#some sourdough if i can find any
Text
i can stay alive long enough to make the mushroom soup ive been wanting to make. i can do that, at least
#money should come in tomorrow#unless they decided to withhold it on account of the cheque they sent me that i was apparently not supposed to deposit#so hopefully i can go grocery shopping. pick up the things i need#ill get some white wine. some garlic. a leek#fresh herbs. more olive oil. cremini and hopefully some nicer mushrooms i can add#some sourdough if i can find any#and itll be nice hopefully. hopefully itll give me a little burst of joy#i can make it on wednesday or thursday when that fucker isnt here.#and i can wholly dedicate myself to it for a couple hours#undisturbed. able to really pay attention in blissful quiet.#without that man breathing down my neck. making fun of me and blasting constant noise and drivel and pretending that we're friends#im worried about controlling the texture. i dont want it to be completely smooth#but itll be hard to manage getting the texture right#without an immersion blender
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This is part of a longer thing I may post on ao3 at some point but here’s some silly little Jaytim texting AU. I use this format as a writing warmup.
[Unknown] »
Hey. This is Jason.
I have a favor to ask. You can say no.
« tim
uh
1. i’m aware of how favors work
2. what is it?
« tim
?
« tim
hey are you like. good
J »
Yeah fine
Sry. Rethinking this maybe
« tim
what, do you need a kidney or something?
i can’t give you a kidney.
i don’t have any organs to spare.
J »
What ?
« tim
what’s the favor?
J »
I wouldn’t ask if it wasnt important
I’d ask Roy but hes in star city
or Kori but shes off world
I tried dickhead but hes in haven. Cant get away tonight
« tim
yeah jason i get it lol
J »
So Im currently in the cargo hold of a private yacht
« tim
what >?
J »
We’re caught in the storm thats hitting the city its a whole thing.
« tim
are you in the cargo hold of your own volition or did someone put you there
J »
So I dont think I can get back t
No its on purpose
« tim
hang on. you’re in gotham bay right now? in a boat?
jason this storm is really bad.
it’s already sunk a houseboat and a fishing boat at the marina
J »
I dont think I can get back totown toni
Christ you type fast
Shut up for a sec. Clam down
Clam*
*Calm fuck me
Thought I was gnna be back tonight but bc of storm its not looking great.
Can you feed my sourdough starter
« tim
what
J »
4511 overhill apt 6D
Key under the neighbors mat. 6H
« tim
hey to clarify. “its not looking great” ← what does that mean
J »
Starter is on counter. in glass jar
Should just need one feeindg. Maybe 2. depending
« tim
on???
J »
On wwhen I get back?
« tim
so you do plan on coming back
J »
Yeah timothy I’m in a boat not the heart of Mount Doom
« tim
yeah? vaders not there? so that means everything’s fine?
J »
Did you
jst say Vader
As in Darth
« tim
???
J »
Oh my god
« tim
jason are you in peril or what.
J »
No im not in “peril” lol.
Did you see the thing I said about my sourddough starter
It needs to be fed
« tim
wtf is a sourdough starter
nvm i googled it
J »
Its a live bacteria colony you use to m
Oh ok
Yeah so it just needs 50g lukewarm water + 50g flour
Theres a scale next to the jar
Stir until it looks like hummus
Put lid back on
The end
« tim
the internet says if you put it in the fridge it doesn’t need daily feedings
J »
Sure. But that would mess up my bread schedule
« tim
your bread schedule
J »
Man are gyou gonna fuckin feed Breadie Mercury or should I find someone else
« tim
im already en route.
J »
Oh
Ok
Thank you.
Wtf dont text and motorbike
« tim
how about you dont text and Sinking Boat
J »
Hey its not like I’m gonna cause a boat crash
« tim
i was stopped at a red light 😐
anwyay i’m at your place.
1. why do you not have a security system. when you said key under the neighbor’s mat i thought you were joking.
2. how warm is lukewarm
J »
1. I’m the security system
« tim
just rolled my eyes so hard it actually physically hurt
J »
God youre annoying
2. ? Its lukewarm
« tim
ohhhhh thanks! that’s so helpful :) here i am trying not to murder your incredibly important bacteria colony that i just drove across town for but no thats great jason very descriptive thanks :)
J »
Like warm but not too wram, nothing you’d want to take a bath in
Can you fucking
I TYPE SLOW.
« tim
ok.
[Image Attached]
he is fed
J »
Thanks man.
Sincerely.
« tim
so hows the cargo hold going
still intact i assume?
J »
Mostly ya
« tim
pardon?
J »
Slight leakage. Nothing major
« tim
oh? are you a boatologist now?
i dont think you’re qualified to judge that?
J »
Moving right past “boatologist” out of the goodness of my heart.
Chill lol. If it was rly bad thered probably be some sort of alar
Hm.
« tim
did an alarm just start going off
J »
Dont worry about it
« tim
im not.
did it though
also which yacht? im in the marinas scheduling dtabase
blue miracle, serendipity, carp-e diem? which one
« tim
jason?
« tim
if this is a joke it’s not funny
oh cool you’re not on comms either. great.
hey if youre dead again and i just fed your stupid starter for nothing im gonna be soooo mad just fyi
« tim
ugh.
*
J »
Hey
Thanks again for the
I’m not gonna say “save” bc I was doinf just fine on my own.
But thanks for the backup.
Lmk when youre home
Nope sorry lol you dont have to do that.
Night.
« tim
home
J »
Also I just saw your messaages from
Ah. 👍
From earlier.
« tim
you mean from when you said “huh, this boat seems to be filling with water” and then disappeared? those messages?
J »
Those were not my exact words.
« tim
right. your exact words contained somehow even less information
J »
Shut up
I just wanted to
You know. Youre the only one who jokes about it
The only one in the family I mean
your family, I mean
The bats.
« tim
?
the only one who jokes about what
J »
Me being dead
« tim
oh.
ok. well
its not like. actually funny to me. i was just annoyed. sorry i guess
J »
No thats not
Tim. Shut up.
I dont mind. I like that one of you does.
Its better than people talking around it. Like its this big shameful thing I did.
One of many
If I mention it in front of dickhead he does the face
the :~{ face
« tim
wow its uncanny
uh. for the record.
i don’t think that’s the reason people talk around it
if im correct in thinking that by “people” you mean “one specific person whose name rhymes with Rat Can”
J »
Yeah well
I just
Christ never mind. Im sorry. You are not the person to be sayign this to.
Im gonna shut the fuck up I think.
Goodnight.
« tim
oh what, you can’t talk to me about being dead bc of that one time you tried to kill me?
and failed btw :/
J »
Tim
Not to be so unchill
But you know how me being dead isnt actaully funny to you
« tim
…got it. sorry
J »
No. don’t apologize to me
Ever
I’m serious
« tim
like for anything?
what if i killed breadie mercury
J »
You didnt. He is thriving
« tim
he is?
wait. really?
you can tell?
J »
[Image Attached]
Hes doubled in size since you fed him.
« tim
whoa
J »
Yup. Thanks again for thattoo.
*that too
Its stupid but hes kinda my son.
« tim
wouldn’t he technically be like, 10 billion sons
J »
He is my 10 billion sons.
« tim
lolol
wow. why am i so pleased hes thriving lol
J »
Right
« tim
jeez
i was so worried about the water temp
google said lukewarm is 98-105 so i did 98 to be safe
J »
You used a thermometer?
« tim
your instructions were vague!
i didnt want to kill your bacteria colony!
J »
Thanks Tim.
« tim
? you already said that lol
i gotta pass out btw
glad you didnt die: the sequel in a yacht
that would have been so cringe
night jason
J »
Night
*
J »
You up?
« tim
obviously
why
J »
Could use your eyes on something.
[Image Attached]
« tim
morse code but the dots and dashes are reversed and its spelling backwards in russian, ASTITP AYALEB AVD RTSIRP → PRISTR DVA BELAYA PTITSA → PIER TWO WHITE BIRD
J »
Bc it looks like morse but its not, its kind of scrambl
Ok jesus christ .
30 seconds? Seriously? Fuck me
Can I hire you? Jesus lol
« tim
that depends. do you pay more than batman?
J »
The fuck? Does he pay you guys now?
« tim
no.
J »
Then yes. I do pay more than batman.
« tim
how much more
J »
One coffee per codebreak?
« tim
:\
J »
Two coffees per codebreak
Two and a loaf of sourdough
« tim
sourdough from breadie mercury?
J »
Ya
« tim
done
J »
Damn. I feel like you should have higher standards
« tim
i mean i was already gonna do it for free
now i have successfully negotiated coffee & sustenance
im on a roll. nothing but Ws
J »
Ws?
« tim
its young people slang you wouldn’t get it ❤️
J »
I am barely 3 years older htan you.
It could be argued, considering certain events, that we’re basically the same age.
« tim
and yet you text like an old, old man
J »
I do not
Would you rather I texted like “idk brb lmao roflcopter”
« tim
ROFLCOPTER?
oh my god. ohhhhhh jason. oh my god
that is absolutely not what the kids are saying these days. oh my god
J »
Ok you know what. At least I know Mount Doom isnt a Star Wars thing
« tim
?
oh, is it star trek?
J »
I’m 99% sure youre antagonizing me on purpose
But have you seriously not read or watched Lord of the Rings
« tim
no i have not.
J »
Hm.
« tim
what
J »
Nothing.
« tim
……….what
*
« tim
did you NARC on me
to BRUCE
about LORD OF THE RINGS?????
J »
I don’t know what you’re talking about.
« tim
WHY DO I NOW HAVE 3 SEPARATE SUNDAY AFTERNOON “HOUSE MEETINGS” BLOCKED OFF IN MY CALENDAR, JASON?
WHY ARE THEY EACH 4 HOURS LONG?
WHY ARE THEY LABELED “CULTURAL EDUCATION (MANDATORY)”?
J »
I can’t pretend to know what goes on in B’s mind.
That said, I have reason to believe he and Alfred take lotr pretty seriously.
« tim
its a TWELVE HOUR MOVIE
about GOBLINS
J »
I’m not gonna respond to that bc I know youre just lashing out.
« tim
if youve sentenced me to 12 hours of a movie i hate i’m gonna hack everything you own.
im gonna mass text the entire cape wearers community the footage of that time condiment king kicked your ass so bad he felt guilty and offered to personally help you out of the mustard pool
J »
What the fuck
How do you fuckig know about ?????? that????????
Not that ithahpened
What hefuckk ??
« tim
ooooooooo you better hope i love these goblins!
J »
Why are you?? evil??
« tim
you should have killed me when you had the chance!!
sorry.
J »
Its ok. That one was pretty funny tbh.
Oh hm shouldnt have laughed just then. Bad timing on my part
Brb
« tim
uh
« tim
ok…….. getting reports of a “disturbance” at pier two……..
« tim
sorry were you texting me *mid-standoff* with the russian mafia
« tim
ugh.
*
« tim
you know tracking your location would be so much easier if i didn’t have to hack into your comm sys every time
luckily your encryption is garbage but still. its 2 minutes of my life i wont get back.
J »
Not sure I recall giving you permission to track my location?
« tim
oh i’m sorry. next time i will simply leave you to go down with a texas oil magnate’s incredibly tacky yacht, or get swiss cheesified by mobsters
J »
Hey I wrapped up the russians myself
« tim
yeah?
J »
…
Yeah….
« tim
so you thought the 12-minute universal signal jam was the act of a benevolent god?
J »
:-|
« tim
im just saying it would be significantly more efficient if you agreed to a tracker
just one little tracker. you wouldn’t even notice it’s there.
think of all the time and energy you’d save me
J »
I feel the need to point out that you don’t have to repeatedly hack my comms system.
« tim
i mean it’s that or monitor sightings on the gocitizen app
i have an algo that texts relevant pings to me, which is super helpful for when i want an inbox full of random people talking about how hot you are. less helpful for literally every other circumstance
J »
Uh
What
« tim
how hot *red hood is. to clarify
in their opinion
the people’s opinion
J »
?
« tim
the people of gotham city
J »
The people of Gotham city do not think Red Hood is hot lol
« tim
wait
i cant tell if you’re being serious
J »
Uh? Yeah Im being serious? Lol tf
Why would they think hes hot
They dont think Batman is hot
« tim
o…kay…
huh.
how to… hmm
J »
Like nightwing sure
And the girls. Bc of objectification of women
« tim
oh wow
J »
Red Robin. If i had to guess
But when people see Hood its definitely not… that kind of response lol
« tim
what kind of response, exactly
J »
You know like saying “Hey Hood youre hot”
« tim
oh, wow.
okay. ummm
hmm. one sec.
J »
?
« tim
check your email
J »
Ok…?
J »
Oh my fucking god.
« tim
yeah
J »
Oh my god?
« tim
yeah
J »
This document is fucking 45 pages long?
« tim
its everything from the past 30 days yeah
J »
The past
Whaht the fuck
Ok some of these people definitely got hit by Poison Ivy.
This is . Tim wtf. I havent even heard of some of this stuff.
« tim
oof are you on page 14
J »
Im on page 3???
« tim
oh my god
J »
What the fuck
Please please tell me its not like this for Batman too
Tim
« tim
its not like this for batman :)
J »
Ok. Jesus. I would genuinely have to move cities.
« tim
its worse :)
J »
Oh what the fuck
Oh my fucking god page 14.
You get this shit TEXTED to you?????
Ohm ygod. You read this?????
« tim
i mean
no
i glance at it
for security purposes.
i dont like, read it read it
anyway did you seriously not know? haha
J »
No??? Again its not like people tell me
« tim
yeah but
like
theres a certain level of objectivity involved, here
yknow
sorry im trying to find a non awkward way to be like “have you looked in a mirror lately”
« tim
sorry
that was in fact awkward!
nvm
just let me know if you’d be ok with the tracker. its fine if not
i was mostly joking about the hacking
J (From Work) »
No you weren’t.
« tim
no i wasnt
i dont mind though. its like a brain teaser
anyway im going dark for patrol, later
*
J (From Work) »
[Screenshot Attached]
[Screenshot Attached]
[Screenshot Attached]
[Screenshot Attached]
[Screenshot Attached]
Question. why is the average Gotham citizen a raging horndog
« tim
oh my god
you know i can tell you searched “red robin hot” right
J (From Work) »
Figured it was only fair
[Screenshot Attached]
This persons got some mad zoom lens skills
I’d think it was you, if it wasnt, yknow, you
« tim
wow. that is certainly a photo of my ass
…a stellar photo of my ass. wow.
do you have a direct link? i gotta send this to steph
J (From Work) »
goctz.app/user/3824973/post/29348230df3
Haha
I kinda thought you and blondie broke up
back on again?
« tim
no lol we are very much just friends
she has a thing going with someone who shall remain nameless but suffice to say it’s Going
anyway we just send each other gocitizen vigilante ass shots
its a whole genre
they’re like trading cards
J (From Work) »
Guess everyone’s got a hobby?
« tim
the only rule is no nightwing
J (From Work) »
Do I want to know why
« tim
he accounts for a frankly overwhelming percentage of vigilante ass shots
so its too easy
you’d THINK we’d have a no-batman rule, because ew, but due to the cape and his sixth sense for cameras pointed at him, a qualifying shot is actually extremely rare.
← only guy who ever managed to take quality photos of batman
anyway, we put it to a vote. i lost.
J (From Work) »
A vote between you and Steph?
You lost a 50/50 vote?
« tim
i dont wanna talk about it.
J (From Work) »
Right.
So what I’m getting from this is you have Red Hood ass shots in your phone.
« tim
no
J (From Work) »
No?
« tim
well
J (From Work) »
Yeah?
« tim
we don’t like, save them
that would be weird
we just notify each other. professionally, as colleagues
and keep an ongoing points tally
thats all
so i do not currently have photos of your ass in my phone. thank you
J (From Work) »
How many points is my ass worth
« tim
i hate everything about this conversation
J (From Work) »
Its 100% your own fault, answer the question
« tim
if you must know.
points are awarded based on a series of objective scoring criteria.
J (From Work) »
Uh huh. Like what
« tim
technical excellence
composition. lighting and color balance.
dynamism
J (From Work) »
Dynamism…
« tim
creativity
umm
emotional impact
and
subject matter
J (From Work) »
I see.
« tim
ok i know it sounds bad
J (From Work) »
It sounds fucking hysterical Im near tears
« tim
but if you think abou
oh
okay, well, great
J (From Work) »
I’ll let you know if I stumble on any more.
Or is that cheating
« tim
its totally cheating
please do
J (From Work) »
You got it red. 👍
« tim
:)
#jaytim#can’t emphasize enough that this is a silly thing i wrote for Me and My Friends but sharing here as well lol#my writing
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the slow night
buttercup, chapter six
a/n: he a hoe and I love him. thank you and goodnight.
summary: as the peck blossomed into something much more ravenous, a soft laugh began to billow out of you, “Mr. Murdock,” you tilted your head back as his lips began to flutter down your neck, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you came over here to seduce me.”
warnings: matt murdock x baker!reader, smut, neighbours to lovers, rape recovery, ptsd, the black daredevil suit, kissing, semi public sex (at the bakery), clothed sex, dirty talk, hair pulling, oral, protected sex, penetrative sex, multiple orgasms
word count: 3244
∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽
previous chapter | series masterlist
masterlist | join my taglist
Leaning against the doorway to the small bakery bathroom, you watched Walter’s tongue poke out the side of his mouth as he flicked glittery stripes of eyeliner over his lids.
“You sure you’re okay with closing up on your own tonight?” you heard Howard ask you as he sat on a low stool some space behind you, bending down to tie his shoes.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” you smiled, glancing back over your shoulder at him, “you two deserve a night off.”
Staring out into space, your uncle leaned his tattooed forearms on his robust thighs a moment as he murmured, “you know, I don’t even remember the last time we went out…” casting a glance past you at the bald man in front of the mirror, Howard raised his voice, “honey, did you find out what queens are performing tonight?”
Popping the lid back on the pencil, the former club kid tilted his head approvingly in the reflection, “I think Holly Day still works Friday nights there, but other than that I have no idea,” he exited the bathroom, only to press a small peck to your cheek as he slid passed.
“Urgh,” you groaned with a smile, letting your inner child temporarily show as you dragged the back of your palm over the faint lipstick stain, “well, have fun you two!”
“Night, night, cupcake,” Howard blew you a few brief kisses as the pair scurried out of the shop, “don’t forget to feed the sourdough starter, oh! And mix a new batch of ginger maple cookies, portion them out and pop them in the freezing–, also–”
“Howard,” you interrupted him with a smile just as Walter pulled open the back door for them to exit, “I know what I need to do. I’ve done this countless of times before, I’ll be perfectly fine.”
“Alright,” he exhaled slowly.
“If it’ll help, I can send you a picture of the place before I lock up.”
A relieved smile then warmed up your uncle’s features, “thank you, sweetie.”
Half yanking his husband out of the door, Walter offered you one last wave, “bye, Y/n!” before the solid door slammed shut behind them.
Bending down, you put the last one of the wide and clean bowls away on the bottom shelf of the metal storage system in the corner of the kitchen.
The skirt of your dress swooshed gently around your legs as you straightened back up, like a summer breeze, fluttering against your skin. Reaching for a clean cloth, you briefly ran it under the tap before wiping down the aftermath beside the sink following your dance with the dishes. One of the tiny puddles of splashed water soaked your apron as you leaned over the steel table to reach deeper, turning it a darker shade of brown right over your belly button.
Just then, from out of nowhere, “hi,” the voice of your neighbour echoed throughout the kitchen, thoroughly startling you and causing the rag to drop from your grasp.
“Ah!” you jumped, haven not even heard the back door creak open, “Matthew!” pressing a soothing palm to your chest as you spun around, a light giggle flowed from your lips, “oh my god, you scared the crap out of me!”
“Sorry,” he chuckled, leisurely leaning against the far counter close to the back exit.
You already knew he’d be out on patrol tonight, but actually seeing him stand there before you was something else entirely. The black suit clung tight to his physic, and now that grave injuries no longer distracted and adorned his visage, the vision of the obsidian vigilante that stood in front of you proficiently provided you with a sinful shiver that trickled down your spine.
“What are you doing here?” you asked, attempting to brush off the tingle that bloomed between your thighs.
A bold smirk bloomed on his lips, visible below the dark mask, as he slowly stepped closer to you, “it’s a slow night,” gently tugging his gloves off and tossing them to the table he passed, an action you didn’t expect to find as seductive as you evidently did, goosebumps now blossoming all along your arms.
“A slow night, huh?” you chuckled, tilting your chin as he neared.
“And I was in the area,” he cocked his head as his hands settled on either side of your frame, leaning against the counter behind you.
“How convenient,” you smiled, his light-hearted explanations not convincing you in the slightest. Matt’s fingers then found your chin, tilting it further up as he bent down to brush his lips against your own. Your knees nearly buckled as you felt yourself swiftly sink into the intoxicating sensation, your arms gliding up and over the black fabric that hugged him, till they were locked around his neck. As the peck blossomed into something much more ravenous, a soft laugh began to billow out of you, “Mr. Murdock,” you tilted your head back as his lips began to flutter down your neck, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you came over here to seduce me.”
Mirroring your own chuckle, he playfully tested, “and what if I am, huh?”
“Wait, really?” you giggled, your hands seized each side of his face and pulled him back a bit as his hot mouth worked wonders at making you lose your train of thought, “you sure you weren’t just hungry or something?”
“Hm,” his palms slid up to cup over yours as he cheekily said, “something, yeah…” peeling your fingers off of his stubbly cheeks, he placed a few pecks in your open palms, “I would fucking love a taste of something sweet.”
Tearing your gaze away from his onyx visage, you briefly cast a glance around the space, “uhm, I don’t really know what’s left over from today, but there might be someth–”
“Nuh-uh, that’s not the kinda treat I was thinking of,” he smirked brightly as he wrapped his arms around your waist, drawing you in closer to his warmth as his fingers sneaked under the apron’s knot.
Finally reading his obvious subtext, “o-oh,” you couldn’t help but giggle as he then leaned down to kiss you again, swallowing your laugh till it melted away into a low moan that vibrated against his lavish tongue.
Scrambling closer, you damn nearly climbed him like a tree with how desperately you clawed at his mass. When his touch slid further down your frame and curved around your ass, he briefly offered you a squeeze that you swore soared all the way to the sensitive nerve endings in your throbbing clit, before he scooped you up and sat you down on the steel countertop. As he slotted his width in between your parted thighs, his teeth playfully caught your bottom lip.
Fluttering your fingers further up, you cupped the sides of his face as the heated make-out slowly began to ease. The tips of your touch grazed the bottom of his black mask as you gently pulled back.
Blinking back at him through your lashes, your digits ghosted over the material as you uttered, “…can I take this off?”
A faint smile tugged at his lips as he softly nodded, “mhm,” and let you peel the charcoal mask off of him. Letting it drop to the table right beside where you sat, you gazed back at him for a moment, his chocolate eyes gently crinkled up in bliss as you briefly traced a light caress over a few of his newly revealed features before you sealed your lips with his once more.
Undoubtedly, your panties must have clung to your core at this point from how soaked they felt.
Abruptly, Matt’s soft lips suddenly strayed from yours. Fluttering your gaze open, a giggle bubbled out of your lungs as you saw him slowly sink down to the tile floor beneath you.
“Matty,” you beamed, your touch straying from his cheek as he settled down on his knees.
Slowly raising a sliver of your hemline up to your knees, his lips grazed against your shin and leisurely roamed further north.
Burying your fingers in the fabric of your dress, you gently began to hike it up till it, and the brown apron, bunched above your hips.
Your breathing was ragged, and your mouth hung agape when his kisses neared your centre. One of his warm palms stayed planted on your inner thigh after he’d split your legs further to grant himself better access as you sat there, nearly dangling on the edge.
A shiver ran through you when he placed a brief kiss to the soaked spot soddening your underwear, before his reach extended and hooked the cotton to the side, a sting of your slick clung momentarily to the fabric before snapping back against your core.
“Fuck,” he let out a gravelly groan and you felt his breath tickle your cunt before his hand, the one not clutching your soaked panties, curled around your frame and tugged you towards him, closing the minuscule distance between his zealous mouth and your glistening centre.
Parting your petals with dizzying laps, Matt let out a moan as he made out with your pussy, the tickling vibrations caused your thighs to tremble beside his head.
“God…” spellbound, he pulled back for but a second, “your pussy tastes like fucking heaven,” before he tilted his chin and enraptured your clit, fervently sucking down on it in a way that made your eyes roll in your skull.
“Oh my god, I–, I–…” you panted, sensing yourself race towards the finish line, but even with how incredible his tongue made you feel, deep down within you rumbled a feral feeling for more. As your pelvis bucked lightly against his efforts, you gasped, “Matt… get up…” unsure if you’d ever felt so empty in your entire life, “get up right fucking now.” When he rose, the lower part of his face glinting with your want, he didn’t get a chance to say anything before you yanked him by his shirt and crashed your lips against his. With the intoxicating taste of yourself lingering on your mouth, your heavy breath fanned across his face as you desperately uttered, “in the corner behind you, on the hook beside where my coat is, my bag, the little front pocket.”
Breathlessly, his expression fogged up in soft puzzlement, “what?”
“I went to the drugstore earlier,” you said, hoping that you wouldn’t have to spell it out for him.
It actually took him a second for him to realise what you were talking about, “oh,” as if he hadn’t hoped or expected anything more than what you’d just let him do. Crossing the room in mere moments, a playful chuckle rumbled from his chest as he fished out the box of condoms, “this is a big pack… were you planning on seducing me?”
Rolling your eyes, you giggled, “oh, shut up and get back here.”
As soon as he was back in your reach, your fingers began to fiddle with his belt, impatiently freeing him as you virtually drooled seeing the imprint of his cock strain against the dark fabric of his pants.
“Put it on, please, please, I wanna feel you so bad,” you begged as he ripped the foil packet open.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yes, please,” your hungry eyes were glued to his breath-taking fist as he offered himself a brief pump before he hastily rolled the condom on, “Matt, if you don’t fuck me right now then I’ll lose my fucking mind.”
Sighs flowed from the both of you in unison when Matt sank into your drooling cunt. You almost felt drunk, that’s how wound up you’d gotten.
“Oh, you feel so fucking good,” Matt exhaled, letting his forehead melt against your own as he rolled his hips, getting impossibly deep before drawing back a bit and finding a rhythm that caused your legs to be like crickets, shakily rubbing against either side of his frame as fucked you, “sweetheart–, christ… you’re about to cum, aren’t you?” his lips tilted up into a smirk.
“D-don’t you dare stop,” you panted, clawing needily against his torso.
“I won’t, I promise,” he then sank a hand down between your frames to tickle your puffy pearl, “I could do this all day, baby.”
You collapsed back on your elbows when your pussy fluttered around him and a lewd cry accompanied the high.
Panting against the cool table, you hazily blinked up at him as he then uttered in the deepest sincerity.
“God, I'm crazy about you, Y/n,” his expression was soft and dreamlike, “you know that?”
Your eyes went wide a moment, entirely forgetting how to fill your aching lungs, “really?” you then regained control rather gracelessly as you nearly coughed, “sorry... I forgot how to breathe for a second there,” the grin that bloomed on your lips nearly hurt.
Snatching one of your hands up in his, he weaved his fingers with your own, “you okay?”
“Yeah… I’m amazing…” you gazed up at him, “I’m also completely and utterly wild about you,” you then tugged on his hand, drawing him down enough for your lips to graze against his.
His hips instinctively rolled as your tongue flicked across his own, grinding briefly into your sensitivity before he noticed and went back to being completely still within you.
But when your sloppy kiss then parted, you tilted your own hips a bit, slowly fucking yourself shallowly on his cock. As he gently offered you a tender thrust, gradually pulling out of your clinging cunt just a tad, you glanced down between the shy space betwixt you and spotted the ring of your cream that stained the base of his dick.
“Fucking hell,” you whimpered as he straightened his spine back out and brought the back of your palm up to his lips, “I don’t get how I bounce back so quickly with you. It’s like you just have to smile and then I’m just–, oh my god!” you moaned as he changed his angle, brushing directly against a spot that sent a delicious shiver down your spine.
“Oh, you like that? Right there?” he repeated the same lavish motion.
“Y-yes–,” with your interlocked fingers, he then pulled you back up to a sitting position, the shift leaving you breathless, “fuck. You feel so good right now,” his hand let go of yours as it then snaked around your back, his burly forearm supporting your spine as the fingers reached up to weave within your hair, gently scraping his short nails over the nape of your neck.
Drawing you in even closer, your chest pressed against his as he kissed your cheek sweetly while he kept his pace meticulous and precise.
Hugging onto his broad shoulders, your head dropped down to rest against one of them as you then muttered, “harder,” your gaze hazy on the kitchen behind him before your eyes fluttered shut. When he then snapped his hips forward a little more electrically, you weakly repeated in his ear, “harder.”
Slamming into your needy cunt so fiercely that the sound of your skin colliding echoed off the tile walls and a bit of drool began to stain his dark shirt as your cheek stayed smooshed against his width.
“That it?” he growled silkily, “huh?” but when you couldn’t form any coherent words within the mess of moans that flowed from your lips, you didn’t have to see his face to know the grin that bloomed on his face, “aw, it’s alright, sweetheart,” his grip tightened in your hair, “you’re doing so good for me,” tugging intoxicatingly right at the roots, “just relax… that’s it… good girl…”
Keeping his pace rough, he lavishly slid out of you till just his bulbous tip plugged you up, before ramming his cock back in so feverishly that you could scarcely breathe at all, just tremble in his embrace, listening to the pure filth that he murmured in your ear, till you both tumbled over the edge.
With his spent girth nuzzled against your tender pussy, faint hums of contentment flowed from your lungs as Matt gently stroked your hair, his other arm wrapped around you as well as he kept your sluggish frame close to his long after you’d both regained your breaths.
As your fingers disappeared below his neckline and softly rubbed against the warm skin, your voice eventually found his ear, “okay, so I know that you didn’t come in here for a late-night snack,” the corners of your lips tilted upwards, “but now I’m kinda hungry.”
With a gentle chuckle rumbling within his chest, he briskly tugged himself away and untangled himself from you, “one second,” his lips pressed against your hairline before you saw him turn around and wander out of the kitchen.
As you watched him disappear into the front of the bakery, you tugged your panties back over your mess and pushed your dress back down, “oh, I'm not sure if there’s anything left out there–”
“Do you want a raisin bun or a very seedy one?” he asked and your brows flew up as you still hadn’t gotten used to how perceptive his heightened senses let him be.
“Oh, uhm,” you blinked, completely blown away, “raisin.”
Appearing before you once more, he handed you the speckled bun, “here.”
Smiling adoringly back at him, “thank you,” you sank your teeth into the pillowy treat before offering him a small bite, which he gladly accepted as a tender laugh rolled out of him. When you had consumed the sweet bun, a soft yawn promptly flowed out of you, “fuck,” his palms were warm at your waist as your arms briefly curled up beside your head, “I can’t wait to get back home and sleep.”
“How much do you have left to do till you can lock up?”
“Not too much,” your hands dropped back down and rested atop of his for a moment, “how about you? How long do you think you’ll be out there?”
“Probably not too much longer either,” his head tilted gently before he leaned back in.
“Alright,” you smiled, tenderly pressing your lips to his before he snatched up the discarded mask and tugged it back over his features. As his feet began to carry him towards the exit, he paused as soon as you said, “hey Matt?”
“Yeah?” the vigilante twisted back to face you.
A bubble of nerves suddenly fluttered in your belly as you uttered, “when you get back tonight, could you maybe–, uhm… or maybe I could–…”
Swiftly getting at what you were trying to convey, Matt simply marched right back to where you sat and pulled you in for a kiss. Cradling your cheeks a moment longer as he slowly pulled back, he smiled, “there’s a spare key to my place behind the radiator in the hallway.”
Gazing back at him, you uttered, “okay,” feeling like you were floating on a cloud.
“I'll try not to get home too late,” he breathed, pressing his lips to yours one last time before he backed up again.
Calling after him, “be safe!” he stopped on the threshold of the back door for a second, silhouetted by the dark city as he flashed you a grin before he disappeared into the night, leaving you in the bakery alone, feet dangling off the table as a bright smile tenaciously lit up your face.
© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble
#lea’s writing#buttercup series#matt murdock smut#matt murdock x reader#matt murdock imagine#matt murdock fanfiction#matt murdock fanfic#matthew murdock imagine#matt murdock x fem!reader smut#matt murdock x y/n#matt murdock x you#daredevil x reader#matt murdock series#matthew murdock x reader#matthew murdock smut#marvel smut#matt murdock fluff#daredevil smut
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Called to Duty 3
Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, abandonment, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Characters: Captain Syverson
Summary: You struggle to move on from the biggest mistake of your life but find it hard to forget among the whispers of a small town.
Part of the Backwoods AU
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.
You’re tired. You’re always tired these days, but you gotta do what you gotta do. That’s going to be your life from now on. Not what you want, but what you need.
You wait in line at the grocery store. Their in-store sourdough isn’t as good as the bakery but you can’t spare the extra dollars. You have your essentials; chicken, rice, some broth for those days when you can’t quite keep solid food down. Some fruits too for the mornings, and a sneaky pack of cookies.
The woman behind the counter packs up here bag. She rubs her hip as you swipe your card, as if she can feel your pain. You suppose she has few aches and pains from years of standing behind that till. She hands you your receipt and asks if you need help. It’s two bags, nothing too heavy. You slide them into the rolling bag you dragged down with you and head out.
You’re almost breathless as you get through the front doors. You get dizzy spells but the doctor says it’s just a dip in your blood pressure. You sit on a bench outside the grocery store and rub your stomach as you wait for it to pass.
As you close your eyes against the springtime sunlight, a familiar tone nestles behind your ear. The timbre sends a shiver up your spine and your hug your middle out of instinct. You don’t look over as Thor’s rolling baritone wafts through the air.
You stand and pull your bag in the other direction, as fast as you can. The wheels hit a line in the pavement and twists, the handle falling from your hand. It clatters to the ground and you hurried scramble to pick it back up as an apple rolls close to the top. You squat halfway and lift the handle, glancing over as silence pervades.
Your eyes meet his and you cringe. You quickly turn away as he pulls the phone away from his ear and tilts his head. You touch your stomach again. Did he notice? Did he care? He hadn’t before.
“Eh, been a while, kitten,” he purrs after you as his footfalls quickly descend, “where are you off to?”
You ignore him, turning towards the curb as you look up and down the street. You need to get out of here. He stands beside you and you flinch as he puts his hand on your lower back.
“Why’re you running away?” He says.
You scoff, “don’t tell me I’m the one running away.”
You drop your arm and drag the bag off the curb and across the street, as quickly as you can move yourself. You know he’s following. You know him better than he thinks you do. You turn down towards the pharmacy.
“You look good. Healthy,” he remarks, “you’ve... filled out.”
“Get away from me,” you hiss.
“Don’t be rude. I’m just checking in on you, as any good person should.”
You stop short and face him defiantly. His cheek dimples and reflects a memory back at you. The day you told him. The day he asked who you thought the father was. The day he shrugged off his responsibility on the back of rumours.
‘Couldn’t possibly be mine. How could you know for sure? How could anyone?’
That grin. That taunting grin.
“You shouldn’t be worried about being a good person, you should be a good father,” you sneer, a crack in your voice. “And you are neither.”
He laughs, “you always were dramatic, kitten, but the way you meow for me... I hear the hormones make you wild--”
He reaches to touch your cheek and you swat him away, “don’t.”
“One last time, for old time’s sake,” he coaxes.
“You are so gross,” you snip.
“You can’t be mad at me because you opened your legs--”
You push him. Stupidly. You shove him in the stomach with one hand. He barely reacts as you turn and stomp away with your groceries rolling at your heels.
Your eyes sear hotly as you swallow back the protest. It was only him. There was no other possibility. No one believes. Who knows who she slept with? She was always down at the bar, wasn’t she?
“I miss those claws, kitten,” he calls after you.
You grit your teeth and storm towards the brick facade of the pharmacy. You shake as you try to fish out your keys. You let go of the rolling bag in frustrating as you dig down in your purse. The cart falls over again and your keyring jangles out onto the pavement with it.
You let out a grunt and stand, staring at the catastrophe as the apple rolls out of the bag. You lower your head and steel yourself for the reach. Even at four months, with just a bit of belly, everything is so uncomfortable.
A thick hand scoops up the keys then the apple. Sy hooks two fingers around the handle of the bag and stands. You look at him, lip quivering, and quickly bat away your tears. You dab your eyes with your knuckles.
“Here,” he stands the bag up and drop the apple inside, then holds out your keys.
You sigh, “you.”
He frowns as you take the keyring, “me? I was only helping--”
“Yeah, because you feel bad for me. Please,” you shove your keys in the door, “don’t.”
“Feel bad? No. That’s not why... I... people should help each other. Especially those in need.”
“Yeah, yeah, I need to close my legs. I need to figure it out,” you huff and pull the bag through the door and shove it through, “thanks. I’m good.” You take a step inside and stop, angling back to him, “you forgot your stuff at the pharmacy. They’re holding it at customer service--”
“It’s yours--”
“Stop,” you put a hand up, “okay? Just stop. You can go get your money back then.”
His thick brows draw together and he grazes his hand over his buzzed hair, “I saw you talking to Thor.”
You snort, “yeah, I ran into your buddy. So what?”
He crosses his arms and shifts his stance, his works boots dragging loudly, “you’re mad at him.”
You close your eyes and suck in a breath, “I don’t want to talk about this, especially with you. Fine, go back to him, tell him how pathetic I am--”
“Why would I do that?” He sounds genuinely confused.
“I’m not stupid. You were always down at The Horn together. Whatever this is, I’m not falling for it.”
He squints then looks past you. Your turn and inch the door towards the frame. He steps forward and slaps a hand against the other side, holding it open.
“He is not a man or a friend if he’s done this to you,” he says. You arch a brow as his blue eyes meet yours, “you deserve better.”
He eases the tension in his arm as you lean on the door. He lets it snap shut and you wince at the click. You grasp the latch but don’t turn it as you listen through the wood. The friction of his hand drags down the wood.
“I will give you better,” you barely make out his mutters as the tread of his boot scrapes on the pavement. You twist the lock and fall back against the wall. What is he doing? It has to be a trick. It has to.
#captain syverson#dark captain syverson#dark!captain syverson#captain syverson x reader#drabble#series#au#backwoods au#sandcastle#called to duty
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It was in the 6th year of the Wars of the Real that the anti-magicians and their Realis project (that all should act in accordance with certain physical laws) were truly challenged. This was due in no small part due to a singular invention from a family of forest witches.
Their discovery was as ingenious as it was stupid. And it radically changed what a disparate collective was able to accomplish in the face of both overwhelming force and abstract certainty.
It also caused a truly historic amount of epic shitfuckery.
From “I Fought the Spore and the Spore Won: a history of Realis and Resistance”
- - -
“So, you’re the new recruit, huh?” The woman who spoke wore strange armour that looked like it had been grown out of wood. The helmet alone glinted with metal spikes.
“I … uh, I guess? Sorry, I’m kinda new to this whole ‘magical kingdom’ deal you’ve got going on here…” The recruit in question was wearing dull red overalls and a ‘what-the-fuck’ expression.
“No worries, kid. We put out a multiversal call for aid - so anybody with a latent magical destiny or a strong subconscious hero fantasy got pulled in. Very much a ‘To Whom It May Concern’ type of spell.”
She patted him on the shoulder. Up close he could see that the spikes on her helmet were actually the shards of a broken crown.
“So, uh, do I get any kind of training?”
“You already did, buddy. The spell should’ve planted a ‘potential seed’ inside you. When you’re exposed to trauma, then just in the nick of time it’ll suddenly sprout into the skills you need to survive. Very dramatic.” She paused for a second. “Or you’ll die. Also very dramatic.”
“So … either I’ll be awesome or I’ll die?”
“Well, you would die … unless you have one of these.” She threw him a small vial. He fumbled the catch, but grabbed it on the second try. Inside the vial swirled a glowing grey-green mist. “You catch a mortal wound, drink it. Or smash it on the injury. The fungus inside will patch you up.”
“Fungus?” The man was a pretty even split of horrified and fascinated. He simultaneously wanted to throw the vial away like poison, or guzzle it like forbidden candy.
“Yeah, you ever hear of ‘ophiocordyceps unilateralis’?”
“The weird zombie ant mushroom? Yeah, I saw it on a documentary!”
“Well, a family of witch-mycologists - real wyrd scientist types - they brewed up this variant in their forest. They turned it from a parasite to a symbiote. If it knows who you are, it’ll heal your wounds, get your heart pumping, even move your limbs for you.”
“How do I get it to know who I am?”
“You feed it.” She grinned ghoulishly. “Chuck in some hair, some blood, whatever bits of you are going spare. Anything to sync it up to your DNA. Think of it as your very own cannibal sourdough starter.”
“And people actually use this?”
“Oh yeah. Folks swear by the stuff. They even had an argument over what nickname it should have. The winner was the truly cursed phrase ‘resurrection juice’.”
“...really?”
“Oh yeah. The juice brigade are pretty smug it caught on. Some smart alec tried to give it a mushroom name, but they got one-upped by the juice thing.”
“I’m not sure I’m a fan of sharing my body with a fungus.” He tried to find the right words to articulate the niggling philosophical nuances of the idea and failed. “It feels like, I dunno, a bad idea?”
“Oh, it’s a terrible idea. A real crock of stupid. Pure idiot-fuel. But sometimes, when the world’s against you, the truly bad idea is the only one you have.”
“But, I mean, once the fungus takes over … would I still even be me?” The urge to gobble up the taboo canape had begun to be edged out by the existential dread.
“Look at it this way: you’d be mushroom food anyways, right? Why not let it be mushrooms who think they’re you? I think it’s kinda comforting that when the time comes, I can just relax and let fungus take the wheel.”
The man paused for a second, pondering the nature of life, decay, and resurrection.
“Anyways, they’ll be summoning the portal to pipe us out on our first mission soon. So best get ready.” The princess (for that’s what she was) thought for a second, then asked: “By the way … what did you do before you got sucked up into this particular asscrack, anyhow?”
The man gulped.
“I was a plumber.” He said.
#a long one but hopefully worth it#writing#flash fiction#I realised halfway through writing that this read like a grimdark mario bros fic and I just leant into that#still contains at least two puns for those keeping count
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prompt: Soap being a funny, goofy flirt with his barista whenever he's on leave back home….super cocky and charming, then a couple months go by …. and he comes back sort of rougher around the edges after Las Almas. less trusting. a bit meaner when he talks to her…..
[soap/reader] 2.5k; nsfw (on ao3)
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“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”
He’s back again. It’s not a usual occurrence, but when it happens your heart kicks into overdrive. He appears like clockwork every couple of months, and then back to back over a quick succession of days. Like he’s in town one week and then gone the next.
You look up from where you’re organizing the muffins in the display case to find him grinning down at you from the other side. His hair is freshly shorn on both sides, the stripe of hair down the middle likely barely long enough for him to work his thick fingers through it. He’s got a cocksure grin spread across his lips. A fresh cut over his right eyebrow, a butterfly bandage over it.
“Hi John,” you say. It’s almost a struggle to say the words. Your hands shake a bit where they’re extended out amongst the pastries, fingers pressing into a carrot muffin a bit too hard. It dents beneath your fingers. You pull them out, rest the tongs behind you on the countertop.
“Hi kitty cat,” he purrs, folding his arms over the pastry case, leaning as close to you as he can. If it were anyone else, you might be tempted to scold them for smudging the glass. It’s you that’ll have to clean that up later. “Not Johnny anymore? Have I been gone for too long?”
Charm like butter spread thick over freshly toasted sourdough, already melting into the bread, dripping onto the plate between the pockets of air. You know he could ruin you if he wanted to, if you let him in.
You know it won’t be long until you fold. He hasn’t been subtle about it. “Sorry, Johnny, we’re all out of scones.”
“Aw, that’s how you apologize for tossing up my morning?”
You twiddle your thumbs. “Sorry.”
“‘Have to do better than tha’, kitty cat,” Johnny says, lips drawn into a faux pout that has your heart skittering in your chest like it’s been let loose from the stables for once. “I was waiting for those scones for near a month."
“We have cream buns,” you offer. He snorts.
“Not in the mood for anything cream filled just yet.”
There isn’t a shade of red deep enough to describe your face. “Pardon?”
“Ye fancy going for a bevvy tonight?” Johnny asks instead, evading the question.
You probably look as gobsmacked as you feel. It’s not like you haven’t been asked out on dates before, but Johnny is leagues away from any of the men you’ve dated. He’s cockier, back straight and chest out, flaunting the muscles strapped across his chest and arms. You think it’s reasonable that you’ve chalked his flirting up to habit, something he does with everyone; whatever distance you’ve put between yourself and your inevitable nervous breakdown has been built on assuring yourself that Johnny surely didn’t mean for you to take his flirting seriously.
Apparently, you were wrong.
“You want to take me out?” you ask, sounding a bit dumb.
“‘Course I do.” He cocks an eyebrow, leveling you with an obvious look. “Haven’t been shy about it; s’a bit tough when I’m all over the place these days, but I’m in town for the next two weeks, so we’ve got some time. When you getting off today, kitty cat?”
Johnny leans farther over the countertop, towering over you now that you aren’t standing on the raised platform by the pastry case. Palms spread wide over the granite; when your eyes flit down, you can’t help the way they’re drawn to the dark, livid tattoos crawling up his forearms. Dark ink like they’re new trophies on his skin.
His attention is always like the sun; your whole body burns under his gaze. There’s something about being stared at so intensely, blue eyes raking down the front of you, that makes you unsure.
He buys a croissant instead, tenner pressed gently into the palm of your hand. You're tempted to deflect, tell him you aren't interested.
“Seven,” you whisper instead, hands shaking when you hand him his change.
His hand closes around yours, callused fingers rough against your skin. “Got it. Pick you up seven sharp.”
When he leaves, you barely hear the jingle behind him, the blood pounding in your ears. You have a date.
Your chest is tight for hours, thinking about your date later that evening. He picks you up after your shift, just as you’re locking up; you thought you’d have a couple minutes to head back to your apartment and freshen up, but you find him waiting outside the coffee shop for you, clad in a black hoodie and the same jeans as earlier.
He’s as slick and gentlemanly as you might’ve anticipated, walking you to the pub with a hand nestled against your low back. You talk for what seems like hours tucked away in the corner. Johnny makes good conversation, but sometimes it feels a bit like an interrogation. He’s talkative, but there’s a faint edge underlying everything he does; he makes you wait for him at your table while he orders for the two of you at the bar, taking the seat facing you so you’re ensconced in his shadow, hidden from anyone else in the pub.
He insists on walking you back to your place, boots splattering through the puddles accumulating between the cobblestones. He makes sure you walk on the dry side. Every light you pass under sweeps across his face in a golden arc, illuminating the corner edge of his jawline, the plush spread of his lips, the furl of his ear like a nautilus shell. Brows that slope over deep set eyes.
When he leaves you off at the door, Johnny’s hand curls in the hairs at the back of your neck and tugs you up for a kiss that goes scorching hot. Fingers tangled in your hair, other hand coming up to cup your cheek, holding you in place. You feel trapped, helpless against the onslaught of him; a hot tongue flicks into your mouth and he groans, making your head spin. You feel it resonate through you.
“Johnny—” you mumble when he pulls away for a second, cut off when he leans back in to suckle at your bottom lip. His beard is bristly against the soft skin around your mouth.
You feel him smirk against your lips. He nips at the lower one. “I’ll see ya tomorrow, a’right, kitty cat?”
Johnny only looks the slightest bit disheveled when he pulls away. A thumb traces your lower lip. He briefly looks regretful, like he wants to bend down again for another one—you feel the intention when he presses his thumb ever so slightly past your lips—but then he pulls back, walking backwards down the street away from you. A hand raised in goodbye.
Then the next day, he’s gone. Vanished into thin air. You glance up whenever the wind chimes over the door jingle, but it’s never him, always someone with a different hat, a different face.
You thought he promised you two weeks this time. Your chest collapses when the door opens and someone else walks in. Apparently he spoke too soon.
Two days go by; you’re fighting the desperation to know. It oddly never crosses your mind to think that he’s ghosting you. Maybe it should. You hardly know him outside of the brief interactions you have every other month when he’s back from wherever he works (and you know that it’s all top secret, hush hush, you’ve seen the military tattoos and kept your questions to yourself), but it doesn’t feel—and you think this with no small degree of irony—like something he’d do.
On the walk home, you often catch yourself looking for the familiar shape of him. Wandering past the shops closing up for the night, people piling into the bars, raucous voices tumbling up into the smoky sky; you stand on your tiptoes on the other side of the street and peer in, looking for the broad shape of his back.
You never spot him. There is a cold gap in your life that goes unfilled. It smarts at the root of you; you didn’t think you could miss Johnny. You thought you could feel a twinge of regret every now and then for not indulging his flirting a bit more, but you had honestly shelved him higher than you could reach in your desires. Until he took you out and listened to you ramble on, listened deeply with his attention rapt, his cheek pressed into his fist as he leaned against the table towards you. Until he whisked you safely back home and held you in place while he sipped kisses from your mouth until your lips were swollen.
It’s months later when you hear it.
“Hi kitty.”
Your blood goes hot at the sound of his voice. When you whip around, Johnny’s on the other side of the counter like he never left. Black shirt that clings to the curve of his biceps, old jeans with fades around the knees and thighs stretched around his thighs.
When you meet his eyes, they seem charged, steadier than usual. Flat lips turned up just at the corner, one side only. Johnny’s not usually so still, so grounded on his feet; there’s usually a frenetic undercurrent to him, like catching a live wire. You don’t know what he’s like out in the real world, but in your world he looks like he paces and runs to work himself free of all the extra energy. Maybe other forms of cardio.
“Johnny, you’re—” You catch yourself before the words tumble out, before you make it known that you’ve been tossing and turning late at night wondering where he went. Blue eyes sparkle like they hear it anyway, the faint note of desperation seeping into your voice like a hoarseness.
“Fancy going for a bevvy tonight?” he asks you again. Less of a question this time.
You feel pulled to him on a string. He doesn’t leave you in peace this time. He waits you out, sits at a table in the coffee shop facing you. Customers you’ve known for years seem entranced by him, and how could they not? They don’t make them like him often—tall and blue eyed, roguish; ruggedly handsome when the mood strikes. Pretty boy until he turns the full weight of his stare on you and you’re forced to contend with the fact that he is, in fact, all man.
Your amity turns to enmity when someone stares at him for too long. Placated only because Johnny never so much as turns their way.
Dinner is a long, drawn out affair. His conversation is rougher than usual, punctuated by bouts of silence. His eyes are murky waters. Something’s changed, you think, salad speared on your fork, hovering just in front of your mouth, studying him. Something happened in the months that he was away. Whatever it was, it’s left Johnny a bit more calculating, less trusting. He sits facing the door this time, eyes flicking up whenever it opens on the other side of the restaurant.
“Sorry, angel, don’t have it in me to be sweet and gentle anymore,” Johnny says when he walks you to your doorstep. “‘Fraid it’s gonna be rough for you from now on.”
His words make you tremble.
The kiss at your doorstep doesn’t end there this time. Maybe this is all an extension of that moment months ago, the natural endpoint. You were never going to end up anywhere else but flat on your back under him.
“Pure gaggin' fer it, aren’t ya, kitty?”
Johnny’s voice is rough, barely a rumble over the sound of your own keening. Your whole body slides up the bed every time he ruts into you, thick cock spearing you open. Your hands slip over his shoulders where a layer of sweat has built up; your bodies slide together like you’ve been at it for hours, rather than just the thirty minutes since Johnny bodied his way into your place and made you guide him to the bedroom, shucking his clothes the whole way there.
“No, I would’ve—” You gasp on a particularly rough thrust, teeth clenching together, “—I would’ve w-waited. Oh god, oh god.”
“Haud yer' wheesht, bonnie, quit whining,” he grunts. “Dinnae act like you weren’t asking for a big cock in this cunt. Could hear her purring behind the counter. Needed it for months, didn’t ya?”
You knew this was in him somehow, this penchant for dirty talk. He’s always moved like it was in him. You feel swept away by it, scorching under his hands and tongue and dick. Tightly wound. Only capable of holding on, one hand clenched now in the lowest part of his mohawk while he ducks his head to suck your nipple into his mouth. When he gives it a mean bite, you squirm and cry out.
“Never thought you were s-serious,” you admit, whimpering when he nips again at the tender spot there.
Johnny draws back onto his haunches, still deep in you. There are scars across his chest that you didn’t notice before. New skin frosted over, deep gouges across his arms; what you think looks like a bullet wound. Your eyes go wide. It’s impossible to think what he must have been through.
He looms over you, hand coming up to curl delicately around your throat. Just enough to let you know that he’s there, that he’s got you right where he wants. Johnny smiles wide, wicked, white teeth stark in the darkness of your room.
“Oh, I’m very serious, kitty,” he laughs, deep and throaty. He thrusts languidly into your heat now, drawing it out.
He makes a show of it when he comes, fingers tightening around your neck. Your breath hitches in your throat. It strikes you in the moment that you let him in bare, trusted him despite months of absence and no real excuse for it. When he pulls out, you feel it leak from you. Frustration boils under your skin because you haven’t come yet; you feel almost betrayed, a whiplash reaction that has tears welling up in your ears.
“Don’t worry,” Johnny coos at the sight of your pinched face, “you’ll get yours, bonnie. Gonna treat this kitty real nice.”
You struggle against his hold when he forces your legs wide and slots himself between them, making his way down the bed. He tongues deep into your cunt to lick his own spend out. Your thoughts dribble out of you, head empty; there’s nothing left in you except bone-deep exhaustion and the feel of his bearded cheeks scraping against your inner thighs.
You flinch like you’ve been shocked when he sucks at your clit, hypersensitive. He laughs when you do, doubling his efforts. His hot mouth on the place where he still drips from you might make you lose it completely. The most wounded sound bubbles out of you. Your hand trembles in his hair, torn between pulling his mouth closer and pushing him away.
He doesn’t relent until you’ve come twice, your face flush with blood. When his tongue flicks over your clit again, it’s for the pleasure of seeing your legs spasm.
“Johnny, please—can’t anymore,” you beg, trying to press your foot against his shoulder to push him away.
His chin glistens with your juices. When he runs his tongue across his bottom lip, plump and swollen, you drag in a harsh breath. Maybe you could go again.
“Kitty, I’ve had a rough couple weeks,” he says, voice light but for where it descends into a memory, deep and dark. “Just let me eat your cunt and we’ll talk about everything later, okay?”
Your fingers tingle like they’ve fallen asleep in his hair. When you give in, it feels inevitable.
#cod mw2#ceil writing#cod soap#johnny soap mactavish#johnny mactavish#johnny mactavish x reader#soap x reader#soap/reader#soap mw2#soap cod#cod x reader#soap call of duty#soap mactavish
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Black Templars with Bonds
So a quick note is that I kind of headcanon that Black Templars with weak bonds tend to try and break them by getting as far as they can from their human till the bond "snaps". ALSO dates from WHEN Roland is from are not canon for Yandere Space Marine AU.
Unfortunately for Cedric @sleepyfan-blog's boy he's meeting two bonded Black Templars with both intense bonds.
Arnault is originally the Bodice Ripper Author from this story
Brother Roland is originally from Yandere Space Marine AU.
@egrets-not-regrets @liar-anubiass-blog @barn-anon @bleedingichorhearts @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan
They had managed to find some Black Templars willing to come meet their "baby" brother. Neither Roland nor Arnault had heard of Primaris marines as they were from M41 and M40 respectively. However, they were told their battle brother was suffering and until they could get in contact with the "feral" ""warband"" of Black Templars he was completely alone. The Chaplain decided that it was best for his mental wellbeing to have at least some of his brothers meet him... even if they had more intense bonds then most marines.
Roland arrived first at the base. His eyes flick over Cedric in that typical appraising manner, he was out of armor wearing civilian looking clothing with a white shirt with large black cross over the center and black pants. He hummed at the end of his appraisal and passed him a large loaf of sourdough. "Its bread. It's good. It's made fresh by my human." Roland bit back the fact that it's made with love but he didn't want to overwhelm the young battle brother.
Though it didn't take Arnault long to appear and Roland sighed as while Roland kept his hair short Arnault let his white hair grow a little longer. As the incident involving the Black Templars he originally with made him a social pariah with any other Black Templars in the area but he was still a son of Dorn at the end of the day given the sword strapped to his hip but his clothes were a bit more fitted and nicer than what Roland wore. When his eyes met Cedrics he could see that cold calculation and appraisal flick into them as he judged the Primaris. "So you're the young battle brother that was dropped into the world in nothing but his night clothes." Arnault pointed out what he was told.
"Yes sir." Cedric said, causing Roland to scoff as he gave Arnault the side eye.
"He's polite." Arnault says.
"Yes, far more than you probably deserve." Roland said.
Arnault laughed as they switched to the local language and Cedric watched as Roland punched Arnault in the arm before they resumed in Gothic. Roland's arms folded over his chest and Arnault standing there, "You really are wound up tight." Roland points out as he had expected Cedric to start eating the bread as it smelt good.
The nervous look returned to Cedric's eyes and the two older black templars looked at him worried.
"Um, so what's your favorite food?" Arnault tried to break the ice.
"Nutrient paste?" Cedric replied confused as Roland just groaned.
"Have you been allowed out?" He asks.
"No sir. I've been confined on base since attacking a... patient." He hisses.
"Right Unbonded." They both said in unison.
"Well little," Arnault looked up at Cedric with a smirk, "battle brother you've got Brother Roland and myself Brother Arnault in the area to help keep you company. Now lets go enjoy the Brot that Bruder Roland brought." Arnault slips into that familiar Black Templar accent.
When they noticed him walking behind them the two forced Cedric to walk beside them as they were unwilling to talk behind themselves to a proper brother.
#warhammer 40k#space marine husbandry#space marine husbandry sentience#tales from the barn#lore drop#black templars#oc: Roland#oc: Arnault
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I swear I liked a drarry reclist from you for this, but now I can't find it :x do you have any recs for drarry fics where Draco has muggle friends or embraces a more muggle lifestyle? Bonus points if Draco is gay in them because it pulls me out of the story if he has a single straight man thought....(I mean really....the audacity)
First of all, same. Second, I have a list, Draco in the Muggle World, I'm adding on:
Draco in the Muggle World Pt.2
The Liars Department by DorthyAnn (103k)
This is a story about Harry meeting up with Draco Malfoy four years after the war. And a story about Harry, well, not hating his job per say, but it's not like he has much to compare it to and it seemed fine. His whole life seemed fine. Then Malfoy came along with and his flashy suits and fast car making everything seem dull in comparison, and Harry... Harry couldn't just leave well enough alone.
Modern Love by @tackytigerfic (61k)
Harry Potter, of all people, knows that life isn’t always fair. And no one gets to be happy all of the time. But surely there’s something more—something better—than a rubbish Ministry job, and a lonely old house, and that feeling that everyone out there is doing a better job of living than Harry is.
And it really doesn’t seem fair that Draco Malfoy is back in Harry’s life, all of a sudden, and even though he’s wandless, and living with Muggles, and making his mother cry with his lifestyle choices, he’s happy. So what’s he doing right, that Harry isn’t?
Because things don’t really change, do they? And if Harry can’t be happy, he’ll settle for a good night’s sleep, some posh antiques, and the opportunity to find out what Malfoy has been up to for all these years.
And that’s what starts it all.
Knead by @jovialobservationanchor (83k)
This is not a story about Harry renovating Grimmauld Place. This is a story about coffee shops and brewpubs, about Ginny and Luna on a farm with creatures, about magical Oregon, coastal road trips, flying, friendship, and Draco Malfoy’s lean arms.
The Man Who Lived by @e-sebastian (253k)
Draco breaks a cup, and one thing leads to another. A story of redemption, tattoos, dreams, mistakes, green eyes, long conversations, and copious amounts of coffee.
Set in New York twelve years after the war.
find a new place to be from by @oflights (47k)
Something is wrong with Malfoy Manor, and it’s driven Draco into the Muggle world. Thankfully, Harry is now on the case. A story about houses that haunt you and homes built for two.
you bring me home by @softlystarstruck (35k)
Harry is happy. He has his cat cafe and his hobbies. He has his friends, and Dolly Parton, and a shirt with a cowboy frog on it. It’s all a man needs, really. He doesn’t need to obsess over a magic-less, anxious Draco Malfoy coming into his cafe after disappearing from the wizarding world years ago. He doesn’t. Not even if the cats like Malfoy. Not even if Malfoy is soft, and funny, and a little bit neurotic. No matter how much he wants to obsess.
Sourdough by @academicdisasterfic (17k)
Draco writes romance novels and doesn’t leave his apartment much. Harry bakes bread and sells it to Draco. Draco is quite weird. Harry might like that.
Make Yourself by @anyaelizabethfic (103k)
Harry just wants to be safe within the freshly painted walls of Grimmauld Place, with his friends around him. But when he hears Draco Malfoy has been spotted at the local soup kitchen, he can’t help but encourage a different type of stray to come under his roof.
Star Quality by who_la_hoop (118k)
Two years after the war, and Harry’s content with his life. OK, so it’s a little annoying that he keeps winning Witch Weekly’s Most Eligible Bachelor award, and he’s really not looking forward to the unveiling of an enormous gold statue of himself, but he loves his friends, and he loves being an Auror. And if he yearns for something more, something he can barely bring himself to think about, well, he’ll probably get over it. No one’s happy all the time, are they? But then everything changes, and Harry’s thrown into a new and dazzling world he’s not sure he can actually escape from. And as time goes on, he starts to wonder: does he actually want to?
Rebel, Rebel by @makeitp1nk (28k)
Thirty-six year old Harry Potter is the coolest bloke in muggle Camden Town. That’s right — he’s left the wizarding world behind and has been living his best life ever since. But will one chance encounter with a certain blond from his past change everything? Yeah, probably.
(Un)wanted by @aibidil (36k)
Ginny's pregnant, then she's not and Harry's single. Harry, again with no family, doesn't know what to do with this turn of events, or how to find a new life—post-war, post-Ginny, post-abortion—in which he belongs. He doesn't expect that life to include dancing to the Backstreet Boys with Hermione and Draco Malfoy. A story of finding belonging in the unexpected.
The Miseducation of Draco Malfoy by @magpiefngrl (37k)
Zacharias Smith writes a tell-all about the D.A. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are not happy about it.
Had To Be You by @lettersbyelise (59k)
Draco Malfoy is possibly the last person Harry expects to find at the wheel of a Muggle car, on a beautiful summer day on the road to London. This is the story of how Harry runs into Draco once, twice, three times, and how he doesn’t leave their next meeting to chance. A fic inspired by When Harry Met Sally
Chasing Shadows by @manixzen (93k)
The murder of Lucius Malfoy seems impossible—no cause of death, no traces of spell-work, no potions in his system. The only leads Harry and his partner have are the trail of missing wizards the deeper they go. That and the help of the victim’s estranged son who now spends his time bartending at a queer-friendly Muggle pub. A case fic featuring a closeted Harry Potter, an out-and-proud, tattooed Draco Malfoy, and a murder mystery that seems to lead to more questions than answers.
coffee & communication: a (slow) romance by @softlystarstruck (10k)
Nearly a decade after the war, Draco has made a life for himself in Muggle London, writing romance novels and hanging out with his cat. But when he spills iced coffee all over a gorgeous man who turns out to be Harry Potter, has he tumbled into the start of his own romance without realizing it? And how difficult can it be to talk about desire, anyways? He writes smut for a living. Surely it can't be that difficult.
Meddling, Menswear, and Magic by @writcraft (18k)
Draco Malfoy is working in a job he hates and avoiding the magical world entirely, but he really is fine. When a bequest from Severus Snape brings Draco back to a much-changed magical world, he must find his place within it and navigate his growing attraction to Harry Potter in the process.
Way Down We Go by @xiaq (109k)
The war was over. Or at least that’s what the papers said. They’d been saying it, for months, as if people needed reminding. Maybe they did.
In which Harry and Draco both run away from their pasts and conveniently choose to hide in the same tiny American town. It’s super.
100 Beats per Minute by @oknowkiss (13k)
When Draco left the Magical World behind at nineteen, he didn't expect the cusp of thirty would find him comfortable and secure, with a stable life and a successful career as a sex columnist. Stable, that is, until he meets the subject of his newest column -- a stranger calling himself James, who has dragged them both to Ibiza on a sex quest of epic proportions -- and everything Draco ever knew turns upside down all over again.
Prats, Parcels, and Parseltongue by @ronbinary (10k)
Harry is the Muggle world's first snake-only veterinarian. Life is good, and calm, for once. Until Draco Malfoy shows up with a snake. And then another. And then he won't stop coming in.
Full by @orange-peony (16k)
The door opens and the bell goes ding. Draco’s eyes immediately fly to the entrance of his bookshop, his heart beating madly in the hope that it’s him.
The Year of Non-Magical Thinking by @whiskyandwildflowers (13k)
"I don't know what I'm going to do, Potter. I'll think of something. So will you. But this is my journey to self-actualization," Draco managed to smirk. "You can fuck off and get your own."
In the Shape of Things to Come by @academicdisasterfic (15k)
Existential angst and chronic boredom are plaguing Harry Potter in his cushy post-war life. However, a chance encounter with a tattooed, pierced, disgruntled Draco Malfoy in the middle of Muggle Camden seems to spark something in Harry again—and he never could stay away from Malfoy. Ft. assorted methods of body modification, eclectic but loving friends, a wide variety of grunge music, long tube rides, and a whole lot of trans love.
When You Kiss Me (What A Lovely Way To Burn) by @femmequixotic (22k)
A drag fairytale of New York in which Draco wears red lipstick and Potter can’t get enough.
Enjoy the Silence by @shealwaysreads (3k)
Draco stops speaking, gets some tattoos, and discovers that Harry’s happy to be quiet with him.
There's No Espresso in Azkaban by @sassy-cissa (7k)
When Harry finds Draco working in a Starbucks, he finds coffee has suddenly become more interesting.
Let Rainwater Wash Away by @carpemermaidtales (6k)
Harry really needed to learn the importance of carrying an umbrella. Or, maybe he didn’t, since not carrying one led him to stumble upon Draco Malfoy’s antique shop while seeking shelter from a thunderstorm.
Google drive link for all Gallaplacidia fics by @geesenoises
Exposure by GallaPlacidia (26k)
When Seamus uncovers Draco Malfoy’s camboy profile, he, Harry and Ron decide to anonymously book a private show so as to humiliate him later. Fascinated by Draco’s confidence, Harry keeps booking private shows under the disguise…
Can I Tell You Something by GallaPlacidia (33k)
It's not a party unless Draco Malfoy is there. He's so fun! So wild! So crazy! So many drugs! So many drugs. Too many drugs? Harry's starting to think it's probably a lot too many drugs. This is not a drug addiction recovery fic, although there is a drug addiction recovery. Feat. character development through wide-eyed MDMA trips and Draco Malfoy finding peace as a burlesque dancer.
#drarry#drarry fic#drarry fic rec#drarry reclist#draco malfoy#drarry fic recs#my recs#fic recs#hpdm#harry potter#draco in the muggle world
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A handful of GO/food-related thoughts (66% of which came to me in insomniac semi-sapience at 3am):
1) Would the Ineffable Husbands eat burritos, and what might 'burrito' refer to in their coded language?
2) The rice in sushi is functionally analogous to the bread in a sandwich and now I am flailing about potential implications in relation to your Bread meta
3) You remember the bit in the book about one of the Other Four Bikers disliking anchovies and/or olives on pizza? There's an actual French dish a bit like that! It's called 'pissaladière' (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pissaladi%C3%A8re), it's from the south of France (Nice/Provence sort of area) and it's actually rather yummy! (I made it for supper tonight ^_^) Granted, anchovies can be a bit of an acquired taste
Hi @jotun-philosopher The most sapient thoughts sometimes come in the insomniac semi-sapience at 3am, I find. What cool questions! Some fun with food, sexual euphemisms, and etymology for you. 💕
Burritos: What's extra Good Omens-y about this question, imo, is that "burrito" comes from the Spanish "burro", which means "donkey", so, a burrito is actually a "little donkey" and, by that measure alone, I will say odds are solid that the Ineffable Husbands have eaten burritos lol. That and they've been around forever and have probably eaten most things and burritos are so, so good... You might reasonably ask 'why the fuck is this delicious food named after donkeys?' and the answer is that it's thought to be because a burrito can and does hold so many different kinds of ingredients that it's kind of a "workhorse" of food. It handles so much at once by bringing in so many different nutrients and tastes that it's akin to the "workhorse" of animals, which is a donkey. The show also already aligns Aziraphale with donkeys and actually did so again pretty recently with Shax referring to Aziraphale as an ass and then that the elevator is in the doorway to the pub The Dirty Donkey (which I think we can all agree Crowley named? 😉).
[@procrastiel I saw your tags in my other, more depressing post about Aziraphale & The Dirty Donkey-- I was going for the above, not the more horrifying option. I'm sure you'll be relieved. 🤣]
As for food symbolism in burritos, there's just so many different ingredients, idk... I think they'd make innuendo out of what's ordered to be in the burrito on any given day. I can't imagine one of them not making a hot sauce reference, since sauce and its variety of meanings is a very Ineffable Husbands word and they've used it before in different ways ("gravlax in dill sauce"; "you dip it in soy sauce").
Sushi and Bread: You're right about the rice in sushi being functionally analogous to bread in that it's the starch but I think it's actually the nori or leaves used to wrap the sushi that is technically "the bread" of sushi. (So, on top of there being fish in the sushi, the "bread" is actually seaweed in 1.01... mmm🐟. 😉) But your point that sushi can be seen as a sandwich of sorts? Yes, totally. A sandwich being food between two or more slices of bread (or a stand in for bread that serves the purpose of containing the filling). A person then euphemistically tied to bread is then a person who is a participant in partnered sex. Mrs. Sandwich is "Mrs. Sandwich" because she "makes sandwiches" for other people-- she allocates slices of bread to one another.
The bread itself that has been mentioned so far is also interesting from an euphemistic standpoint. Besides the brioche looked at in Crepes, there's sourdough (mentioned in Lockdown as the only bread that Aziraphale has baked and, um, "has baked" in the last few days) and there's also the first mention of bread in the series... which is from God 😂 when she codes Crowley as black bread in 1.01. The joke there likely being that both sourdough and black bread are examples of the kinds of bread that are made through a process of fermentation-- the same way that alcohol is made-- reiterating alcohol and bread as euphemistic for sex.
Pissaladiere: Thank you for reminding me of it-- it's been ages since I had it and it's very spring. Might need to make one soon. Glad yours was delicious! Just a warning, though: I think Crowley would make you disappear if you ever tried to serve Aziraphale a pissaladiere, though. A French fish-topped tart? There's nary a more Ineffable Husbands dish in existence lol. Pissaladiere rooted from the Latin piscis, meaning "fish" and it reminds me of some wordplay in the show in Aziraphale's entry in 'The Demon's Guide...' that Furfur had in 1941.
The obvious joke with the entries in the guide is that they're supposed to be about angels from the demonic perspective and have to use language that is negative to describe these angels but... this just means it's an excuse for Crowley and Aziraphale to get their 'wily'/'smitten', etc. on and use words that have different, contradictory definitions. Everything in Aziraphale's entry-- that we all agree was written by Crowley (and in what we are shown of the Baraqiel one, that feels very 'written by Aziraphale')-- is actually complimentary or referencing their relationship in the fuller meanings of the words used under the negative connotation on the surface.
One of the descriptive details listed for Aziraphale is "suspishous ears", with an intentional misspelling of "suspicious" to look demonic, right? One of the parts of the wordplay there is that the misspelling is done so as to now include the word "pish"-- a bit of a Crowley & Aziraphale wily/smitten-type of word on a few different levels.
To say something is "pish" is to say that it's something you disagree with and/or that it is disgusting and it took on that meaning largely from being Scottish slang for urine (as it's a near-homophone for "piss"... see also, the British phrase "to take the piss (out of [x])" being to roast someone or something.) This is the negative connotation on the surface but where this is relevant to Crowley and Aziraphale is in the etymology of "pish"...
The word actually formed in the English language as onomatopoeia (words that are formed out of sounds like, among some of Crowley's other mentioned favorites in the show, "frou frou" and "whoop.") Out of what sounds, you ask? The "psshshsh" noises ornithologists and others make to attract small birds.
It's also thought to originate about equally with the bird-attracting sounds from "la peche"... which you'll be unsurprised to learn is the French word for fish.
In Mohegan-Pequot, spoken by the indigenous people of my neck of the woods in New England, and in a couple of other languages, use of "pish" is actually rooted from the English peas.
To have "suspicious ears"-- with "suspicious" spelled correctly-- is to be cautious about who you trust. "Suspishus ears", built to include "pish", then references fish, peas, and nightingales at once and would then be calling Aziraphale a good partner who listens.
A communication breakdown, though-- not listening-- also being a theme in S2 and its "I don't think your exactlys are my exactlys"/"aim for my mouth but shoot past my ear"/"no nightingales" misery...
#ineffable husbands#good omens meta#good omens#good omens 2#aziracrow#crowley#aziraphale#ineffable husbands speak
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Cozy Corner Domaystic
Inspired by Domaystic, this Cozy Corner event celebrates fic/art/edits/etc. that shows the caped blorbo in everyday life situations. That includes some classic domestic trope and potentially fluffy prompts, but because we all love to see Homelander in situations, I've also added plenty of everyday hassles.
The event includes 31 prompts, one for each day of May (though you don't have to stick to the order), plus a few alternatives for those who want to fill 31 prompts but find no inspiration in some of the main prompts.
A big thank you to @bisexualhomelander for brainstorming prompts with me -- and especially for coming up with the glorious "mundane use of powers" prompt!
As always, rules are minimal. Fill however many prompts you want, in whichever order you want, with whatever medium you like: fic, art, headcanons, gif sets, video edits, etc. Fills can be for a ship or for gen, and most of the prompts are sufficiently ambiguous to allow for either. You can also combine prompts and fill a prompt twice if you feel particularly inspired.
As a general tag for the prompt fills and so I can find and reblog them, I would suggest #cozy corner domaystic. All fills will be reblogged to the freshly renamed @cozycornerevents blog (unless you say that you don't want reblogs, of course). You can start filling prompts before May 1, but I won't be checking the tag as regularly until the beginning of May.
If you have any questions, drop me a line here on this blog or over @xieyaohuan!
Prompt list
Morning routine
Making tea/coffee for a loved one
Grocery shopping
Fighting for the remote control
Zoom call
Laundry
Thunderstorm
Skin care
Crossword puzzle
Mundane use of powers
Unexpected gifts
Sourdough starter
Sharing a toothbrush
Somebody is wrong on the internet
Taking a flight
Going through immigration
Parallel parking
Snow day
Filing taxes
Glorious Five Year Plan
Road trip
Noise complaint
Coupons
OCD
Correct use of capes
Identity theft
Biphasic sleep
Fireworks
Peace offering
Doing the dishes
Calling in sick
Alternative prompts:
"Are you coming to bed?"
"You forgot to turn the light off."
“Oh, what's this?"
"I'm not wearing that."
"It's your turn to do dishes tonight."
"Ryan's teacher called."
"Where are my keys?"
"You're bleeding."
"You forgot the milk."
"We'll be late."
#cozy corner domaystic#homelander#cozy corner#the boys#I said I'd post tomorrow but I figured since I finished the list I might as well post it today#we're already a bit short on time and I want everyone to have as much time as possible to prepare if you want to!
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Cozy Corner Domaystic prompt #12: Sourdough starter
Hughie, Homelander. 1.5k. Gen (sorry guys, not this time). Crack. I maintain this counts as a domestic fic but ymmv.
It was only going to be for 48 hours, Butcher said. As if having to host Homelander in his apartment for a couple of days was a reasonable request in any universe, something that was going to be easy. Hell, he didn’t even manage to have complete control over a washed up porn junkie like Lamplighter. How the hell was he going to manage keeping Homelander entertained enough that he won’t get inspired to leave?
It was a simple enough deal. Homelander would get Ryan if he stayed out of Vought Tower for a crucial 48 hours. Butcher never explained what he was going to do with Vought Tower, but Hughie has the feeling this is going to be an explosives kind of gig. The man isn’t all that subtle. With him it’s explosives, machine guns, or, rarely, the occasional verbal negotiation. Usually coupled with threats of violence anyway. He’s creative in the improv, not the planning stage, and maybe that’s why there’s no grand plan. How Mallory convinced Butcher to execute this plan, and how they decided that dangling Ryan would be enough to persuade Homelander to stay away from Vought Tower, Hughie doesn’t know. Frankly, he has his doubts that if Butcher decides to stage a fifth of November type of event, Homelander won’t bolt out the window and come to his employer’s rescue. Not like Hughie can do anything to stop him. He doesn’t even know what Butcher has planned. But what else is new? He was charged with the babysitting, and everything else is on a “need to know” basis.
“You’ll sleep better if you don’t know the details, lad,” Butcher said, winking, and Hughie objected that no, no he wouldn’t, at ALL, after hearing that kind of reassurance but he knew his objections were going in one ear and out the other. Homelander likely knows more details than he does, and that feels insulting. Hughie wonders if they’ll get to a point in these 48 hours where Homelander would explain it to him out of sheer cabin fever boredom. Right now he’s behaving quite normally- eerily normally, Hughie might say. He’s been planted on the couch for hours, not requesting anything even though Hughie tries to be a good host and offer things periodically. Maybe the supe doesn’t even eat or drink. Homelander just watches Vought News at a slightly obnoxious volume, and takes a slightly suspicious number of bathroom breaks, especially for a supe who may not need water to survive, for all Hughie knows. Hughie goes in to the bathroom just to check if something has been rearranged in that room or if there’s a secret phone Butcher hooked up in there, or maybe a portal to Narnia. He can find nothing remarkable. At one point, and against his better judgment, Hughie creeps closer to the bathroom door while Homelander is in there, to try and overhear if he’s doing some kind of communication, maybe to Vought, right under Hughie’s nose. If he was texting it’d be silent anyway. All Hughie can make out is something that sounds suspiciously like very short moans of effort or pain. Was he listening to Homelander straining to take a shit, right now? Is this what his life has become? Hughie feels the blood drain from his face when it dawns on him that Homelander might be seated on the toilet facing the door and might be staring right him.
“What’re you doing, Hugh?” A gruff voice from inside the small room, echoing off the tiles, right on cue.
“Uh… you okay in there?”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be okay.”
“Just- just checking. Sorry, didn’t mean to… well, never mind.”
Hughie staggers back into the living room, trying to will the color back into his face.
Homelander walks out, after running the faucet, Hughie notes thankfully. He wonders if Homelander even takes his gloves off in the bathroom or just washes them like skin.
“You think I’m gonna bolt out of your tiny bathroom window? Trust me, I wouldn’t leave out that way if I had a mind to leave.”
“But… you’re staying because Butcher promised you Ryan?” Hughie just can’t help himself and wants to verify.
“Yeah. And if he has any plans to renege on that, trust me that I’ll take you as first hostage. Butcher seems oddly fond of you. Not to mention our resident blond ditz.”
Hughie thanks his lucky stars that Annie bailed out of keeping him company during this sit-in, just on principle. She would be escalating the situation right now. Hughie sighs. “Not sure Butcher will care about me as much as you expect.”
“Oh he’ll care. He talks a big game about not caring about anyone, but I’ve seen how he talks to you at HQ.”
“Wait, you … you know our HQ?”
Homelander rolls his eyes. “I wouldn’t need X-ray vision to know. Vought Analytics has it bugged.”
“Wait, seriously?” Hughie blanches.
“Yeah, what do you think? I’m telling you because you’re all are so pathetic it’s just not a fair fight at all. Consider it charity.”
And yet you’re sitting here waiting for Butcher to decide to hand over Ryan to you, Hughie thinks. “Wait, so… do they have my place bugged too?!”
Homelander takes a cursory look around. “No. Nope, don’t see or hear anything. You’re just not consequential enough, I guess.”
I’m pretty high up in the FBSA! Hughie’s brain protests, but thankfully he keeps his mouth shut.
“So…. does it seem to you like I’m going to the bathroom a lot?” Homelander suddenly asks, and Hughie shakes his head in disbelief.
“What?”
“You asked if I was having trouble. Did you think I was going a lot?”
“Uh…” Hughie can feel sweat that’s broken out earlier start to actually trickle down his back. He tries not to think about the fact that Homelander might be able to see this. “I just… yeah I guess I thought so, but we all have days. Drink a lot of water, need to go more often, right?….” Now he’s just babbling nonsense, and laughing weakly at nothing funny, but in his defense it’s a nonsensical question that he’s answering.
“Sure,” Homelander says in a strange tone and turns back to the TV but looks like he’s lost in thought.
“Can I- get you something? I might start making dinner soon, and I don’t know what your preferences are. We can order in or—“
“Do you have milk?” Homelander interrupts him, sounding strangely urgent.
“Uh… yeah, yeah, I think so, it’s just…”
Homelander brushes past him to go into the kitchen and Hughie trails off.
Great, now he’s actually acting strange. Should he be alerting Butcher? It’s not like he can even say much. He has a code word that basically means ‘come quick, Homelander is in process of killing me,” but nothing less dire than that. He’s not about to start describing that Homelander’s acting weird about the bathroom when the supe will hear him even if he travels over to a different a borough.
“WHAT THE FUCK???!”
Hughie’s entire spinal column gets tense as he hears that voice and then glass breaking somewhere outside. He cautiously approaches the kitchen and just sees Homelander standing there, breathing hard and looking angry.
“W-what happened?”
“YOU FUCKING TELL ME. You had some milk in a jar or whatever it was, but when I cracked it open it smelled like the vilest shit on earth!”
Hughie looks around, thinks for a moment, then buries his face in his palm, not knowing if he’s going to laugh or cry, and worrying that either reaction is going to earn him a lasering.
“WHAT THE FUCK WAS IT, HUGH? You trying to poison me or something? Heard I like milk?”
“What? No… no… wait where is it…”
“I chucked it out the window! Don’t tell me you needed that, it smelled about forty days expired!”
“It’s…”
“WHAT.”
“It’s not milk. It’s … a sourdough starter. Fren- um a friend gave it to me. To make bread. It’s not milk at all.”
“Fucking vile,” Homelander says, but a bit more quietly, and a bit more defensively, realizing the error may have been his. “Don’t just leave that out on the counter.” He throws the fridge door open violently enough that Hughie is nervous that he might tear it off the hinges, but he finds the real milk, inspects it very suspiciously, uncaps and smells it. If Hughie is being honest, he’d probably not going to drink this milk after seeing Homelander sniff it cautiously, from a distance, then bury his nose into the opening to huff it, way more deeply than anyone in their right mind should.
“1% huh.”
“Uh… yeah, Anni- we like the 1%.”
Homelander eyes him up and down critically. “You can probably afford to grade up. But your girlfriend, yeah, stick to the 1%.”
Hughie sighs and shakes his head ever so slightly, trying not to process what his charge is saying. Homelander walks past him back into the living room, back to being glued to Vought News. At least he’s not watching porn. And it looks like Hughie won’t have to worry about making sure to throw out that 1% jug after all, as Homelander drains what is most of a quart in about fifteen minutes.
(AO3 link)
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nightmare for the one word prompts
[a little sad but mostly very silly, butch bea universe]
//
'i really don't have to go today,' beatrice says, kissing your forehead before settling down next to you on the couch. you know she means it: beatrice means everything she says, first of all, and you have grown — despite your brain's best efforts to steer you otherwise — to trust her when she offers care. you take her in: her fresh haircut that she gets done every month now, usually neatly parted on the top, messy from sleep; her tender wrists; the soft skin of her thighs; the soft sweater you bought her last christmas, sleeves pulled down over her hands, which are always cold.
you sigh. you had had nightmares — more than one, which is rare this many years later, after the worst of it — and woken up with scars that you don't think about too often, or at least with too much pain or sorrow anymore, aching all over your body. your legs had been pins and needles — worse, you've discovered, than feeling nothing some days — and your spine had ached, the halo feeling your sorrow, sharing in it. beatrice had skipped her typical surf session this morning, partially because she'd woken up with you both times last night, and partially because she's worried. she doesn't try to hide it anymore, her concern written all over her gentle face, in her sweet eyes, her soft hands. you find it nestled along all the small things she did for you in the past two hours: bringing you pain meds along with an easy breakfast of scrambled eggs and your favorite rosemary sourdough toast, doing a few snuffles with korra's morning unkibble so she's calm and ready to work today for whatever you need, helping you, after your glum nod, transfer from bed to your chair. you twist the wedding band around on your finger, focus on the few freckles that sit on the tops of her hands because of her time in the sun. your life is real, you remind yourself. your time on the other side, every endless day you spent in hell, was worth it for this, for beatrice quietly and patiently sitting next to you, soft and always becoming more herself; for your family visiting at the end of the week, camila begging to go to universal studios, lilith grumbling but giving in; for the respect people owe you now, and ready give; for your dog and your bar and the edibles you share with beatrice some nights, easy with laughter, and the farofa you feel confident in making for dinner when your friends come over, a warm offering.
'no,' you decide on, firmly, and you know beatrice will trust you. 'we should go. it'll be fun.'
'it will be fun,' she says, the same gleam in her eye you remember from years ago when she was ready to "maim or kill" (lilith's words) anyone who was in the way of her and the mission, especially once you became involved.
'you remember this is, like, your weekly tennis match for fun, right?'
'of course, ava.'
the way she cracks her knuckles tells you that the for fun is lost on her for the most part. it's endlessly amusing to you, though, and quite harmless — although maybe not to her opponent's pride — so you don't bother to argue any further. 'okay, well, i think angela and ruth wanted to have lunch anyway today after their jazzercise class, so we can watch you play.'
'no catcalling.'
you pout. 'you're my wife.'
'not from you, not from ruth or angela.'
'they're old, bea. let them have some fun.'
'at my expense? no thank you. i need to focus while i compete.'
she's already sitting up straighter, eyes lively. she's playing david today, you think, if you remember the club's "adult intermediate to advanced tennis league" rotation correctly. he's a decent player, and their head to head record is relatively even. he's also a bit of an asshole, and a venture capitalist, so it stands to reason beatrice despises him.
'fine.' you squeeze her hand. 'but can you change your shirt between sets?'
'ava.'
'gratuitously towel off or something at least.'
'ava.'
'whatever,' you say. 'i'm wearing a bikini. at least ruth and angela will appreciate it.'
'oh, i'll appreciate it,' she says, and then laughs softly and leans over to kiss you.
/
everything about beatrice, you decided years ago, is endearing. can she kill a man in, like, one second using just her hand? yes, sure, but you've seen her very skillfully practice her forms every morning for years, barring injury, and frown when anything is off, even by a breath. most people find her precision in all things kind of terrifying, but you've learned that some of it is a trauma response — from her childhood, from being a soldier, from losing you — and some of it is really just how she is. her books sorted exactly how she wants them — by genre, subgenre, and then author's last name — on the bookshelf; the meticulously labeled spices in your pantry, always in both their language of origin and english; her surfboards waxed perfectly and neatly stored in the small shed in your yard. everything about her precision is endearing because you understand her and you love her, and maybe the most endearing, or at least you think some days, is the way she treats rec league club tennis.
no matter how many times you've jokingly reminded her that your club isn't wimbeldon, she likes to wear all white little outfits; men's shorts and, your favorite, a neat polo. in the summer, she favors tanks, which you are not complaining about. she has three racquets and a very impressive bag like all the pros carry onto the court, special towels, pristine sneakers, and, when you're most amused, a wristband she very sincerely wipes her sweaty forehead on. since you'd met she'd loved watching tennis, and she'd taught you — as patiently as she has always taught you anything — the rules, her favorite players (not that it was, like, hard to think serena williams was the best athlete ever), common terms to know. you'd gone out with her a few times to the courts and she'd shown you proper form; you'd found out, eventually from her, that her dream as a little kid was to be a tennis pro, which was so charming and a little unexpected. you had thought she would've wanted to be some kind of scientist, maybe a really good lawyer, but her brother had dug out some pictures of little beatrice in her tennis getup, her expression so, so serious for a nine year old, and you'd fallen in love all over again.
she listens to her "pump-up music" — a lot of pop, surprisingly — as she drives you both to the club, focused already in her tennis outfit, complete with a quarterzip warmup top and everything. you're endlessly amused by her, in a way that most people are too intimidated to be, and you think it's good for her, to feel human, to not be taken so seriously when she should get to just enjoy things. your pain meds are helping by the time you get to the club, the pins and needles down your legs leveling out, the halo shaking off some of its deep sorrow, the memories of torture and abject aloneness that sometimes show up in your dreams. today is bright and sunny, the bluest sky, and your friends wave to you once you get out to the tables near the tennis courts. beatrice says a quick hello and then bustles off to start her very precise warm up routine, and you all wait until she's out of earshot to share a fond laugh.
'david today?'
'i swear she was rewatching coco and iga's last match yesterday to prepare.'
ruth pats your hand and angela orders a charcuterie for the table, gets prosecco for ruth and herself and — they both know you well enough by now that your chair usually means you've had to take medication, which you don't mix with alcohol — a cranberry soda for you, your favorite.
david shows up a few minutes later as you're gossiping, angela gasping at ruth's latest escapades with her new boyfriend while you laugh delightedly. he's the kind of muscular dude that likes to run along the beach shirtless because he thinks it's impressive but really it just looks ridiculous, the kind of dude that would give unwanted pointers in the gym. you don't have a disdain for him like beatrice does, because he's never done anything abhorrent to you personally, but when you see her steely gaze as he goes to his bench on the court, you get it. and, also, it's hot, so, like, you shoot a quick thanks to david and his douchey backwards cap for that.
/
things go just about as you'd expected: beatrice plays with the amount of passion you'd see in a wimbeldon final, and angela and ruth relentlessly whistle and cheer and boo. the charcuterie has a new truffle havarti you're all in love with, and the bottle of prosecco gets split happily while you watch. it's a fairly even match — david hits harder than beatrice but is slower and definitely stupider — and she wins the first set 6 games to 4. she gets mad at him for serving too slowly, and they briefly have an argument over whether or not one of his backhands was in. it's all deeply ridiculous for an afternoon at in an amateur club league, but beatrice and her overhand serves get you every single time.
she's down a break in the second set when she hits a drop shot that has david falling over his own feet, and you know it's over then. the second bea realizes someone is truly out of sorts, in any scenario, she's already won.
they shake hands after the match is over, beatrice taking the second set much quicker than the first, and then she makes her way over to your table and sits, very satisfied, in the chair next to you, a towel around her neck.
'my champion,' you say, and she rolls her eyes, accepting the congratulatory beer angela had already ordered for her as the last game was winding down with a thankful nod.
'great match, beatrice,' ruth says, half-sincere, half-teasing, but beatrice smiles anyway. sometimes, things are not good; sometimes, on the worst days, even now, even still, even with all this love, you still remember what it was like to suffer alone — without feeling, with too much feeling — for so much of your life. but beatrice slips into her quarterzip next to you and you smell sweat and laundry detergent and the pomade she puts in her hair, you feel the sun warming along your back and you hear the small group of children starting their lesson, laughing brightly. beatrice holds your hand and you'll nap later; you'll order takeout from your favorite thai place and watch the sunset on your patio; you'll fall asleep in her arms. you'll wake up and do it all over again — the loneliness, the pain, the longing — just for this.
#wn#wn fic#avatrice#avatrice fic#butch bea 🥺🫡#this is mostly bc a) i’ve been meaning to write this for like six months lmao it’s so funny#b) i’ve been watching the us open go coco obviously#c) whew ava deserves a silly happy life!!!! thinking abt him always#also d) bea when faced w normal competitive scenarios would be so insane#just absolutely batshit crazy i love her
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Y'all know what's solarpunk? Or at least sustainable? A good sourdough starter. It requires flour, quite a bit of it to get started, but it's healthier for you, and you can use the discard after the initial start phase for all kinds of tasty things meaning no waste and less store bought pancakes, crackers, brownies, breads, etc.
Here's how you make a starter (disclaimer this is how i made it, I've noticed a lot of sourdough purists insisting u need to weigh everything every time you feed and you need a scale for all your recipes, etc i have done none of that and i don't have the energy for all that either)
You need:
Flour, i use unbleached but that's because i had a bag lying around i used for vegan cookies as a gift and i heard it works for starters, Harold (my starter) seems to like it so why change, but I've heard of people using literally any kind of flour
Water, enough to mix into a thick pancake batter consistency
If you feel weird wasting flour you can try the quarantiny starter idea from king Arthur's flour which uses only a tablespoon of flour and some water until it's active and then you bulk it up when you want to bake with it.
You're going to want to add your flour and water and mix until it's a thick pancake batter consistency, i started with a half cup of flour but i left on vacation and my grandma accidentally bulked it up so now it's up to like a cup.
Every 24 hours (not exact measurement and some people swear by feeding it every 12, i do 24 but it varies by person and starter) you are going to want to toss half (in the garbage at this stage) and mix in about the same amount of flour as the mixture you just tossed (ex. You estimate you tossed half cup of starter, add half cup of flour to remainder in jar) add enough water til you reach consistency. I've gotten told this doesn't work but my starter is happy and thriving so I'm sticking with it.
Once your starter is active and consistently doubling within 8 hours after feeding (you will notice it does this in the first few days, that's Bad Yeast do not use. Your starter will hit a slump and then come back to rising, that's good yeast. I recommend putting a rubber band or hair tie where it is after u feed so u can monitor rise easier) experts recommend waiting ten days from initial starter start date to use it, i waited three weeks. Toss all starter at feeding during this time.
ONCE UR STARTER IS ACTIVE then u can save all the stuff u were tossing in a jar in the fridge (i use an old spaghetti sauce jar, and my starter is also in a big olive jar lmao) and use it in recipes that doesn't require yeast, this is sourdough discard and you can find a ton of recipes online for it.
If you want to use it to bake bread, you will use it when it's at its peak rise area, usually double what it was when you feed it. This is the yeast being all active and happy which will rise your bread. I recommend this recipe for beginners:
I reduced the salt to 1 tsp and added probably around a cup and a half of whole wheat flour, i had it lying around and why not. Changes will depend on your elevation and what works for you, it's not a science which is why no recipe will work for literally everybody. Almost everybody's first sourdough bread will fail one way or another but 98% of the time it's still edible and you learn!!!
Feel free to ask questions :)
Edit: forgot to mention that you should keep your jar covered, but don't screw the lid on, i just use the flat part of a canning lid placed on top
#sourdough#solarpunk#practical solarpunk#sustainable#environment#environmentalism#environmentally friendly#sustainability#ecofriendly#eco friendly#low waste#sourdough bread#baking bread#sourdough discard#yeast#sustainable baking#baking#bread baking
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Hi! Thank you for the health advice! I would love to quit or significantly reduce carbs, I also feel like it's heavy on my body, but so many meals revolve around grains (sourdough bread mostly) and I guess there's a craving aspect to it too... Could you give advice on what you're eating instead?? I have lots of eggs, fish, occasional meat, plenty of fruit, just enough veg haha but i find it hard to imagine going without carbs (or grains more specifically cos I have no prob with vege carbs). Especially in winter 😋 Thank you for any help 🙏🙏
I feel like society has normalised feeling heavy and lethargic after meals, but its amazing you have noticed this and want to change!
You may want to cut carbs gradually (no starches - breads, grains, rice, pasta, potatoes).
I would recommend looking into GI index to see what foods are high glucose, following Hormone Balancing recipes, juices etc (usually very low carb and support women's health). Listening to podcasts on microbiome, or even a tiktok search.
Introducing pre/ probiotics: I make sauerkraut (which is basically cabbage / onions in water and salt left to ferment for a few days - lots of variations on this), also just made my first batch of Kefir (I stay away from store bought Kefir as its pasturised and all the good stuff has been killed off during this process). I mention these as a healthy gut is going to support you as you remove carbs and introduce more wholesome foods.
Breakfasts:
Omlette (spinach / onion / parsley )
Scrambled eggs w/ coconut oil
Buckwheat porridge w/ blueberries (buckwheat is a seed not a grain so low glucose index)
Avocado salad (seeds, olives, rocket, tomatoes, cucumber) +tahini
Snacks:
Nuts, olives, blueberries, blackberries, watermelon
Main meals:
Veg + Protein (Broccli, kale, butternut squash, courgette, carrots, asparagus, cabagge, peppers). I do different variations of veg to mix things up, sometimes i do Chinese style stir fry, I try to add garlic and ginger as much as possible into the veg. Protein is usually grass fed steak, whole fish - seabream, sea bass, mackerel, cod fillet, wild salmon fillet, or turkey breast fillet. I make chimichurri sauce to add some extra flavour to the fish.
Protein + lentil / chicpeas dish. I have a stew a few days a week to break up the veggies because they do get boring after a while.
Bone broth. I boil the bones, and have as a little side dish with veggies but this isn't really filling enough for a main meal.
I make beetroot juice, and also watermelon juice, tumeric + ginger shots throughout the week. I try to throw in flaxseed and chia seeds where possible.
I cut coffee/ decaf all that and now only drinking fresh mint tea, slice of lemon + hot water, fresh juices (within the hour of making), and water ensuring 2l per day.
Number one thing that had to go was oats. So if you are having a morning crash I suggest cutting the carbs first thing. I know there are suggestions (glucose goddess) that fat with carbs or when you eat them (having carbs after veg can help) but personally i think its best to cut them.
I hope this helps! Its a full lifestyle change that has honestly helped so much! It's a commitments, but investing in feeling good and your health will make you feel so good and wholesome! xoxoxo
*I used the free 1 month trial of MyFitnessPal app to track my calories/ meals to ensure I was getting enough food - for some this might be extreme but super helpful to see what’s going on.
#levelupjourney#manifestyourreality#levelup#lawofattraction#manifesting#growthmindset#healthy body#healthyfood#healthy diet#keto diet#gutmicrobiome
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Asra Alnazar | Modern AU
[+18 | Adult Content MDNI]
A/N: sorry for the random ass post, but I miss soft romance AU, and he's the only comfort character that I know would fit into this. (it's a wonder what a half heart could do to a lady, huh?) Anyway, enjoy my take on him ^^
General
He might not realize it, but most of his clothes are women's clothes. For a reason that he find the texture softer, and more comfortable, compared to men's clothes
Like shirts, and the outerwears
He likes woman's shampoo (*cough* Diane) as well, because it makes his hair smoother, and smells good
He also wears skincare, but limits himself to moisturizer only. Because he once brought so many products, but he ended up not using them because they didn't fit his skin type. He had learnt his lesson
Books and poetry are his weak spots. He likes to read, and can never resist a novel with an interesting title
He treats Orpheus and Eurydice story like the Bible
Sometimes he writes, but he finds his poems terrible, so he never shares it to anyone
Surprisingly, he doesn't have any favorite movie. While he does like a few movies, there's none that touched him—to the point that it changes him as a person
People around him would debate over his pet preference, some would be so sure that he's a dog person, while the others were dead serious about him being a cat person.
(Imagine their surprise when they found out that he owned a ball python)
He prefers to cook his own food rather than buying take-out, except for the food that (1) took a long time to make, and (2) sourdough bread (or any kind of artisan breads, really)
Talking about preference, his favorite beverages are smoothies and wines. But for wine, he only likes them when they're sweet. If it's a red wine, he'd like them hot and spiced. For white wine, he prefers port wine. I can see him liking any sweet cocktail like Baileys, Sangria, or Margarita. He only indulges in alcohol every once in a while, but smoothies? Oh boy…
Contrary to people's belief, he doesn't listen to music that much. Even if he does, he's listen to instrumental music
He values his concentration a lot, and would do anything to keep himself focused. That's why he practices meditation, and he'd take some time to meditate, at least once a day.
I can see him as someone who owns a perfume shop, or a place for an art exhibition. And he won't have just one job either, he'll have many things on his plate that's relating to arts, fragrances, and wellness
When people ask him about his belief, he'd say that he believes everyone is responsible for their actions. He doesn't believe that God would meddle with people's affairs, and strongly believes in karma. He also believes in reincarnation, that's why he tries to not make enemies with anyone, because he doesn't want to deal with them again in the next life
While he doesn't necessarily believe in the personification of God, he believes in the existence of Deities, and he respects their existence as something beyond human knowledge
Which, in turns, makes him luckier somehow
(Maybe it's because Deities favor him, but who knows)
He's really bad at video games, mainly because he never takes it too seriously. But his friends would invite him to play, because he always makes them laugh
He also sings, very badly at karaoke, because he never listens to the songs
Despite of his easy-going nature, no one's really close to him. He's a private person, and wouldn't disclose anything about himself too much
But strangely, people would claim that they know him best, solely on the random facts that he had told them separately
(And it's always fun to watch them arguing about it)
Love/Relationship
Like I said earlier, he's easy-going, and that means he's easy to approach too. But that's it, that's what he'd ever be
He's approachable, but unavailable at the same time
And the reason for it, is because his idea for love is very complex. He couldn't love someone if they didn't connect on deeper level
In the past, he's not afraid to kiss anyone he found interesting, but as he grew up, he did it less and less, to the point of stopping
(Once, he got into an argument because the person he kissed believed that they had something, but he firmly stated that they're nothing. Which snowballed into a fight, and their relationship became a gossip for quite a while)
He never slept with anyone either, because he believes that sex is an exchange of energy, and he didn't want to give a 'part' of him to someone he didn't truly love
I think he's pretty much the embodiment of 'fell in love first × fell harder' trope
He wouldn't know his feelings before they hit him all at once
And when it happens, he won't know what to do, because it's very unfamiliar to him
He'd distance himself with the person he loved, while trying to make sense of his feelings. Does he really love them? Is it something that's genuine, or will it pass?
But once he found all of the answers, he's committing, hard
You won't see any hesitation from him when he confess to you
Would just marry you on the spot if he could
Of course, he'll take it slow at first, but he knows that there's no one else he wants more than you. So he'll work hard to make sure that you're happy with him
Having conversations with him hits different, because he knows you and your way of thinking. You'd say just one word, and he'd already know the whole sentence
On the fluff sides, I think he'll pretty much share things with you
He'll let you move in with him, and will let you use his things without complain
That includes his clothes and skincare
You'd be surprised to find that many of his clothes fit you perfectly. Because they are women's clothes after all
Would prefer to cook for you, but wouldn't mind taking you out for dinner either
Dating him consists of a lot of talking, a lot of kisses, and a lot of cuddles
If you need help, he won't hesitate to do it for you. He'd take care of you when you're sick, he'd pick you up despite of the distance and the time. Whenever you phoned him, you knew he'd pick up in an instant
(He knows it's not healthy, but he can't help it, his world revolves around you now)
You know the post where a man was at the party before he said he missed his gf and went home immediately? Yeah, that's him
If you wear lip balm/lip gloss, you'll find him staring at you, until you apply it to his lips as well
Since he takes good care of his hair, he'll do it to yours too. He'd buy the best products for your hair, and would take care of it twice a week, leaving your hair soft and healthy
In terms of social life, he'd pretty much introduce you to everyone he knows. Whether it's his family, or just friends
Speaking of his family, his parents already welcomed you long before you even met them. They both would exchange a meaningful look whenever their son talked about you. They trust his choice, and will give you both their support if needed
(Now that you've entered the picture, his parents won't stop talking about your relationship with him. They'd gossip like two bored wives in the lazy afternoon, about how he'd propose, or what the wedding would look like)
And Faust!! That little thing is pretty much your child now
When the two of you are cuddling, Faust will find a way to nestles between you and him
(He usually lets Faust out of his tank whenever he's alone, but he'd only do it once you're comfortable with it. Which you did, eventually. And that's an order)
You both pretty much behave like an old couple, and many of his friends point it out to you—mainly in the form of complains, because he's becoming more and more unavailable since you both started dating
But what can you say? It's not like you can escape from him either when he's clinging to you 24/7
NSFW
If you remember what I said earlier about his thought on sex, then you shouldn't be surprised when I told you he's a virgin
When the two of you had sex for the first time, he swallowed his pride and told you that he had no experience. But he made it up to you by giving you oral
While he lacked experience, he definitely knew about women's anatomy (because he secretly read it in women's discussion pages)
And he's an attentive lover, he'd be in tuned with your feelings, and how your body reacted when he did certain things
He only lasted one round the first time, for a reason that it took tremendous energy to keep him focused on pleasuring you. But now that he knows your body like the back of his hand, he won't hesitate to tire you out every time you both have sex
At the end of the sessions, he'd relish the afterglow as he kissed your shoulder tenderly
The feeling would persist, even days after the passionate night. You called it 'lover's bliss', but for him, it's the remnant of 'your energy'
Since he avoided porn like a plague, his view on sex is really different from other people, and that includes the kinks that he's into
Choking and slapping are barbaric to him, but he'd hold you in his arms really tight as he pounded into you from behind. He won't shout vulgar words at you, but he'll whisper unbelievably sweet, but dirty things that'll make you squirm. You won't be forced to pleasure him with your mouth, but he'll eat you out until you cry rapturous tears
While there's no definite correlation between fruits and sweeter cum, his taste is definitely sweet, or at least less bitter than normally. (Yea, I'm nasty, what about it)
About birth control, he won't let you take one, because he knows of the side effects. He'll use condoms instead, or have unprotected sex when it's your safe day
He's a vanilla, but he won't hesitate to make you pass out from overstimulation
Though he won't do it often, since he needs to have the energy to wake up the next day
Trivia
His MBTI type is INFJ
He wears 3 rings—2 on his left hand, and 1 on his right hand—and one of them is actually your engagement ring. He just hasn't give it to you
#headcanon#the arcana#asra alnazar#asra x reader#asra x mc#modern au#i swear I'll be back with cod content after this. just let me indulge in my comfort char and au first orz#also..... my god..... I can't forget him at all#he's like a virus in my head now
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What r ur dreamswap headcanons :3
Have to redo this bc Tumblr hates me:
* 7 each
* Human Ver. Specific
Dream
Dream 100% has something that’s dedicated to Ani, (hospital, orphanage, medical organization, etc.)
To add more depth to him being Latino, I choose to believe he’s Chilean-American
He doesn’t like to be touched, but would never correct anybody on it because he doesn’t want to offend anyone and he doesn’t view it as a priority or concern 
Only has one scar and it was prior to the incident (tm), nightmare, dropped a bowl, and a shard of the ceramic cut dream deep enough to form a scar, and subconsciously Dream doesn’t want it to heal, so it doesn’t fully heal, though it is fairly faint, it’s on his wrist directly above the bone 
He’s probably some form of genderqueer, yeah, doesn’t know it and refuses to look into it because he just doesn’t view it as important, he probably goes by pronouns 
His magical blondness, skips a few streaks of his hair, so he has black streaks that he dies blonde to match the rest of his hair
Canonically multilingual, speaking both English and Mandarin, though I would like to add that he can fluently speak Latin, modern Spanish, and French
Bonus: Dream does that OCD thing (w/o actually having it) where all of his pens when they’re laying on his desk are at the exact same place, in a perfect little row
Nightmare
He sits in trees and people watches, like he sits up in trees, kind of in forests and watches people on picnics and fun little family outings, and tries to imagine what his life would be like if it hadn’t been what it is 
His hair is extremely heat damaged, because he totally straightens it (it’s the only thing about him that’s allowed to be straight /j)
Extension on him canonically being Latino: I think he’s Peruvian-American
For some reason collect bottle caps (like the little metal ones you get on alcohol bottles (he doesn’t drink though))
He has a peanut allergy
Despite being an insomniac, whenever he does actually sleep, he starfishes
He doesn’t like looking in mirrors, there’s anything wrong with it, there isn’t really reason why he doesn’t like it, he just find it unsettling and he covers the one in his room with a blanket
Ink
He has one of those canopy beds, but the actual canopy part is custom painted and embroidered (by himself) with band logos, TV show logos, characters he likes, etc.
He is really bad at spelling, professional emails are more like word scrambles
If someone were to ask him to draw them, he would draw them, claim he made mistake, tear it up, then draw a stick figure, and give it to them
Usual Ethnicity one: he actually doesn’t know his ethnicity beyond being Latino, but he is Cuban-American
He’s emo and claims his favorite color is black, but it’s orange which is equally as bad
He has no real gauge of his own pain tolerance and usually has to be forced into medical situations by other people, usually Dream when he reports back to him
Ink’s allergic to bleach and ant bites
Cross
He hasn’t had his first kiss
He uses Old Spice cologne in the classic scent. But he does it to a NAUSEATING level.
He’s Irish, ethnically. I don’t make the rules.
He’s minorly lactose intolerant
This man owns like five Tamagatchis
He makes really good bread for some reason? Like this man SLAYS a sourdough
Cross uses 3-in-1 bodywash
(This is a Tamagatchi if you don’t know)
Blue
This man wears hair curlers to bed 100%
He’s really bad at math
Probably advocates for eating healthy (being a yoga instructor, possible influencer)
Blue is so ADHD to me
American-Italian/Portuguese
Has never made a bed in his LIFE
Blue seems like the kind of man who would burn water
Error
Clean freak, he prefers to keep the house clean, but it ends up a mess anyways because Cross and Nightmare always end up messing it up
Easily the best driver of the Meme Squad
His lock/homescreen is an inspirational quote
LOVES the rain, finds it calming and loves the smell of it, but hates getting caught out in the rain (loves the aesthetic, hates the actual thing)
Maybe American-Moroccan?
He likes dark fantasy books
Was top of his class when he had been in school, prior to his amnesia
Kevin
Can read. (Can’t write (no thumbs))
Can and does steal from the meme squad
Bonus:
How long I think it takes DS to get ready in the mornings:
Dream takes a solid hour and a half
Blue takes an hour
Nightmare takes 45 minutes
Cross and Ink take 15-20 minute for the sake of layers
Error and Finch take like 5 bc they dress really basic
dreamswap by @\onebizarrekai
#dreamswap#dreamswap dream#ds dream#dreamswap finch#ds finch#ds error#dreamswap ink#dreamswap error#ds cross#ds ink#ds nightmare#ds blue#dreamswap cross#dreamswap nightmare#dreamswap blue#dreamswap headcanons#ds headcanons
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