, I’m going to do my best to show you how much you matter to me. I never ever want to lose you,” his forehead was now pressed against your own.

You let out a watery laugh, wiping away a tear that managed to escape, “Can we stop apologizing now? I just want to do the bed with you.”

Jeno laughed at that, “You usually hate doing the bed.”

You shrugged back, tugging on one corner of the fitted sheet, “Yeah, but I love spending time with you.”

#kpop imagines #kpop au #kpop scenarios #kpop reactions #nct #nct imagines #nct fluff #nct timestamps #nct x reader #nct dream #nct dream imagines #nct dream fluff #jeno x reader #jeno imagines #jeno blurb #jeno scenarios #jeno angst #jeno drabbles #jeno timestamps

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tcwmatchmakingau · 9 months

Text

The Sixth Language (Epilogue)

Pairing: Waxer x Fem!Reader (no-longer-single parent)

Rating: T

Wordcount: 1.3k

Warnings and tags: tooth-rotting, cavity-inducing fluff

Catch up here: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Many, many Bendudays later…

The sun has not yet risen when Waxer wakes up. He lies quietly in bed for a moment, watching your face in the dim light. The urge to pull you into his arms and kiss you breathless is almost overwhelming, but you’ve been exhausted for the past few weeks, and he would rather cut off his own arm than awaken you when you’re finally getting a decent night’s sleep. So he simply lies still and admires your soft loveliness as you sleep, until he can no longer delay the inevitable.

He slips out of bed and moves soundlessly through the flat, pulling on his officer’s uniform in stages as he goes through his morning routine. Now that the GAR’s duties have shifted to peacekeeping, search and rescue, and disaster relief efforts, he rarely needs to wear his armor, except on the rare occasions when the 212th is deployed in the field. He makes a cup of caf, and as he drinks it, he reloads the machine with freshly ground beans so all you have to do is push the button when you wake up hours later. He takes a quick moment to cut a small heart out of a sheet of flimsi and tape it to your mug before he sets it in the machine.

When he passes into the living room, he notices that the fresh flowers on the dining table have faded, so he makes a mental note to stop by the market and pick up replacements on his way home: Zeillas, your favorite. He sits down heavily on the sofa and lets out a long sigh. Kriff, he is tired. He’s been working Benduday shifts for the past eight weeks, and he desperately misses days off with you and Kaia. He knows his schedule is taking a toll on you, too, though you never say a word. He can see it in the dark circles under your eyes when you smile at him at the end of a long workday. Only another four weeks, though, and the work schedule will rotate again, and he’ll finally regain those precious weekends with his girls.

As he reaches for his boots, he hears a tiny noise, and he is instantly on alert, eyes trained on the darkened hallway. Sure enough, he soon spots a bogey. Kaia stumbles into the living room, rubbing her eyes against the dim light.

“Waxer?” she asks, her voice small and sleepy.

“Hey, peanut,” he says quietly. “What are you doing awake so early?”

“I can’t find Mimi,” she whimpers.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he soothes as he stands and crosses the room to her. “I know right where Mimi is.”

She holds her arms up to him silently, and he scoops her up, carrying her easily in one arm as he walks to the laundry. He digs through the sonic washer-dryer until he locates the fluffy pink blanket that has been Kaia’s companion nearly her entire life.

“Here you go,” he says.

She snuggles her face into it happily, then holds it up to him, and in the creepiest kriffing whisper he’s ever heard, she says, “Smell it.”

He stifles a laugh, not wanting to offend her or disturb your sleep, and he obediently sniffs the blanket.

“It smells very clean,” he says gravely—and so it should; he’d conducted a stealth extraction mission the night before to retrieve and wash Mimi, since Kaia flatly refuses to part with it for any reason when she is at home. You drew the line at allowing Kaia to take Mimi with her to preschool, and when she protested, you pointed out that Mimi might get lost, which was enough to scare Kaia away from ever bringing up the subject again.

“You can take Mimi with you to work if you want,” Kaia offers.

Waxer’s chest tightens, and he has to pause for a moment before he answers. “That’s very generous, sweetheart, but I wouldn’t want to risk getting Mimi dirty. I think it would be better if you keep it at home with you today.”

“Okay, good,” she says, clearly relieved. “I didn’t really want you to take it.”

Waxer can’t suppress his laugh this time, and Kaia joins in, not really knowing what the joke is, but happy to be included. Suddenly, he makes a decision.

“You know what? I think I might be getting sick.” He lets out a delicate, silly cough that makes her laugh even harder. “Yes, definitely too sick to go to work today. I wouldn’t want to risk infecting anyone else. Uncle Kix would be so mad at me if I gave somebody a cold.”

“That’s true,” she giggles, “and besides, it’s raining.”

“So it is,” he agrees. “Way too dangerous to go out in the rain when I have such a terrible cough. How would you feel about a cup of hot cocoa while I comm my CO?”

She nods enthusiastically, her eyes shining, and he sets her down on the sofa while he pulls out her favorite sparkly purple mug and mixes up a quick batch of cocoa, then sends the galaxy’s least convincing sick message to Captain Gregor. When he rejoins her in the living room, she’s cocooned herself in Mimi. She’s getting so big now that the blanket is barely big enough to cover her, but she curls up into a ball and tucks the edges beneath her so the only part of her that’s exposed is her head. He hands her the mug of cocoa, and she eyes him with a speculative gleam.

“Do you think you’re too sick to make banana flatcakes for breakfast?” she asks, giving him adorably exaggerated tooka eyes.

“I think I could manage it,” he says solemnly, “if I have help from the best sous chef on Coruscant.”

She flings herself onto him with a delighted squeal, and sure enough, she digs her evil little fingers into his ticklish ribs, just like she does every time, and just like every time, he writhes away, flailing comically to escape her torture.

“Shhh, Dad, you’re going to wake up Mommy!” she giggles, and Waxer freezes, momentarily forgetting how to breathe.

“What’d you call me, peanut?” he asks, not sure he heard what she had actually said, or whether his ears had tricked him.

Kaia’s eyes grow enormous. “Dad. Is—is it okay?”

Waxer swallows. “I think you should talk to your mommy about it first.”

“I did,” she says. “She said it was all right, if you wanted me to.”

He nods, unable to form words. Kaia, strategic mastermind that she is, seizes the opportunity to resume her tickle attack, and soon Waxer is doubled up on the floor, wheezing desperately as he tries to stifle his laughter.

When you wake up, the first thing you notice is the smell of flatcakes and bacon. You stretch luxuriously and smile. Benduday flatcakes are your little family’s favorite tradition. You pause mid-stretch as you realize that Waxer should be gone by now. Did Nyra and Wooley stop by? Surely, Kaia would have awakened you. Better go find out what the little monster is up to, you decide with a sigh.

You round the corner into the kitchen and find a scene of devastation. Flatcake batter has spilled across the counter and dripped down to the floor, and there’s a haze of smoke that says the bacon went a little too long, and in the midst of all this chaos, Waxer stands in front of the stove, wearing an apron that is way too short, wielding a spatula, and carrying Kaia on his shoulders as she orders him around like a tiny general in a chef’s hat.

“What’s going on?” you ask in confusion.

“Dad’s too sick to go to work,” Kaia announces.

Your heart squeezes. “Is that so? Dad?”

Waxer gives you that brilliant smile that always makes you feel like you’re staring into the rising sun, and damn, it feels like home.

#tcw matchmaking au #clone matchmaking au #212th Attack Battalion #x reader #lieutenant waxer #clone trooper waxer #waxer x you #waxer x reader

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ryloriee678999 · 2 years

Text

Clean (Wanda Maximoff x Reader)

Summary: Wanda cleans depressed readers room whenever she’s gone. (700 words)

A/N: Look at me posting so much lmao. Small story before I go to bed :) Also comment if you want to be added to the tag list!

You’re sick, you’ve been sick for a long time now. It started off as dreading doing basic things like showering, brushing your teeth and cleaning. Then it elevated to isolation and sleeping all day in just a few weeks. The sudden change was noticeable to everyone else, but no one could do anything.

In the rare times you did leave your room, it was to grab food and head back to the comfort of your own bed. During those five or so minutes, Wanda tends to secretly sneak into your room to clean up. It started off as cups and plates since she noticed they were gone from the shared kitchen, but lately, she's been washing your clothes. You never noticed, because you spent most of your time sleeping or on your phone.

Wanda knew this was a big invasion of your privacy, but she never dug deeper than just picking up a dish and returning it to the Kitchen. She made no effort to snoop around your room, all she wanted to do was help.

There were a few times you almost caught her, but thanks to her mind reading she was able to leave before you came in. The only reason you found out was because your entire bed sheet was gone one day.

You were in a long meeting so Wanda figured she had enough time to wash your sheets. You couldn't remember the last time you washed them so Wanda went in and did it for you. The dryer was taking too long, so by the time Wanda came back to return them, you were there standing in the middle of the room confused as to where your sheets went.

Wanda walked in before she realized you were in here. You turned to see her, and she stared at you with your bed sheet in hand. You opened your mouth to say something but closed it because you were so dumbfounded.

“This is weird,” Wanda spoke first. You both just stood there staring at each other.

“Yeah,” you respond. You point to your sheet, “Is that my…”

“Yeah,” she admits and holds it up. “This isn't what it looks like, I promise.”

You laugh, “Really? Because it looks like you took my sheets, Wanda.” Wanda sighed in relief knowing that you weren't mad at her, it was also nice seeing you smile after so long.

“I was just cleaning them. I didn't think you’d be here, I don't know why I thought this would be a good idea,” she explained. Blush made its way onto her face as she fidgeted with the fabric.

“Did you get promoted to a maid?” You question, laughing at how embarrassed she looks right now.

Wanda shakes her head, “no, I just, I, you-” she tries to find the words but explaining this situation was hard. “When you’re gone, sometimes I clean your room up a little. Mostly it's just dishes, sometimes clothing. I know I’m overstepping, and this is weird but ever since I noticed your change in behavior I wanted to help.”

Without any words, you step forward and bring her into a tight hug. She stood there shocked at first but then wrapped her arms around you. She only stepped away when she heard a muffled noise.

Her face dropped when she noticed tears forming in your eyes, “Why are you crying?”

“No these are good tears, happy tears,” you say and smile at her. You were overwhelmed with how much love you felt, it started to make you cry.

Wanda pulled you back into the hug and stroked your hair with her free hand. Your head rested on her shoulder as you two stood there peacefully. You knew Wanda would probably want to talk about things later but for now, you stayed connected to each other.

“I can't believe you own Batman sheets, that's so adorable,” Wanda says, breaking the silence.

A muffled laugh leaves your mouth as she teases you further. Wanda smiled and so did you. After this moment, you didn't have a dirty room again.

#wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x female!reader #Wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #Wanda maximoff #Wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff one shot #Wanda maximoff fanfic #mcu fanfiction #wanda maximoff hurt/comfort #ryloriee678999

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mj-iza-writer · 6 months

Text

"Hey, good morning Whumpee", Ash smiled at Whumpee as their eyes fluttered open, "how did you sleep?"

"Um pretty good", Whumpee sat up and instantly felt the cold, "it's cold, I remember being cold last night to, but then I felt warm again."

"Yes, I'm sorry about that, the heat went out in the middle of the night, so I made sure to get you some extra blankets", Ash winked at Whumpee, "Caretaker had to go see about fixing it, so I am in charge for right now."

"Oh uh", Whumpee looked down nervously. They were still new to the family and weren't sure if Ash was trustworthy yet.

"I've got breakfast started if you want to come down. I would keep some warm clothes on though", Ash walked toward the door, "I hope you're hungry."

Whumpee nodded.

"Okay, come down when you are ready", Ash left the room.

Whumpee felt a shiver go down their spine as they climbed out of bed.

Ash was placing breakfast on the table when Whumpee rounded the corner to the dining room.

Whumpee had decided to wrap one of the blankets around their shoulders to keep warm.

"Um I'm sorry, is this okay?", Whumpee looked down at the floor.

"Oh absolutely, I might actually do the same", Ash smiled, "today we have scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, biscuits with jelly, and if you're still hungry. Well, we can certainly fix that. I've got milk and juice to wash it down."

"It smells really good", Whumpee timidly walked to the table, "where would you like me to sit."

"Anywhere you like", Ash smiled, "eat as much as you like, I'll be right back."

Whumpee had just bit into a piece of bacon when Ash came back carrying a blanket.

"You know I was just thinking... can I see your blanket really quick", Ash smiled.

Whumpee quickly pulled the blanket off and handed it to Ash.

"I'm sorry", Whumpee whispered.

"Don't worry, you're not in trouble, but I think you'll like this, I'll be right back", Ash winked.

Whumpee took another bite as they watched Ash leave carrying the two blankets.

Ash came back, grabbed a piece of sausage, and left the room again.

Whumpee was quietly eating the eggs when Ash came back carrying the blankets.

"Here you go", Ash offered the blanket back, then started to wrap themself in the second blanket.

"I-it's warm", Whumpee held it close to their face for the heat, and it smells nice.

"Yes, Caretaker used to do this for me when he took care of me as a patient", Ash pulled the blanket to their face and breathed in the aroma, "he would put the blanket in the dryer for a few minutes to make it warm, and add a dryer sheet to leave a pretty smell. I thought the warmth would feel good to you."

"He used to take care of you. What do you mean?", Whumpee eyed Ash, "I thought you were his child or something."

"I kind of am now, but yes, I came out of a situation similar to yours, he took care of me", Ash smiled as they sat down, "he let me stay with him, as I had no where else to go. I help out around the house as much as he'll let me."

Whumpee stared at them.

"What?", Ash smiled, "are you okay?"

"I'm sorry I had no idea", Whumpee looked down.

"It's okay Whumpee, how would you have known information that was never told to you. I normally don't talk about it to Caretaker's cases", Ash smiled, "the cases are here to be taken care of, not hear about me."

Whumpee frowned, "that explains why you are so careful around me then."

"Yes, I know how you feel, I've been in the same position", Ash bit into a sausage link, "all the way down to needing extra blankets on a cold night."

Whumpee smiled.

"I'm the reason Caretaker has so many blankets, I used to run around the house with several wrapped around me all the time. For a long time I didn't have a blanket to keep me warm, Caretaker was always buying blankets", Ash started to laugh lightly.

Whumpee smiled as they listened.

The front door opened.

"Hey I'm home, do I have an Ashcicle and Whumpeecicle yet", Caretaker walked into the dining room, "oh good you two haven't froze yet."

"Not yet", Ash smiled, "I was just telling Whumpee about my blanket habits when you took care of me."

"Oh yes, I used to follow a trail of blankets to find Ash, they never realized how many blankets they had fallen off, because they had so many", Caretaker reached for a piece of bacon, "I'd just pick up each blanket, and rewrap them when I found them. I see we used the dryer to warm up the blankets, very smart."

"Yes Whumpee came down wrapped in a blanket, then I got the idea when I got my blanket", Ash smiled at Whumpee.

"We should have heat pretty soon, they're looking at it right now", Caretaker stepped over to the window, "they think they know what happened."

Whumpee pulled the blanket tighter, and tried to hide their chattering teeth.

Caretaker smiled and left the room.

Whumpee looked down shyly, hoping they weren't being a bother.

Caretaker came back carrying three more blankets, "I'll be right back."

Ash smiled when they heard the dryer door shut, and a few beeps.

Soon enough Caretaker carried the three baskets back into the dining room.

He wrapped Whumpee and Ash in the warmed blankets, then wrapped the third one around himself.

Whumpee held the blanket close to smell it again.

"Thankyou", they whispered.

"You're welcome Whumpee", Caretaker smiled.

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all. @villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

#whump community #whump stuff #whump writing #whump ideas #whumpee #whump #whump scenario #whumper #caretaking #oc #caretaker #warm blanket #comfort whump

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sugarsfics · 1 year

Text

Comfort Food

Summary: Comfort food makes everything better.

Trope: Eddie x girlfriend!reader

A/N: Sorry for the late post :/

Warning: crying, talks of Eddie's dad, sad Eddie, hurt to comfort , kissing, one cuss word.

Word count: 1.0k

30 Day Challenge: Day 8 Send Request <3

Eddie wasn’t having the best week. The van broke down, his boss was on vacation leaving the assistant manager in charge who hates Eddie for some reason, the soles of his favorite pair of shoes ripped, when he was leaving Tuesday night for your date his battle vest caught on to the door knob a made a hole, he forgot his wallet on the date and felt like a dick for having you pay. And so much more. He was just over this week, waiting for Friday then he would be at your house in your arms, just you and him. All weekend. You could tell how stressed Eddie was on your date, the way he hugged you a little tightly and longer, the way he would run his hands through hair talking about his week. You could see the pain in his face when he talked about the van and work, how you wanted to take all that stress away and hold him.

You lived in a small studio apartment in the city, it was a three-hour drive from Hawkins, so Tuesdays were your date nights. You had only one class in the morning then no class on Wednesday so the drive wouldn’t be rushed. Your spring break was this coming week, so you asked Eddie if he wanted to stay with you for the week. He had to request the days off and get approved, but luckily, with all his sick days he didn’t use, he got the week off. Over the year you guys have been together you learn all about him and his love for food. That boy can eat. You seen it with your own eyes, at buffets he would have 9 plates then still have room for dessert then would get home and have a snack. You’re jealous of him because it eats so much and doesn’t gain a pound. He loves his snacks, your cupboard is now stocked up with his favorite, his favorite beer is in the fridge along with his favorite sodas. Sheets cleaned nice and warm from the dryer; movies ready. Now onto making dinner, at first you wanted to be extra and make an extravagant dinner, but the way Eddie was feeling he needed comfort food. His comfort food.

Eddie was finally off work; he hoped his bad luck was coming to an end. NOPE. He was stuck in traffic. And while fixing the van he decided to clean it and took out his tapes, which he forgot to put back in, so the radio station was just static. The longest drive of his life. He saw a store and wanted to buy you flowers, but it was closed, it seemed to have everything single store he went to was closed. His luck came to him when they were a family off the side of the road selling flowers, he got the biggest bouquet that they had. He sighed with relief when your apartment came to view. He parked right next to yours, getting his bag and the flowers out.

He opened your door and the smell hit him Mac and Cheese, you rounded the corner with open arms “Hi baby” he fell into your arms and started to cry “Let it out” you said while stroking his hair “I got you” “This is the nicest thing anyone as done for me” he said in between sniffles. When all his tears came out, he wiped his nose “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have cried” “It is good to cry you need to let the emotions out” his dad would tell him that crying is a sign of weakness and men aren’t weak “Come on let’s go eat” you took his hand a brought him to the dining table. A hot bowl of Mac and cheese. He kisses your lips then dug in. He moaned at the first bite he took “This is so fucking good” he said we a cheesy smile “I’m glad I made it just for you” you cooed wiping his chin.

After three bowls of Mac and Cheese you both showered together, nothing sexual, just showered washing each other hair and body it was another type of love that you have never felt before. You both dried off the put on your sleeping clothes, yours was a pair of shorts and a shirt, his was boxers. You pulled out your bed, then fixed it all up, Eddie immediately jumped on it bringing you down to him “Thank you” he said “It was nothing” “No it was everything for me” he said tearing up you wiped those tears that fell a brought him closer “This week was so hard” he began “I don’t know what even happened there was so much then you my angel were there for me you are here for me” he sniffed “You did this for me you care for me so much and I don’t know what I did to deserve you” “Aw baby come here” you brought him even closer, if that was possible, he couldn’t stop crying, he felt so weak, those words replay in his mind men shouldn’t cry, but it was like you where she knight in shining armor slaying those words with your own its ok to cry let it out. He felt peace, he felt whole with you.

He woke up with puffy eyes, you quickly ran to the freezer to grab your small ice packets for your eyes. You had him lay back that you put them on “There cold” “Well duh” “What is the point of this” “Your eyes are puffy so this will bring down the swelling” five minutes later “I'm bored” you lifted his head and brought it into your lap “This what it would be like” “huh?” “When we move in together is this how it would be” “Me? taking care of you? probably” “I like it” He couldn't wait to make that a reality.

Tag list: @thefreak0fhawkinshigh let me know if you want be tagged

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