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riaki · 5 months

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after party | satoru gojo x reader

gojo wanted to help you prepare a friendsgiving dinner, but he's a little tired n a lot tipsy.

cw: non curse au, everyones alive, shoko typical smoking, drinking, you’re married to gojo wc: 3.3k

this was supposed to be short but it just spiraled n i kind of hate it b i technically posted on the 23rd so it counts !! not proofread!

business dinners with satoru are exhausting, to say the least—you start the day early to the scent of coffee through a filter and a fresh breeze through your open window, sending your husband off to work with a hug and a kiss—maybe a promise of more if he pulls the 'five more minutes!' on you.

this one is special, though; old friends from freely youthful highschool days gathered around your dinner table on the mats of your living room floor catching up over cans of beer cold with condensation, the sound of can tabs popping and the fizzling of bubbly spirits over tables of warm food in tin containers.

geto, the tall man with dark hair and gauges, talks about how his two daughters are adjusting to city life, occasionally interrupted by cheerful brightness never dampened by adult years from haibara, an apprenticing entrepeneur under nanami who's got a thing for girls with big appetites. shoko and utahime are having a drinking contest, and mei mei's too occupied with her phone; checking stocks as her tacky nails click against the glass screen.

satoru can't cook. there's a reason why he always buys takeout when you're too busy to provide or you've already gone to sleep— he should be the picture perfect husband, because you deserve that and everything more. his only (self-perceived) flaws are his lack of alcohol tolerance and his inability to master the frying pan.

you always tell him he doesn't have to be a michelin chef— but with the way he's constantly sneaking a chocolate graham cracker from your muji snack bag or snagging the sour gummy between your teeth from your lips, he feels like he should compensate. so on this special november evening, when the hum of the city life outside your balcony gets drowned out by the cheerful mirth of a warm dinner table, he had decided to help you.

the warm kitchen had become a foodstained disaster— but with tearful round eyes and a hand tugging on your shirt, you'd resigned to helping him conquer the task of simple packaged noodles and soft-boiled eggs. he'd cut his finger— even the most capable teacher found his shortcomings against a blunt kitchen knife. needless to say you'd peppered it with kisses before wrapping a rainbow hello kitty bandaid around it.

and that brings you to the present: the result of your extensively hard work; a few soggy noodles collected at the bottom of porcelain bowls painted red on the insides in a lukewarm puddle of soup, full stomachs and a loose and welcoming atmosphere. you wouldn't trade it for the world.

you're fishing a pickled radish slice out of your bowl when satoru leans over, removing the arm that was snaked around your shoulder to drape himself on your lap, lying down on the floor with his knees propped up and his soft cloud-white hair sprawled over your thighs. geto makes a distasteful face when satoru's black socks brush against his leg. across the table, shoko knocks shoulders with utahime as she lights a cigarette; the latter's face flushes as smoke drifts past her lightly flushed face into the open window city night air overhead.

"hey, you. what's up?" you asked softly, chuckling to yourself as you set your chopsticks atop the rim of your bowl, leaning back on your arms to look down at him. he adjusts himself a little, wiggling on your lap as you caught a whiff of his beer breath and scrunch your nose.

"hiii, baby," he drawls, giggling a little to himself. his smooth, usually playful voice took on that deep tone he used whenever he was being serious, and it sent an involuntary shiver down your spine, so you hugged him closer and ran a hand through his soft white hair, brushing your fingers against the black cloth of his blindfold. "what'cha doing?"

"i was eating. you put too much pepper in the broth, 'toru." you smiled softly, tracing the line of his jaw slowly with one finger in the way you knew he liked so much; it was obvious from the way he sighed contentedly and tilted his head into your palm. whether it be from that unfathomably sweet smile or the tender way you held his face in your delicate hands, that was up to him to ponder. next to you, haibara makes a joke— something about mei mei's stocks, and she quips a snarky retort that has him laughing raucously while nanami makes a face.

"i tried!" he protests, almost a whine as he sighs; a hand sneaks up to lift the edge of his blindfold up so his eyes meet yours, and you're left breathless. it catches you off guard every time— those endless pools of swirling blue that stare straight through you, sifting through your thoughts like a scholar annotating an open book, all heart-shaped sticky notes and bright highlighters when it came to thinking about him.

"not hard enough, clearly. but it's okay; we'll do better next time."

he just frowns again at that, sticking out his lower lip in a little pout that makes your heart squeeze. your stomach is full with noodles and broth; you don't think you could stomach another bite if you tried, and you're not one to drink especially if everyone else is. so, you let yourself indulge a little— snake a hand on the back of satoru's neck and tilt him up until he's sitting halfway up and you can easily meet his lips in a kiss.

he reciprocates immediately, hungry like he was waiting for you; you notice that he hasn't eaten much of his food yet, so maybe he was. or maybe he knows how bad it is. either way, his tongue darts out from his parted lips to flick against your own for a moment, before he sinks his teeth into your bottom lip and draws out a teasing whine that you have to stifle because "we have company, 'toru," you have to breath as a reminder. he just laughs breathily against your lips, tasting like bitter beer and buttery vanilla as he shifts to practically sit on top of you, hands on your shoulders as his thumbs brush over your collarbone where the edge of your shirt fails to cover tantalizing skin; he's taller and eventually ends up bringing the both of you toppling down onto the mats.

your back hits the floor and a little gasp leaves your winded lungs— but satoru eagerly catches it with his lips and swallows it, like he's intent on getting drunken off his ass from you (as if he wasn't already tipsy) when he smashes his swollen lips to yours again. your hair is splayed out against the tatami mats like you're trapped in some marine watercolor painting, and for a split second satoru thinks if mermaids were real you'd be the most angelic he'd ever seen as his calloused fingers curl into the strands.

you're about to hook a leg around his waist when a shout catches your ear and you part lips with a gasp, sucking in greedy breaths as satoru promptly sits on your stomach. you let out a stuffed oomph from his weight, and watch as he slides his blindfold back on to look over at the rest of the table who're staring at the two of you like they're watching some forbidden steamy movie scene that's meant to be shielded from children's eyes.

“don’t kiss him while he’s drunk. it’s like rewarding a brat for bad behavior,” shoko says. you sit up with much effort, straining under satoru’s weight as you reach up to grab his shoulders. you miss, but he takes your hands and pulls you up, wrapping his arms around you to keep you from falling back down as you rest your head on his shoulder. utahime has her arms lazily draped over shoko; you assume she’s drunk from that, but if you were to inspect her for long enough you’d notice her can of beer was almost completely full.

“oh, i guess you’re right.” you remarked, frowning a little and biting the inside of your cheek as you pull away from satoru and glance at him. all of the sudden he looks like he’s ready to keel over; the shadows beneath his eyes are reinforced by the alcohol in his system and it looks like he’ll need to tape his eyes open lest he passes out right on top of you. you want to avoid that, so you gently push him off, sighing to yourself.

“don’t listen to her, sweetheart. you can kiss me all you want,” he smirks, a flash of pearly white teeth that would’ve been on your neck a moment ago if not for the interruption. you just shake your head with a breathless laugh, giving him a quick flick to the forehead. before you can pull away, though— he catches your hand, bringing your wrist to his glossy pink lips and giving your pulse a quick peck. “no, she has a point.” you hummed. overhead, the light flickers a little; a moth that had flown in through the window danced about the bulb. the faint sound of car horns filters through the window along with the breeze, recycled laughter and lively chatter from bars a few stories down carried in the cool wind.

you mill about for another twenty minutes or so, content to just listen in as old friends shared anecdotes and funny stories from separate paths of life; you soon learned that nanami was planning on moving to malaysia, and shoko was due to renew her medical license this year. the beer cans built up, mixed in with crumpled napkins that had penned doodles on the rough surface and paper chopstick wrappers. somewhere along the line, satoru had fallen asleep— you had to push his unfinished ramen bowl out of the way before he knocked his head against the wooden table and spilt his meal. you frowned a little at the sight of it— you knew he'd complain about his soaked noodles and limp seaweed sheets later on. you found yourself slinging one of your jackets over his shoulders, fingers lingering over his neck, where the scratchy hair of his undercut met soft warm skin.

soon enough, dishes are piling up in the sink and calling your name; the kids see themselves home via train station, spouting something about a late night pit stop in sendai for the mochi that 'our teacher likes so much'. you consider asking them to bring some back for satoru, but you decide you'll enjoy a laugh when he tells you about how he went to school the next morning to find out for himself, and the stab of hurt that will pierce his full heart in two when he hears the news. even then, you have to shush them as they show themselves out; you can tell from the way satoru's eyebrows knit together beneath his blindfold and the pinch of his jaw that he doesn't appreciate the noise, no matter how blacked out.

the conversation dies down a little, and soon enough, everyone takes their leave one by one. it's only when you settle back down after cleaning up the bowls and putting away the cups that satoru stirs, waking up with a mumble and a huff. his hair is a disheveled mess, and there are sleep lines on his face, but he's still handsome as ever.

"baby?" his voice is hoarse with sleep and dehydration. there's a dull ache between his eyes, feeling like he'd just ran a circle around the world. you answer from the kitchen, calling his name. it's late; past midnight now. the window's still open and satoru's can of beer is still on the table, almost completely empty.

"how long did i sleep? shit, did everyone go home? 'm sorry," he groans, standing up and stretching his arms out. his shirt rides up on his shoulders, exposing the arch of his hip just above the edge of his pants. "don't worry, 'toru." you hummed, washing your hands in the sink as you look over at him. he just nods, grabbing the can and crumpling it in his hands before tossing it in the trash.

"you okay? got a headache?" you asked as he walked over to you, careful not to hit his head on the arch that connected the living room to the kitchen. when you'd first moved in with him, you had to pin a strip of bright yellow caution tape to remind him to duck his head. you smiled as you reminisced over late nights, tucked in his arms as he mused about demolishing the wall there just so he could be rid of the bruise on his temple. then again, as long as you were waiting for him to kiss it better at the end of his nine to five, he didn't mind.

he nods, and watches as an easy smile stretches across your lips; they look infuriatingly kissable under the warm glow of the hazy kitchen light, shining off the porcelain cups in the sink. he leans against the kitchen counter, cold marble feeling through the thin fabric of his shirt as you take his leftovers from the fridge and heat them up in the microwave, standing before the black glass as you watch the little plate spin inside.

there's something about moments like these; so sweet and easy with you after everyone's taken the last train home and all that's left are empty beer cans and extra bowls in the dishwasher for two people with matching rings on their fingers to take care of.

he walks up to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your chin. he smiles when he feels your hand cup his cheek, and he turns his head instinctively to meet your lips in a slow, sweet kiss; a muscle memory tango between familiar lovers. when he pulls away to catch his breath, tongue swiping across his bottom lip, you're already there with your fingers, pulling his blindfold down to rest around his neck and gently rubbing the spot beside his eyes, alleviating the tension behind them. it's unspoken moments like these that he loves the most in your relationship. making a mess in your kitchen is a close second.

it's a slow, easy night after a special get-together when the microwave beeps and you take his noodles out, bringing them to the table as you sit down next to him and rest your head on his shoulder, letting him tuck you into his side as he gets a bit of breaded tonkotsu crumbs on his cheek and insists you wipe them off for him like he's some oversized baby. you wash some cherries in a green plastic bowl, competing to see who can spit the pits into the trashcan without missing. in the end, he lost the game of rock paper scissor and was resigned to pick up the missed pits on the floor.

he's still wearing your jacket like a cape and even though it's far too small for him, he insists on keeping it with him when you go out onto your balcony to finish the last of a bottle of sake together, listening to the melody of the wind in the trees that line the sidewalk and the permeating hustle and bustle of the city, even when it's so late at night it could be considered early morning.

he swipes the cold bottle from your hands, finishing the last drops from the matte glass before letting it dangle between your fingers. and you're expecting it when he catches your arm to pull you into another kiss; he tastes like peaches and wine and a little bit of soup broth. it's slow, and easy, because being with him has always felt as natural as breathing, and being with you has made it easier for him to breathe, like the iron weight on his lungs melts away in the face of your unconditional warmth and care. the cool wind blows your hair in front of your face, and he laughs that charming boyish giggle as he tucks it behind your ears and scoops you up in his arms.

"i don't like sharing you with a sake bottle," you said, pointedly looking at the glass in his hand. he just grins, looking down at you for a moment. he can almost see it again; you, in that gorgeous white wedding cloth. he was carrying you bridal style in the same way now, when you'd decided to grow old together and host special business dinners as a couple in your shared apartment.

"don't worry, love. you're sweeter than any spritz," he laughs, stepping inside again and closing the door behind him.

it's routine, and it's easy, getting ready for bed with him, laughing when he pushes his hair back with a headband, looking like a pretty little princess. you suggest him getting a mullet, and he shushes you by shoving your toothbrush on your tongue, getting a mouthful of mint. the warm water rushes over your fingers before you dry yourself off, wiping your face and putting the towel away only to be met with the equal warmth of his lips on your forehead, peppering you with kisses.

you slip into the covers, still pleasantly cold as you watch satoru sit up and take his shirt off. he lets you peel the rainbow bandaid on his finger off, tossing it in the trash before pulling you into his arms, right where you belong the closest to his heart. "don't cut yourself like that again, okay?"

"it was an accident, baby." he chuckles, and you just roll your eyes. he reaches over to ruffle your hair affectionately and makes a joke about having you suck his blood like a vampire, tooting about how sweet it would be. "besides, i don't need to be careful if you're there to patch me up, pretty. shoko has nothing on you!"

he plays with your hair as you catch him up to the conversations he'd slept away; mei mei had left early when you'd given him your jacket to envelope him in your scent, muttering something about cheap perfume and worthless soggy noodles. he likes to play with your jewelry, you notice— fiddles with the ring on your finger, cupping your hands in his palm as he tucks his face into the back of your neck.

at one point, he asks you to do his hair, so you oblige, rolling him over onto his stomach and clambering on top of his waist. you braid his white strands into cute little pigtails best as you could manage as he tells you about his dream; something about harassing nanami in malaysia and a sunset kiss under crystal clear beach water. it sounds nice, and when you're done with his hair you find it easier to just massage his shoulders and listen to the smooth droning of his voice.

soon enough, you're both warmer than the lukewarm buzz of beer in your veins, and he doesn't remember if he fell asleep first or not, but the gentle melody of your voice haunts him in his dazed sleep as he curls around you.

business dinners really are exhausting— he's left wondering how you pull it off the morning after when he's hungover and the cut on his finger is infected— clearly, the hello kitty bandaid wasn't enough to cut it. the only reasoning that he explains to you as you take your morning shower together, fingers running through your hair, is that you didn't kiss it enough. maybe that's why his soup had too much pepper and he didn't know how to cut the cucumbers.

he's still an amateur, so he'll leave the cooking to you. maybe next time he'll pretend the takeout he grabbed on his way home from school was handmade, though he doubts his friends will ever believe him, or his students after he demands they buy him kikufuku as compensation for leaving him out the night before.

ignore the ep that came out today! everyone’s alive and well. trust my (riaki) stuff. don’t repost and/or plagiarize !

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tootiecakes234 · 5 months

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You cannot tell me that for friendsgiving Katsuki Bakugo is not cooking the entire fucking meal.

He already gets up early but that morning you have to get up early with him because you are his certified taste tester. Everything he cooks goes through you cuz he knows he’s gonna like his food but he has to make sure YOU like his food.

He could give a fuck what any of his friends think because he knows either way they are going to scarf it down.

He also needs you up and in the kitchen with him the entire day because you guys have gotten so in sync you’re handing him things before he even asks for them and keeping his friends in check so he can actually finish on time.

Food always smacks… never any leftovers because Bakusquad eats down!😭

#friendsgiving #thanksgiving #imagine #bakugou x reader #mha fanfiction #bakugou drabble #drabble #katsuki bakugo mha #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo headcanons #bakugou katsuki #fluff

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bahrtofane · 2 months

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jude helping you in the kitchen because you’re hosting his family for dinner and youre running around at 100 miles an hour trying to find that damn stick of butter, it was just in your hand come onn

all while jude is having the time of his life taking his time gingerly cutting potatoes into neat little squares (roasted potatoes are a must)

"am i doing good?" he pipes up, already done with 3 Potatoes, youre so proud of him

you scramble over to him with a pound of meat in your hand, "yes love youre doing great."

he beams, wiggling his shoulders happily, "what do i do with them?"

you set down the meat on the counter while grabbing what you can from the spice cabinet, "the potatoes? just put them into a big bowl and ill worry about them."

he hums, going to get said big bowl while you run back to the fridge. you need asparagus how could you forget!

he manages to get the squares off the cutting board and into the bowl without much hassle, and you’ve started getting your pans out for the meat and asparagus. the squash is in the oven all ready, you need to make room for your lamb when its time though, desert also needs to get started, oh your mini quiches you completely forgot.

you slide back over to the fridge, the dough you made this morning, grabbing it and some flour. the lamb can wait while you get the crusts in the oven.

by the time jude looks back over at you, your covered in flour.

he snorts, "looks like you lost a fight to a baker."

"very funny jude, get the asparagus in the pan please and keep an eye on the squash for me while i finish getting the dough ready."

he puts the cutting board to the side, wiping his hands on a paper towel "yes ma'am."

you feel like gordan ramsey, barking our orders and running around with enough stress to last a life time. and you tell people you love cooking. pfft. sure. poor jude only follows you, doing what you ask. hes even worm a silly apron with big red words "kiss the chef" plastered on them. he thought it was the funniest thing ever. it was pretty funny you admit.

you spend too much time balling up little wads of aluminum foil for the crusts but jude keeps everything else in order, and before you know it in they go, out the squash comes, and you get started on the meat.

you love lamb, you hate the amount of pans and pots it takes though. first you sear, then you transfer to the oven while you sear off vegetables in the same pot, in they go with the lamb, pull them out, blend them with left of lamb juice at the bottom of the pan, boom you have a little gravy.

jude gasps and for a moment you think he'd burned himself, but he turns around with a stick of butter in his hand.

you light up, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "i love you," taking the butter and adding it to the asparagus.

somehow, someway, all your courses get done just on time, the deserts in the fridge, jude cleaning up the last of the kitchen while you get changed.

you come back down to greet the family, plating their food and basking in the praises they sing after every bite.

you love cooking !

#jude x you #jude fluff #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham #jude x reader #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham imagine #bellingham #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham fluff #football fanfic #footy fic #bahr footy #bahr blurbs #this totally isnt based on when i cooked thanksgiving pfftt whaaa #jb5 blurb

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stuffeddeer · 5 months

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ddeeeEEER 😭 you have me clutching my chest dying from ur fluff good LORD

i'll be the first to ask for the rest of what you wrote post that shit NOW this is a threat/j

ouggggh ur dazai makes me want to squash him and blend him up and smash him into bits

butt anywho happy thanksgiving!!

-🩵

uefiuhseufh THANK YOU 🩵ANON!!!! i wrote these literally seconds after "pt1" but didn't wanna clog ppls feeds w thousands of kissing hcs um oops

PT1

(not necessary to read, just more silly ideas)

15!Dazai who, whether it's you who leans in first or him, gets so overwhelmed. The rush of emotions and warmth he's never been shown causes him to panic, which makes him push you away! (Quite harshly at that..) He doesn't mean to but omg Dazai is just SO not used to affection and comfort that the warm fluttery feeling in his chest makes him sick to his stomach. Processing these feelings makes him feel flustered and sheepish and AHH!!!!! It's too much!!! He'd avoid you so horribly after he's so stupid, ducking into other hallways or using his hands to physically cover his face (very obvious to poor you!!) all so he didn't have to acknowledge the fact that you made him feel different. It'd probably take Chuuya yelling at him for his stupidity for him to realize he really really likes you! And that feeling is actually good!!!

PM!Dazai who's cocky and knows exactly what he wants; He's the demon prodigy for a reason. This Dazai is an asshole who kisses you without warning - no "I'm interested in you" or slow lean in or anything - just cuts you off with a long kiss that takes your breath away before he moves back. He'll tease you for being "so in love with him, as many are," before waving his hand dismissively and leaving. Dazai is a total jerk so when you ask if this means he likes you, he denies it: just saying that he knew you liked him and thought he'd be generous and give you your first and last kiss with him. Dazai flaunts a pretty smile and leans suspiciously close as he says this before immediately leaving under the guise of some meeting he's definitely lying about. He'd start doing things to draw your attention to his lips after this just to mess with you - putting on chapstick and the like. PM!Dazai would love to see you get frustrated and annoyed with his antics but not do anything, knowing it'd only make it worse. grrr biting scratching clawing i need him gone

ADA!Dazai who's anxious. He's so totally in love with you and is overwhelmed by it all! His eyes sting and his throat turns dry, a sign that he feels like crying, but he just stands there at the sight of you. You 'd be the one to initiate it first, an anxious look on your face as you pull back to a ghostly white Dazai standing frigid. The thought of oh fuck, did I overstep? leads to you apologize profusely. Once he finally gets his breath back (you feeling downright horrible with every moment he's silent), Dazai practically hangs off of you, pathetically gripping onto your arm with both of his and holding you close. You ask if this means he likes you back but he still can't speak, just burying his head into the crook of your neck. Give him time, he's still working through everything!!!! It's been a long time since he has actually liked someone, especially so deeply, so it's hard for him to come to terms with it :( He just wants to be near you but he can't find the words to express that just yet. Being vulnerable is so scary!

Beast!Dazai who gets horrifically drunk. How else could he manage all of the things he has to go through? Just knowing he could never confide in Oda like he once has leads him to throwing back drink after drink... Until he ends up on your doorstep. He'd wanted to keep you at arms length, to stop you from following him down the dark road he was paving, but with a few too many drinks in him he found he didn't care. You let him in right away, more than happy to pour him a glass of water and let him crash on your couch for the night. Before you could even turn towards your kitchen, he pulled you in for a passionate kiss, full of love and need and every feeling he has felt for you across lifetimes. The kiss would last a minute or so before Dazai would pull away, hugging you tightly and making you promise him that you'd never leave him, even if he makes horrible decisions and drives everyone else away — you are his, remember? In every life.

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viking-raider · 5 months

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Thankful

Summary: For Thanksgiving, you decide to take part of a military support group event and host a Veteran, having them over for dinner. Forming a lasting bond with a certain Captain.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warning: G - Cotton Candy Goodness, Angst, Mention of Loss of Family Member, Mourning, Cold Mother, Embarrassed!Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Alcohol Use, Fluff, Friendly Bets, Southern Charm

Inspiration: It’s for Thanksgiving. 🍗

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy this! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS! My Syverson's first name is Austin.

If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLISTand turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy! @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY

You had received the message from one of the countless Military support groups you were a part of about the Sponsoring a Veteran for Thanksgiving event, and if you were interested in participating. You had hesitated for a couple days, before finally caving. You didn't have much family left of your own, just your mother. Since your father passed, when you were a kid and your only sibling, a brother, had been killed in the line of duty. Which was why you were a member of the support groups, looking to keep a closeness to him, and find some sort of peace with his death.

“All right.” The lead organizer, retired Lieutenant Sarah Timmans, sighed, looking over her clipboard at the list of names of all the Veterans that had been signed up for the event. “Your mother knows you're hosting a Vet, right?” She asked, cocking a brow at you, knowing how sensitive and touchy your mother was still about being around anything directly Military.

“I told her, I was bringing a friend over.” You answered, biting your lip nervously, knowing your mother's own mood swings on the subject.

“Girl, she's going to flip out on you.” Sarah said, shaking her head, eyes bulging. “Maybe, you should just do something one-on-one with them?” She suggested, trying to bypass a disaster.

“She's expecting us, and I'll get an earful, if I skip another family gathering.”

Sarah snorted at you, smirking. “It's your KP!” She teased, going down the list to find your name and who you'd been assigned. “So, your Vet is Captain Austin Syverson. He just retired seven months ago after nineteen years in the service of the U.S Army. Special Forces.” She informed you, looking up from the clipboard to scan the crowded room for a moment.

“Ah, there he is!” She smiled, motioning behind you.

Turning around and following her gaze, you were surprised for a moment, standing on the other side of the room, in a small cluster of other Vets, was a tall, thickly muscular guy, with a shaved head and well groomed beard. Everything about him exuded authority, self-confidence and calm. He was so damn handsome in his pair of dark wash blue jeans, brown cowboy boots and fleshly ironed, black dress shirt that was tucked in, showing off his belt buckle. Your insides tingled as you stared at him, throat going dry.

“Damn, that's a Texas boy.” You mumbled under your breath.

“Sure is.” Sarah agreed, checking him out as well. “You should go introduce yourself, before he thinks you stood him up.” She added, a hint of encouragement in her voice.

“God, you're right.” You started, frightened he just might, then weaved through the crowd towards him, pausing for a moment, until he noticed you. “Hi there.” You beamed up at him, your knees like a nervous jelly.

“Ma'am.” Syverson greeted you back with a Southern drawl, tipping his head forward.

“I'm your host, Captain Syverson.” You informed him, introducing yourself.

“Oh.” He replied, giving you a proper look over, a smile pulling over his lips as he took your lovely figure in the white, knee-length dress covered in delicate yellow flowers, paired with black flats. “It's a pleasure to meet you.” He said, his bright blue eyes meeting yours once more. “You can just call me, Sy.”

“Nice to meet you as well, Sy.” You answered, cordially extending your hand.

Smirking broader, Sy gently took your hand in his, shaking it. “I'm grateful that you've allowed me impose myself on you and your family's holiday.”

“Oh, it's quite all right.” You waved it off, shrugging your shoulders. “It's really just me and my mom, so nothing major.”

“Well, I'm just a Captain, so it'll literally be nothing Major.” Sy quipped, making the group around him crackle at the inside joke.

You dropped your head, hiding your amused smile, knowing the two of you were more than likely to get along, if he had that sense of humor. “Fair.” You nodded, lifting your head. “More than fair. Well, we can leave whenever you like.”

Sy turned over his wrist to glance at his watch. “We can go now, if you like.” He replied, twisting to a chair that was behind him and picking up a black, denim Sherpa coat off the back. “I'll see you boys later. Have a good Thanksgiving.” He bid the men, patting a couple on the shoulder, before following you out of the building.

“You can follow me to my place or we can ride together.” You told Sy, standing on the sidewalk with him, chewing on your lip.

“I can follow.” Sy answered, smiling down at you. “My truck's just over there.” He said, motioning over to the big, 2021 Dodge Ram, parked a short distance away.

“Okay. I'm just right there.” You informed him, pointing out your little KIA Niro.

“On your lead then, Major.” Sy quipped, winking at you, before heading off towards his truck.

“Christ,” You huffed, watching after him for a moment, your hand moving up to a necklace around your neck. “He reminds me so much of you, Phelan.” You sighed, then made for your vehicle.

Pulling out of the parking space, your phone started to ring, so you connected the car's Bluetooth. “Mother.” You answered, glancing in your rear-view, to make sure Sy was behind you, before you started out of the parking lot and into the street.

“How much longer are you going to be?” Your mother snapped through the car's speakers.

“I'm just leaving now, mom.” You sighed, pressing your lips together. “I had to find my friend and now we're heading there now. We should be there in about ten or so minutes.”

“Why is he spending Thanksgiving with us? Doesn't he have his own family?” She demanded, clearly pacing the house.

“I'm sure he has a family, mother. But I invited him over to ours and he accepted. So, please, be nice to him. He's a very polite and outstanding person, who doesn't need to be pestered and guilt tripped, or reminded his mother is lucky, that her son is still alive and not in the military and so on.” You hoped to warn and deter her from her usual interaction with the males she came into contact with. “Let's just have a nice dinner, for once.”

“How can we, when your brother isn't here.” She growled, then the line went dead.

“At least, I'm here.” You sighed, deflated by her words. “I should really warn Sy before we get into the house.” You thought, then pushed that unpleasantness aside.

Sy managed to keep behind your car, drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel. He felt a little nervous about going to a random, pretty young lady's home to have Thanksgiving dinner with her mother. However, he didn't have any other plans for the holiday under his belt, other than staying on the ranch he'd started up on his return home with Aika.

“Idle hands are the devil's workshop.” He commented aloud, following you off the on-ramp.

It would have just been him and his pup, working the horses all day, before making another ten minute meal and sitting in front of his laptop, since he still hadn't gotten around to buying himself a proper tv for the living room. So, he let one of his buddies nag him into signing up for the event. Sy wasn't at all disappointed either.

You were more than easy on his eyes.

Finally making it outside your place, you got out and met Sy in your driveway, shifting glances between him and the front door.

“Are you all right?” Sy asked, squinting down at you.

“Okay, look.” You blurted out, not looking back at him. “My mom is super touchy about the military.” You started to explain to Sy, giving him an embarrassed glance.

“Why?” He frowned, confused.

Your shoulders slumped slightly and a tired expression washed over your face. “My brother died in Afghanistan six years ago. My mom has taken that to her heart and soul. So anything military tends to set her off.”

“Then, should I even be here?” Sy asked, concerned about causing your mother any distress.

“It's my house and you're my guest.” You told him, bluntly. “I want you here for dinner. It'll be nice to have someone over that might actually engage with me.” You said, heading up the footpath towards the front door. “And not remind me that I'm not my dead, older brother.” You added under your breath, but Sy's sharp ear heard you all the same.

“Mom!” You called out, toeing off your shoes as you stood in the entry with Sy. “We're here.”

“Took long enough.” Her voice echoed back somewhere in the house.

You looked up at Sy. “I'm so sorry.” You mouthed, shaking your head.

“It's all right.” He smiled, his hand touching the back of your arm.

“Do you want something to drink?” You asked, showing him into the kitchen and pulling open the fridge. “Got wine, a couple bottles.” You twisted your upper half to peek at an upper shelf. “Looks like she's left my Ardbeg whiskey alone.”

“I wouldn't mind a little whiskey.”

Nodding, you shut the fridge and got down two glasses with the whiskey bottle. “Straight or on the rocks?”

“What are you having?” Sy asked, leaning back against your sink, a twinkle of mischievous curiosity in his eyes.

“The rocks.” You answered, a playful smirk tugging on your lips.

Sy drew a breath in through his nose, pressing his lips together as he nodded. “Impressed.”

“Thank you.” You chuckled, grabbing a couple ice cubes from the freezer and dropped them into your glasses, then poured you and Sy a generous amount of amber liquid. “Here you go.”

“Thank you, ma'am.” Sy tipped his head, taking the glass from you and took a sip. “Damn, that's smooth.”

“Mmm, for a twenty year old bottle, it should be.” You snorted, taking a gulp of yours.

“Twenty years.” Sy choked slightly. “Damn, almost as long as I was in--” He caught himself, eyes shooting to the two kitchen entrances. “Well, you know.”

“Yeah.” You nodded, a little stiff, praying your mother was lurking nearby, and polished off your drink, before moving over to the oven, revealing a nice sized turkey, just starting to turn a golden brown, filling the kitchen with a mouth-watering scent. “I started this about an hour and a half ago, so it should have about another hour or so to go. While it does that, I can show you around.”

“And, if you're as much of a Texan as I think you are, I'll pop the football game on.”

“You don't have to put the game on.” Sy laughed, feeling called out. “We can watch whatever you and your mother want. I'd hate to impose.”

“Captain Austin Syverson, you're not imposing.” You informed him, putting your foot down.

Sy's eyes widened and he gave you a half smirk. “I do love a woman that takes charge. Yes, ma'am, if you say so.”

“Besides, I'd love to see the Chiefs kick the Cowboys ass.” You added, teasingly.

“Oh, you're a traitor to your home state!” Sy gasped, horror on his face.

“Texas isn't my home state.” You giggled at him, then tisked. “Kansas isn't either, to be far.” You snorted, amused by the banter. “But I like Mahomes.”

“What's wrong with Dak Prescott?”

“Nothing! He's a great QB. I'm just a Chiefs girl.”

“I may have to call this Thanksgiving off.” Sy said, draining his whiskey glass and set it on the counter behind him and pushed off the edge. “To eat at the same table as a Chiefs girl, may just be too much for this ol' Texas boy.”

You were worried for a moment that Sy was genuine, and felt terrible for bringing it up, until you finally noticed the look in his eye and relaxed. He had a dry humor and pulled it out on you, catching you good.

“Shoot, you had me there.” You chuckled, breathy.

He winked at you, amusing you more with his cute double blink.

“Well,” You sighed, looking at the kitchen. “This is the kitchen.”

“A very nice kitchen.” Sy echoed, nodding and rubbing a hand over the counter top. “Nice and clean.”

“Thank you, I do my best.” You replied, bowing your head. “Out that way is the dining room, where we'll be having dinner.” You said, motioning to your right, and Sy peeked in, finding a long, glass table already set for three people with nice little autumn decorations as a centerpiece. “Over here, is the living room, where we'll probably be starting our football rivalry.”

You showed him into the living room, just as your mother came downstairs, in nothing but a pair of loose shorts, a tank top and an open bathrobe, a half glass of white wine clutched in her hand. You felt a cold shard of embarrassment go down your back. You had hoped, when you told her you were going to get Sy, she would have dressed into something—anything.

“Mom, this is Sy.” You told her, keeping your voice even. “Sy, this is my mother, Dana.” You introduced them, chewing the inside of your lip to bits.

“Pleasure to meet you, ma'am.” Sy greeted her politely, nodding his head kindly, like nothing was out of place.

She looked Sy over, taking a gulp of her wine. “How do you and my daughter know each other?” She inquired, lifting a brow at him.

You stiffened, you hadn't considered fielding that question from her while Sy was over.

“Work.” Sy said, casually.

“So, she's your accountant?” Dana pressed and showed no sign of easing off.

“I am.” You chimed in, hoping to get her to drop the subject and leave Sy alone.

“That she is.” Sy confirmed, backing you up. “Helps me out with my ranch.” He told Dana, tapping that belt buckle at his waist, bearing the Hook Hill Ranch logo on it.

“Hmm.” Your mother grunted, not sounding convinced. “Why aren't you spending Thanksgiving with your family?” She asked, giving Sy a hard look.

“Mom!” You snapped, horrified.

“It's all right.” He assured you, giving you a soft smile. “I'm an only child. I've never known my father and my mother ran off, when I was ten years old, leaving me to be raised by uncle, her brother. He had a heart attack three years ago, while milkin' his cows. So, it's just me and my dog, Aika, nowadays. Your daughter was kind enough to ask me over to your Thanksgiving dinner, and I accepted.”

“Satisfied?” You asked, annoyed your mother caused Sy to divulge such personal information.

Rolling her eyes, your mother turned in a flare of her bathrobe and headed back upstairs.

“Turkey will be done in an hour!” You called after her, with no reply. “I'm so sorry.” You said, turning back to Sy.

“It's okay.” He said softly, more concerned for you. “Is there anything I can do to help you finish up with dinner?”

“Um,” You tapped your foot. “No, I don't think so. Besides, you're my guest. You should relax.” You told him, waving over to the couch. “I can handle everything.” You assured him, rounding the arm of the couch to swipe the remote of the coffee table and turned the tv on, quickly finding the football game. “Ooh, Cowboys are beating the Chiefs by two points!” You hissed, casting a glance over your shoulder at Sy.

Sy moved to join you, holding your gaze. “I bet you a round of drinks, at a later time, that the Cowboys beat your Chiefs.”

“Are you asking me out on a date, Syverson?” You asked, surprised.

“I am.” He admitted, unashamed.

“Then, you're on.” You grinned, giving him a cocky look. “But, if the Chiefs win, I want to see your ranch.”

“Bold.” Sy smirked, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. “I'll even cook for you.”

“Sold.” You agreed, extending your hand out to him.

He shook your hand, then sat down on the couch, getting comfortable to watch the game, while you returned to the kitchen. Pausing for a moment, you refilled his whiskey glass and took it out to him, giving him a soft smile as you set the cool glass down on a coaster and went back to prepping dinner. Sy watched you over the back of the couch, moving and bumping about, taking a deep breath and taking all the lovely smells of your hard work wafting towards him and making his belly rumble.

Lord have mercy, she's gorgeous.

“You sweet on my daughter?” Dana's voice came up behind him.

Sy's head swung around to look back at her, seeing she'd finally gotten dressed, now wearing a pair of black leggings and a loose, cream colored jumper, but no shoes or socks. “I just might be.” He answered, meeting her gaze head on. “She's a sweet, generous young lady.”

“Young lady, how old are you?” Dana huffed, dropping down into a recliner at the end of the couch.

“I'm thirty-eight.” Sy replied, with an odd amusement.

Dana looked Sy over, her gray eyes scrutinizing. “At least you're both in your thirties.” She huffed, curling her legs underneath her and glared at the tv.

What a curious woman. Sy blinked, shaking his head at her.

The two of them sat quietly, not speaking or interacting with each other any further. Which didn't bother either Sy or Dana. You peeked in at them from time to time, scurrying out to fill Sy's glass, whenever you noticed it was empty and always asking if he needed or wanted something, before vanishing back into the kitchen or dining room.

You wanted the dinner to be as great as possible for Sy, and your mother.

“Dinner is ready, everyone!” You declared, coming into the living room, glancing at the football score, discovering the Chiefs had recovered since the last time you'd entered, now ahead by four points.

“Smells delicious.” Sy complimented you, as he and your mother came into the dining room, finding the set table.

The turkey was juicy and golden-brown, slices already carved and on a plate beside it, with sides of stuffing, mashed potatoes, rolls and cornbread muffins, yams with marshmallows, peas and asparagus, accompanied with pecan and pumpkin pie. There were two decanters of red and white wine, a bottle of Ardbeg, and a pitcher of iced tea.

“Thank you.” You grinned with shy pride, biting the inside of your lip. “Sit wherever you like and dig in.” You said, motioning to the chairs around the table, before slipping into one.

Sy joined you, winking at you, as he picked up a plate and started helping himself, piling his plate with meat, rolls, yams and cornbread. “Mmm, this is amazing.” He hummed, nodding his head and chewing his mouthful of turkey and mashed potatoes.

You were giddy that Sy was so in love with your cooking, glancing towards your mother, who was at the end of the table. But found she was sipping a glass of red and nibbling on a buttered roll, to your slight dismay. Pushing the feeling away, you fixed your plate and dug in, moaning at how tasty it was.

“So, your team was winning.” Sy commented, giving you a side brow as he continued to eat.

“Yeah, I noticed.” You smirked, feeling bubbly, as you poured yourself some wine. “Looks like we'll be spending some more time together.”

“That it does.” He nodded, feeling your mother's eyes on him. “I'll have to show you the new foal that was born last week.”

A flood of excitement filled you, you loved the thought of seeing a baby horse. “Oh! I bet they're just the cutest thing on the planet!” You gushed, eyes bright with love already. “What did you name it?”

“Oh, I haven't named the little rascal, yet.” Sy laughed, watching you just gush. “Maybe, you could help me come up with a name for her?” He suggested, looking at you over the rim of his whiskey glass.

“Hmm.” You hummed, falling into a meditative state as you brewed over a name for the baby horse.

“So,” Dana cleared her throat, eyes narrowed between you and Sy. “You're a Rancher?”

“Yes, ma'am.” Sy nodded, turning to regard her, nothing by polite respect in his expression.

“How long have you been one?” She questioned, swirling the wine in her glass.

“Ranchin' has been in my family for generations.” Sy replied, not letting her trip him up. “My many great-grandfather came over from Ireland, just after the American Revolution. Then, when the Civil War happened, my family fought and were granted land at the end, for their service. We've been doing it ever since.”

“So, your family fought for the South.” Dana said bluntly, causing you to choke on your food.

“Mother.” You rasped, eyes practically popping out of their sockets.

“No, ma'am.” Sy said coolly. “We fought for the North.” He told her, and left it at that.

“Are you satisfied?” You asked her slowly, eyes still wide and mouth agape.

“No.” She answered, getting up and leaving the room.

“I'm so sorry, Sy.” You stuttered, ashamed of your mother.

“It's all right, love.” He shook his head, wiping his hands on his napkin. “It's not your fault. It's not hers either, really.” He said softly. “She's mourning her son, and doing so takes the form in many ways. That's how your Ma is coping with your brother no longer being on this Earth.” He told you, resting back in his chair and fixing his blue eyes on you. “You're coping by going to support groups and trying to understand the kind people that he was, that he worked with, that he died surrounded by.”

You bit your lip, a lump of emotion strangling you and blurring your eyes; Sy was right. You wanted to be surrounded by those like your brother. It was like still having him there, in a way. You felt the strong, rough warmth of Sy's hand slip into yours, squeezing it and rubbing his thumb over your wrist as the two of you sat there, quiet and surrounded by your Thanksgiving feast.

“You know,” Sy spoke, breaking the silence. “I could actually use an accountant for my ranch.” He said, smirking over at you. “Plus, how about drinks at my place, while you figure out a new name for my foal? Who cares who wins the game.” He chuckled, arching a suggestive brow at you.

“Are you hinting at a sort of date, Syverson?” You asked, playfully thumb warred him.

“It's possible.” Sy laughed, letting you pin his thumb. “Maybe, I'll even cook you Christmas dinner.”

“Oh, I think I'd like that.” You told him, grinning, thankful you'd decided to host him for Thanksgiving.

#Syverson #Captain Austin Syverson #Thankful *fic*#Thankful #Viking-Raider Fics #Captain Syverson x Reader #Captain Syverson/Reader #captain syverson #captain syverson fanfiction #Syverson x Reader #Syverson/Reader #Fluff #Cotton Candy Fluff #Thanksgiving #Thanksgiving Fic

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queenendless · 5 months

Text

🍂🍁💝Thankful (Adult!SatoSugu x Adult!Fem!Reader ft Various JJK)💝🍁🍂

A/n: Spontaneous short fiction.

Sequel to Spooky Lovin'.

Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate. To those who don't, well do whatever makes you happy.

Lots of characters/pairings, pure cavity esque fluff, with a twist!

All credit for JJK goes to Gege ... despite what happens canon wise.

*Please don't plagiarize, translate, or repost my FANFIC work. Like, reblog and follow instead, thank you.

The enriching enthusiasm boomed out throughout your private abode.

You watched in beaming amusement through the open archway at the packed company.

Yuji laughed at what Megumi had to say which made the other smile; both close together on one end of the couch.

Nobara gushed over showing Maki upcoming winter attire releasing on her phone, to which the latter was intrigued, both also bundled closely on the other end of the couch.

Kento and Yu leaning against the wall, drinking apple cider as the latter rambled enthusiastically on their latest endeavor, while Ino popped in, praising a blushing Nanami on his caliber as his sorcerer icon.

Aoi clapping and weeping all up in the big TV showing Takada-chan's live performance in the themed parade happening down South.

Panda and Toge jumping in the leaf piles, a beaming Yuta swinging a giggling Rika around through the whisking leaves. Kamo sipped tea on the front patio as he watched the sunset.

Down the way, a car crossed by, with Shiu at the wheel and Toji eyeing the house with sharp ambivalence. Part of him missing his kids but accepting long ago that this is where they truly belong, nodding for Shiu to drive off.

A tipsy Shoko cuddling up with a blushing smiling Utahime in the hot tub on one end and Mei lounging and sipping on cider on the other end with Ui holding her bagged gear and waiting on her outside the tub, on standby, cause he's just that devoted.

Mai and Momo taking selfies together in the backyard garden before teasing a flustered Kasumi after Kokichi gifted her a flower in her hair.

Yuki and Choso; also in the backyard, napped together on the bench under the tallest looming tree, cozy smiles on their faces.

Kusakabe excused himself just to sneak into the bathroom to try out the jacuzzi.

Nanako and Mimiko braided Tsumiki's hair as they sat at the katsudon, smack dabbed in the center of their spacious living room.

Junpei blushing from Tsumiki noticing him gazing at her, smiling widely in return, to which a flushed Junpei jumped from Megumi's stern-faced warning to which his sister complained for him not to scare him so much and a nervously laughing Yuji consoled his horror buddy by hugging him and patting his back, simultaneously trying to calm down his boyfriend going all overprotective brother mode.

Masamichi made some festive themed cursed corpse dolls that were taking up space on the other couch.

Kiyotaka fumbled with his drink as Akari's beaming smile had him and Arata covering their flushed faces from how pure she looked.

Riko and Misato assist Suguru in the kitchen as they prepare the food.

Suguru, knowing you were still unwell, insisted you take it easy and let them handle the feast.

You had been feeling unwell the past few days.

You called in sick today when you felt something change.

You had to see for yourself.

And when you did, you felt inspired to message everyone you know for an impromptu get together at your place. The word spread via group chats, texts, and calls.

Watching everyone enjoying themselves at your impromptu get together heightened your spirits.

Just not for the festive touch.

But to be surrounded by all their beaming warm faces when —

Satoru warped right before barging through the front door with dramatic flair, exciting a few, scaring some, and annoying the rest.

“Honey, I'm home~!” Dropping the bag of pies on the counter, Satoru smooched Suguru fully on the lips.

The moment he noticed you practically glowing, the Six Eyes told him all that there is and will soon be, straight down to the first traces.

In that moment, everyone inside and outside felt the shifts in the cursed force as Gojo warped right before you, startling you out of your hidden viewing spot, his arms wrapping around your figure to catch you. You imagined his eyes trained on the right spot.

“You … you're …”

You couldn't suppress your smile. “I found out this morning. But I didn't know how to tell you both. I had a feeling your Six Eyes would show you the truth – AAH~!” Your yelp as he lifted you up in the air reverberated throughout the house, grabbing everyone's attention.

“Gojo-sensei?!” His students exclaimed in a jumbled mess.

“Satoru! Be careful – !” Suguru's concerns were cut short when he watched as you tugged down that blindfold just to see Satoru's awestruck eyes with your own.

Tears made his eyes sparkling that much beautifully, sniffling softly, beaming with that lovestruck smile as he lowered you down to embrace you, swinging side to side gently, laughing as he smooched your face with so many kisses.

“Y/n … thank you.”

As he sets you down; keeping you wrapped up in one arm, his other arm waving you two's partner over before intertwining their hands together to pull him in quickly. “Suguru~ We've got the hottest scoop of the year!”

Pressing himself right by your side, Suguru leaned down as you got up on your tiptoes to whisper your secret right in his ear. His stunned face was all you could read as he replayed your words in his mind, but he wanted to be certain. “Are you sure?”

Satoru's closed eyed smile and thumbs up added to the buildup. “These eyes don't lie!”

Burning wetness swelled up in those beautiful almond eyes as Suguru kissed you lovingly, smiling at you in the same smitten manner. “Best news ever.”

“Everyone!” Satoru hollered as his arms became yours and Suguru's thrones, lifting you both up, as he floated for literal joy. “We're having a baby!”

“And yes, it's all true!” You exclaimed boldly, knowing the people would take your word more easily than Satoru's.

First stunned silence. Which immediately erupted into cheers and applause of congratulations.

The twins, Tsumiki and Megumi were the first to get up and hurry on over to embrace you, shedding tears of joy.

Yuji and Haibara high-fiving Satoru who was over the moon.

Nanami shook hands to congratulate Suguru, warning him to make sure Satoru took extra caution with taking care of you and your little bundle before embracing you himself. You personally wanted to deem him as the godfather, just a side note.

As those from out front and out back swarmed in as the announcement shot straight through the roof from the loud groundbreaking importance.

After all the girls in the house fussed over you with hugs, advice and offers to help you through this new adventure, your husbands were in the same boat with almost everyone.

Except Kusakabe who was stuck in the bathroom for a while since the hallway was filled with the rest of your guests.

After embracing and congratulating you themselves, Riko and Kuroi announced the feast was ready.

Exchanging kisses with both your loves, you gave a toast.

Toasting to the new addition to your growing unique family.

Now that is cause to celebrate.

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princessaxoxo · 5 months

Text

Thanksgiving

August Walker x Reader

Summary: August has you over for thanksgiving.

Warnings: 18+ Only, NSFW, unprotected sex (p in v), oral (f receiving), pet names, some food play, fluff, age gap, vulgar language

Wordcount: 930

A/N: Had this in mind for weeks but things got a bit chaotic in my personal life so it is a bit rushed. So sorry. 😣

A spread of Thanksgiving delicacies and candlelight covered August's dining table as you were squirming in your seat across from him. Although you had been alone with him before, this was the first time he had asked you to his place with such boldness.

“Which one do you prefer?” He pointed at the turkey and ham. “Oh, um, the turkey,” you awkwardly replied. Internally, you were scolding yourself.

August took your plate and placed a turkey slice on it. When your plate was placed in front of you again, part of the food was on the edges since you didn't want to be impolite and refuse any of the food he had prepared. “It looks delicious, August."

As you began eating your food, halfway, you noticed August hadn’t touched his. “Why aren’t you eating?"

August took notice of your nervous mannerisms since the beginning of the night. “Why are you fidgeting?” You looked away from his eyes and dropped your utensil. He leaned across the table and raised your face so you would look at him. “Tell me.” His light-hearted question has now turned into a demand.

“Well, we’ve never done this.” His eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. “What do you mean?"

“This is intimate. Well, we have been intimate before, but this is a different type of intimacy. It’s romantic. This is different for us.” You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. August sat back in his chair and chuckled.

“It’s not funny!” You huffed and crossed your arms.

“Oh, I don't think it's humorous, baby. I simply don't understand why you withheld your concerns from me. I am aware that this is unusual for us because we haven't been able to go on the kind of date that I had hoped for. However, the fact that it will be our first Thanksgiving spent together makes it more special.”

Suddenly, all the nerves you held floated away.

August took a few steps around the table before bringing out the chair beside you. He kissed your hand after grasping it.

"This is really special, and I'm glad it's with you. Thank you for doing all of this." You said before giving him a kiss that started out as affectionate but quickly turned hungry. "Suddenly, none of this food appeals to me."

“But you made all of it. It shouldn’t go to waste.” He nodded his head, and you could tell he had an idea. “It won’t go to waste, princess.”

You watched as he brought the bowl filled with mashed potatoes closer. It suddenly became clear to you what he was intending to do. “You’re going to eat the food off of me?"

August started to take your dress off your body, and you allowed him to. "Indeed, I am. After all, it's Thanksgiving. We must be grateful and eat until we put on ten pounds." He paused to give you a kiss on the inside of your thigh. "This is what I'm thankful for—this wonderful food. And above all, you."

As you bit your lip, you saw him apply mashed potatoes to both sides of your inner thighs before starting to eat them off of you. When you felt him sucking and twirling his tongue around, pleasure took over you.

Moans effortlessly left you as you grasped your breasts and pinched your nipples. He applied another sheer coat of mashed potatoes to your cunt, and you soon felt the feel of his tongue pressing against your clit.

His formerly brilliant blue eyes were bursting with desire as you gazed down at him. His tongue lapsed and sucked until you were a wailing mess that was coming apart. “God, August.”

He kissed his way up to your mouth. “Get undressed now,” you demanded of him. He tore his clothes off in a rush. And, thoughtlessly lifted you and placed you down on the table. August lifted the cranberry sauce and poured it over your breasts. When he began to suck and twirl his tongue over your nipples, groans fell from his lips.

“August, I need you inside me.”

His face held a wicked smile. “You want me inside of you, princess? Want to feel all of me?"

“Yes, please.”

With rapidity, he lunged inside you, and your legs encircled his waist. His sac struck your ass with each push. As you bent in to give him a kiss, you noticed how his muscles strained with every thrust.

You encircled his neck firmly with your arms, and he enveloped his powerful arms beneath your thighs. When he pressed you against the wall and invaded you, you were able to feel him more deeply. With every push, his cock grazed your g-spot.

Your come covered his cock. “My good girl, covering me with her come.”

With your mouth hanging open and your eyes shut, you became mute as the pounding intensified. He gripped your face tightly. "Look at me; I must see that stunning face of yours as I come into you."

His body began to jerk as his seed filled you.

August's head rested on the bend of your neck while you both tried to breathe again. Once he was breathing normally again, he took a look at you and let out a little laugh. “What is it?” you questioned him.

"There's food in your hair," he said, moving your hair away from your face.

You chuckled hysterically and touched his face before speaking. "Happy Thanksgiving, baby."

"Honey, happy Thanksgiving." He kissed you several times over your face after giving you a quick peck on the lips.

Taglist: @shellyshellshell @chloe92 @identity2212 @juliaorpll78 @armystay89

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oliviassblog · 5 months

Note

PLS CAN YOU WRTIE FOR RYAN? MAYBE HIM SAVING THE READER FROM THE KILLER???

I LOVE YOU

ryan baker x fem!reader

finally I been waiting for someone to ask for ryan

You and Ryan were in a warehouse running from whoever was chasing you.

This person has been tagging you in pictures and they have been killing people around town you had no idea who it was though all your friends suspected it was Ryan cause you both started dating and they don’t trust him that much.

But you didn’t listen cause Ryan was actually nice and at least he hasn’t ghosted you yet.

But you guys were running and heard footsteps getting louder.

“Get down!” Ryan said as he grabbed your hand and you two hid behind a car hoping the killer wouldn’t find you.

“Fuck what are we gonna do..?” You said quiet as possible. Ryan got closer to you to whisper “We just have to stay quiet and try to get the hell out of here.. we’re gonna make it”

You nodded but you were scared for your life and you were shaking tears were already streaming down your face.

Ryan grabbed your hand holding it tight cause he knew you were scared.

Footsteps get closer and you covered your mouth to not breathe loud and you saw Ryan trying to stay quiet to.

But the footsteps stopped you took your hand off your face thinking they were gone.

You were wrong because just then someone grabbed you by your hair and you screamed.

The killer had a right grip to your hair and was dragging you.

You were screaming for help Ryan quickly got up looking for something to beat this persons ass.

The killer the stopped and let go of you and pushed you on the floor they had a sharp knife in there hand you were so fucking scared.

The killer got on you and you tried to fight back and the killer stabbed you in your hip you screamed in pain.

“Fuck!” You yelled.

The killer was gonna stab you right in your face but you grabbed there hand trying to stop them you felt yourself getting weaker.

Just then Ryan came from behind and hit the killer with a medal rod he found the killer got off of you and let go of the knife.

Ryan grabbed the knife and stabbed him you looked at him and got up slowly whimpering in pain holding your fresh wound.

You saw Ryan just stab this guy and you knew that person deserved it.

Megan stopped cause the person was dead. He got up and had blood all over him.

He quickly turned to you “Fuck are you okay y/n!?” You nodded crying and he brought you in for a hug kissing your forehead.

“You saved me..?” You said looking up at him. “Yeah of course I did. I love you”

You smiled softly knowing he was the one “I love you too” you held him tight but looked back at the person you they had a mask you wanted to see who it was.

You looked to Ryan and then back at the person you bend down and took off the mask you couldn’t believe it.

It was your dad. Sheriff Newlon Eric. You gasped and looked back at Ryan he was also surprised.

You wanted to cry even more just then cops busted through a door saving the day.

You saw your best friend Jessica she went up to you “Oh my god you’re okay! Thank god”

You smiled and hugged her as she held you tight. “You okay?” She asked and you nodded.

She saw the body “Oh my god.. it was Sheriff Newlon.. your dad?”

You slowly pulled away from the hug as the ambulance came taking his body away and they went to help you with the stab on your hip.

But now.. it was finally over the only people left were you, Ryan, Jessica, Gaby, and Scuba but everyone else didn’t make it.

You were still surprised it was your dad but you lost everyone in your family even your mom.

But you still had the people you always loved someone like Ryan.

I HOPE YALL LIKED THATT I ADDED TO MUCH DETAILS BUT OH WELL?? imma need more requests of ryan more often cause he’s so pookie

#milo manheim #ryan baker #thanksgiving movie #ryan baker x reader #fluff #angst #fem!reader #horror

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chronically-ghosted · 5 months

Note

I always thought the scene from Deadpool was hot where he and Vanessa are having hot sex mixed with food on Thanksgiving.

Maybe that with Joel or Javier P?

Ahhh, anon. this has been stewing in my brain since you sent it. And I know you said thanksgiving, but the line in this happened in, like, a single scene after the thanksgiving one! please forgive my timing!

kiss me ‘till I’m warm

rating: T

Pairing: jaiver peña x f!reader

word count: 1.6K

summary: a very drunk javi has something he wants to share with you.

warnings/tags: mentions of alcohol, drunkenness, one stupid joke, the absurdity of someone drunk off their ass trying to flirt, light kissing on body parts, references to smut, but ultimately this is fluffy as hell

a/n: wishing all of you a great start to your week as december plods along! shout out to the incredible @saradika for the divider!

🤍Masterlist

Javier Peña is a giggly drunk.

Not all the time, mind you, not always. Depends on the liquor, his mood, and what he’s had to eat that day – if anything at all. But given the right circumstances and the stars align, once in a blue moon, Javier blushes and giggles like a fourteen year old with a first crush.

Now, that might come as a surprise to anyone who has seen him lurking around the hallways of the American Embassy, scowling and smelling of stale cigarettes. The women he used to visit would swear up and down that Javier Peña was not a giggly drunk, having seen him knock back a drink or two, or three, or five. Certainly, all the narcos he’d rounded up and captured would be rather offended to hear that about the man who sent them to prison. It would shock them all to hear that, in the end, it was eggnog. Eggnog, the creamy, thick holiday drink that in terms of calories and sugar blew every other frappuccino out of the water – it was eggnog that turned Javier’s world upside down. From frown-set smokestack, to someone who wanders into his girlfriend’s bedroom after her office party and nearly blows his knee out on the bed frame.

“Javier, honey, are you okay?” You scramble towards where he tripped, expecting either blood or for him to be knocked on conscious. But instead, you just see fluff. White fluff. White fluff that proceeds red velvet, more fluff, and then thick dark hair.

Javier stands up, grinning from ear to ear. He stretches his arms wide, his white undershirt thin on his chest. He arches further, revealing a dusting of hair below the hem of his shirt that disappears into the waistband of his jeans. Well, when his pants are buttoned.

“Tada!” he beams. You roll your eyes and he giggles, following you on his hands and knees as you crawl back to your spot by the pillows. You had come in here to get some lotion for your hands and despite your insistence that he does not leave the couch, he stumbled in after you.

“Pero, mi amor,” he pouts when he sits on his knees behind you, “te fuiste.”

“You poor thing,” you frown at him over your shoulder as you rub the lotion into your hands, then your knees. His eyes bob between your tits through your sleep shirt and your circular motions over your skin. You narrow your eyes at him when his mouth goes slack and his eyes dark. “Oh, absolutely not, Javier. You are drunk as a skunk and about two minutes away from passing out.”

He rolls his eyes and leans forward, wobbling slightly as he crawls towards you. “Please?”

“No.”

“¿Por favor?”

“No!”

You frown, suspicious, when he chuckles as he loosely grabs you by the ankles, thumbs pressed in below the knot of bone. His shirt is loose enough you can see down the collar to his tanned chest. It’s not like the idea isn’t enticing, but you’d only seen him this drunk once before after the Christmas party at Steve and Connie’s two years ago. He made the same proposition back then and when he went to lie down on the floor to take his pants off, you looked over the bed to find him passed out, spread eagle and only his belt undone.

“Bien, bien,” he waves his hand in the air, the cotton ball of his Santa hat falling over his eyes, “pero tengo un chiste para ti.”

Another sign that Javier had reached the point of no return: he spoke much more in Spanish and the words blurred together, as if sticking on top of each other.

You eye him with faux annoyance when he uses your legs to pull himself in between your ankles. He kisses the tops of your knees, his palms warm beneath the weight of your calf muscles. Giddy and care-free until he wakes up with a pounding headache, drunk Javier is something you always cherished, because it is one of the few times he can be care-free. Relaxed. You are the only person he lets see him like this and you would protect that vulnerability with everything in your heart.

“Javier.” He hums, his teeth against your knee and dropping lower. His eyes are closed and his breathing’s changed. “I think you had something you wanted to tell me.”

He blinks, open mouth freezing on the bone of your calf. “Right. Yeah. Of course, mi vida.”

That heady, blurred look of desire on his face melts away almost as fast as it came on. He presses the arch of his nose against your other knee, giggling, as he readjusts his feet under him.

“Okay, okay,” he sniffs, sits up, and looks at you with bleary, water-y brown eyes. “Steve told it to me, so if you don’t think it’s funny, it’s his fault.”

You nod and then he taps the inside of your thigh with two fingers.

“If your left leg is Thanksgiving y tu pierna derecha es Navidad,” he outright gropes your other thigh, his slur worsening, mouth full of damp, gummy cotton balls. “Can I visit you entre días festivos?

Javier Peña raises a single eyebrow at you, as if he had been the first one to discover pick up lines, perfected the art of flirting, and discovered he had the ritz to seduce any woman in the world all in one night. His hands tighten in the meat of your inner thighs as he pushes them apart, his chest pressing forward, down, into you. With surprising dexterity and stability, he crawls between your open legs, hands firm as they plant on either side of your head. He’s still wearing that infuriatingly smug grin, his hips rolling forward until you feel the scrape of the teeth of his jeans on your thigh.

“What do you say, baby?” his teeth edge the rim of your ear, “¿p-p-puedo –,”

He full-on snorts in your ear, suddenly overcome with giggles and you jerk away. “Javi!”

You pinch his waist and he flops over on to the other side of the bed, his face turning red as he howls with laughter. His Santa hat pushed up over his forehead, the back of his hair sticking up from where he’s nestled against the pillows, Javier clutches his sides as he rolls back and forth.

You sit up, smiling, and watch the man you love enjoy himself for once. Sure, he could (and did, often) get lost in sex, but this is different. Your mother always said there was something healing about laughter, about feeling safe enough to close your eyes around another person, and Javier had spent far too long with his eyes wide open.

Tears are streaming down his cheeks by the time you pluck the Santa hat off his head and kiss his forehead. Giggles trickling down, he curls onto his side, his bare feet seemingly so large on your covers. You stroke his cheek, your thumb brushing the corner of his mustache, and the last giggle fades to a hum. He closes his eyes, cheeks pink, his head turning ever so slightly towards your touch.

“Do you need some water, baby?”

“Mhm hmm.”

Kissing him on his nose, you slide off the bed and go towards the kitchen. After filling up a glass from the filter, you turn off the lights, check the front door, and close the blinds. But when you come back to your bedroom, the golden light of your bedside lamp the only glow left in the entire apartment, you know instantly he’s already asleep. Javier lies still curled up on his side, his wide shoulders curled in, the white expanse of his t-shirt rising and falling with each breath.

You didn’t know him very well the first time you slept together, but the night he stayed over, all the way until the morning light broke through your shutters, you knew it had been an extraordinary step for him.

Now he sleeps in your bed, unguarded and unburdened, as much as he can.

You put the glass of water on his side of the bed and gently ease him onto his back. His arm slithers over his torso as his shoulder collides with the mattress, his matted hair where the hat sat in a line stiff against his forehead.

In his more morose moments, Javier announced he was getting old. His back hurt, his eyesight was shit, and he swears he spots more and more gray hairs in the mirror every day.

But, when he’s like this, when he’s Javi not Javier, when he’s just yours and no one else’s, he is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

A hand pressed to his warm chest, you lean forward and kiss his cheek.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” you whisper against his skin. He stirs, but doesn’t open his eyes.

Sliding your earrings out of their posts and into the little dish beside your bed, you glance at him one more time before turning off the light. The room is dark, warm, and in the emptiness you can hear him breathing.

The shape of him is more familiar to you than your own, able to trace his profile with nothing but memory, so without searching, as though reaching for a piece of yourself, you intertwine your hand with his.

His fingers twitch and the sound of his breathing slows.

In the absence of every other sense, you are overwhelmed by the weight of his palm in yours, the soothing rock of the rise and fall of his chest, your ears tuned to his every sigh, every noise –

In the absence of everything else, you listen to him inhale –

“Merry Christmas, baby.”

– and exhale.

#merry thanksgiving nonsense 2023 #javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena fluff #javi peña #javier pena #javier pena fanfiction

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cozymaples · 4 months

Text

ryan; who gets a little too out of hand at the local bar. ryan, who begs the guy whose been hitting on you to do it ‘one more time.’

ryan, who beats him bloody, being carried out of the bar by the new deputy, who spits at the ground and cusses under his breath about ryan being a ‘fucking idiot’.

ryan who eats your pussy when you get home; knuckles still bloody as they brush along your thighs, crimson catching on any patch of flesh he bumps against.

ryan who holds you tight to his body as he fucks into you from behind, kissing along your neck and relentlessly whispering against the shell of your ear that he would’ve done it all again.

#yeah…..yeah #ryan thanksgiving one shot #ryan thanksgiving oneshot #maple writes ryan!#ryan thanksgiving smut #ryan thanksgiving x reader #ryan thanksgiving movie #ryan thanksgiving #milo manheim x reader fluff #milo manheim x reader smut #milo manheim one shot #milo manheim moodboard #milo manheim fluff #milo manheim oneshot #milo manheim imagine #milo manheim smut #milo manheim x reader #milo manheim

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fandomnerd9602 · 5 months

Text

Y/N: can you promise you’ll play nice with Clint?

Yelena: no. But I will be aunt Lena for the kids

Y/N: should we take her?

Kate: hmm…okay. But we’re packing max and cheese so she can’t make fun of Clint’s cooking

Yelena: thank you Kate Bishop-(L/N)

#marvel #marvel imagine #marvel fluff #mcu #mcu imagine #mcu fandom #marvel incorrect quotes #incorrect marvel quotes #hawkeye #black widow #yelena belova #kate bishop #yelena belova x reader #kate bishop x reader #thanksgiving #clint barton

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short-honey-badger · 5 months

Text

Phantom Pain part 8

Holiday Interlude

Heyoo. Little late for Thanksgiving, but I wanted to get this out anyway. Hope you enjoy! Fluffy AF.

Masterlist

@writingmysanity @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff @kenkenmaaa

"Hey, Benn," Shanks came to a stop beside his friend, hip leaning against the railings of the ship. He takes a swig of his bottle of rum and wonders about the holiday that you had told him about last night before bed. You weren't feeling the best today, having woken up with some kind of head cold, but Shanks couldn't get this idea of his to go away.

The older man eyes his Captain. He couldn't tell what kind of mood Shanks was in, but a contemplative one was never good eighty percent of the time, "Yeah. Captain?"

"_ mentioned a holiday she likes to celebrate. It'll be a little late, but I want to surprise them with it." Shanks begins, and Beckmann already feels a little fondly exasperated when the redhead looks at him with puppy eyes.

"And you want my help, us that right?" Benn assumes, and his Captain nods with a cheeky grin. The older man rolls his eyes at his friend, "You know I will. Someone has to carry everything for you."

Shanks scoffs at his quip and then knocks back his bottle again. He knows that his friends find amusement in him, trying to navigate his new relationship.

"Thanks, Benn," He murmurs, and the older man dips his head to the retreating form of his Captain.

You sniff harshly, groaning in pitiful agony as you wipe your nose for the umpteenth time that evening. You woke up with an awful headache that progressively got worse the longer you stayed awake. Of course, this was the thanks you got for helping your soulmate and his crew with the sails and rigging during last night's storm.

Shanks had tucked the thick covers of his bed around you and made sure you were as comfortable as you could be before he left to mind his Captain duties for the day. You could feel him close, just above deck, but the knowledge brought you little comfort. For once, you felt incredibly needy, and you didn't feel up to hiding that away from your soulmate.

Waves of comfort flow from his side of the connection, and you latched onto it, smothering yourself in the bond to try and hide away from the pain in your head. It's been hours since you've last seen Shanks, and though you've been asleep for many of them, it didn't make you miss the man any less. You sniff through your stuffy nose again, discontent and pouty with your situation.

The door to Shanks' room opens, and you roll over to glare through your fort of blankets and pillows at the intruder. Your soul mate smiles at you, and you scrunch your nose at the mischievous look he has lurking in his eyes. The redhead should know better than to try and hide his silliness from you.

"Hey, Seastar," He murmurs and crosses the room to crawl into bed with you. You reluctantly open your nest and allow him entrance, if only so you can press your freezing toes against his much warmer skin. He gently pets your hair, shifting so that you lay tucked against his chest, "Feeling any better?"

A loud sniff is his answer, and Shanks takes that as a no.

The Yonko chuckles at your pitifullness. While he disliked that you were sick, he relished in how needy and open you were in your affections for him, and Shanks happily doted on you when he could. He kissed your brow and hugged you closer to his chest.

"I'm sorry, Baby, but I did tell you to go inside last night, though," Shanks points out and can't help the smug tone that drips from his voice. He gets slapped in the chest for that one, and you shift to roll away from him, but he tightens his grip and follows you.

"Seastar, nooo," He whines and burries his face in your neck. He kisses the flushed skin, grinning when you shiver, and goosebumps appear, "I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself."

You fume silently, but Shanks can tell that you aren't actually upset with him. Annoyed with his teasing, yes, but he could feel the way your lips wanted to twitch up into a smile.

"Bastard," you rasp lowly and cough to try and clear your throat, but it only sends you into a fit that leaves you gasping for air.

Shanks rises and returns with his bottle that he left behind on the table near the door, "Here. It'll coat your throat," he murmurs, and you gratefully sip from the bottle.

The rum burns, but it's much better than coughing your lungs up. You settle back in the bed, eyes clenched shut as your head pounds like a beat of a drum. Shanks covers you back up and tucks you in with a soft sigh. He'd much rather cuddle with you, but his crew would need him soon.

"We'll be at the next island soon, Sweetheart. We'll find something for your cold there," Shanks promises you and leans in to press his lips to yours in a quick kiss. You kiss weakly, sluggish mind already half alseep.

"I'll come get you when we make port," Shanks assures you, and then he is gone.

~~~~~~~

The Yonko is relieved when they finally make landfall later that day. It's been a harsh couple of weeks, as if the ocean herself had been upset over something. However, this island was uninhabited, meaning it was ripe for exploring and perfect for what he wanted to do.

Shanks directs his crew to start unloading tables and chairs that would usually stay on board the Red Force. Crates of saki and rum are sat on the tables, and a set of crewmates wander into the forest to hunt the game inside.

Dinner for the Red Haired Pirates is usually a rowdy affair, but rarely does everyone on board the ship eat together. It's usually taken in shifts since the Force was such a large ship and constantly needed attention. Shanks grins at the sight of the two large tables slowly being stacked with food and booze. This was going to be perfect.

The hunting pair returned with a boar and several plump birds that were quickly cleaned up and then stuck over the open fire that roars at the head of the two tables. Shanks and Benn walk through the beach, and the redhead is impressed with how quickly his crew got everything together on such short notice.

"Looks good, Captain," Benn tells him and Shanks nods in agreement.

"Couldn't do it without you and everyone else," He praises and then turns on his heel. Now, all he needed was you.

~~~~~~~

Shanks eases the door to his room open and quietly shuts it behind him. He toes his shoes off and then slips into bed with you. He watches you for a while, noting that you look a bit better than you had earlier. Less flushed and more your usual color.

The Yonko rolls you to your back, hovering over you as he dips to press light kisses all over your face.

You moan sweetly as you begin to wake, eyes cracking open just in time to watch him kiss your forehead, "Shanks?"

"Hey, sleepy head," your soul mate teases, and you snake a hand out to curl your fingers in his loose shirt. He can feel how happy, relieved even to have him here with you.

"Time is?" You grumble and let go of his shirt to carefully push yourself up. You feel a bit better. Your head still hurts, but it's not anywhere near as bad as earlier.

"Late. We can catch the sunset if we go now," He tells you, and you nod and push the covers away. You want to see the sunset, and then you want food.

Shanks hands over a thick sweater and a pair of leggings that he'd snagged from your room, and you happily change into the cozy clothes. He takes your hand, fingers tangling together as he leads you out of the cabins and to the deck of the ship. You don't question him when he takes you down the gangplank, instead sighing in joy when your feet touch the sun warned sands of the beach.

The two of you walk around the ship, and you stutter to a stop, eyes blowing wide at the sight in front of you. The entire crew is mingling around the two tables that have been set up. Booze is flowing, and the smell of roast pork has your stomach rumbling loudly. The setting sun is the icing on the cake.

"Did I do a good job?" You hear Shanks ask from beside you. He shuffles a bit in the sand, "We couldn't find any turkey, but I figured any kind of bird would do. I made sure to nab some of that sweet wine you liked from the last island, too, so that's up there at your spot. I know we're a little late, but I just wanted to show you how thankful I am. Since you said the holiday was called Thanksgiving, ya know?"

You turn and throw yourself at the man, cutting off his babbling. You sniff, this time from the happy tears that want to flow down your cheeks, and then pull away enough to bring his brown for kiss. Shanks melts against you, curling around your smaller body and gripping your hip to keep your close.

"You did a fantastic job, Hon," you tell him when you break the kiss. Shanks lights up at the pet name, the first that you have given him in your time together. He pulls you in for another kiss, tongue probing forward to lick into your mouth, but his plans are ruined when a loud wolf whistle from the table breaks you apart.

"Stop sucking face and come eat!" Yasopp calls from where is lounged in a chair near the fire. The crew snicker at their Captain and his soulmate, but nothing can stop the grin that plants itself on your face. Shanks did this for you, and you were damn well going to enjoy it.

#fanfic #reader insert #one piece #red haired shanks #shanks #shanks x reader #shanks x y/n #shanks x you #fluff #thanksgiving #opla shanks #phantom pain #one piece live action

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elisela · 1 year

Text

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

“Turkey hotline, this is Derek.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

-----

“Turkey hotline, this is Derek.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----

“Turkey hotline, this is Derek.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He hangs up, pauses, and calls right back.

“Turkey hotline, this is Derek.”

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

---

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

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

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

Holy good Jesus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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