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defbotboy · 27 days

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Something Like Love

“Hiya there, pretty boy.”

Megumi scowled, “You’re late.”

You felt your lips spilt into a grin, he was pretty when he scowled too, you couldn’t help it.

“Aww. Did you miss me? Were you eagerly waiting for a chance meeting with your beloved?” you teased.

“It's not a chance meeting if we agreed to meet at a specific time only for you to waltz in half an hour late. That's just you being irresponsible, “ he shot back. But you didn’t miss that he didn’t say anything about the ‘beloved’ part. You also didn’t miss that under his tousled messy hair the tips of his ears were faintly blushed.

“Cute”, you thought to yourself.

“I’m sorry to have kept milord waiting but it’s not easy to gather information on the location of forbidden cursed tools.”

Three days ago, Megumi had called you asking for the information on them. You were surprised on two accounts. It was the first time he had sent you a message longer than four words. It was also a bit of a shock to you as Megumi, while not a stickler for rules exactly, was asking for information on a potentially dangerously illegal task to you.

Then again, the Jujustu Technical school kids had no one else to get such information from other than you. The higher ups won’t just let them get access to such information despite leaving Special Grade Cursed items in Stevenson screens. It was ridiculous to you.

“Do you have a fight today?”

Oh, this was new. Megumi never asks you questions about this part of your life. He despised that you took part in the illegal fighting rings for Jujustu sorcerers. It was the only way you could make a living though, you’d rather die than join the school.

“My my. You know what this is, Megumi? This is a personal question. This indicates that you have taken an interest in my personal life. What’s next? Are you going to ask me out on a date?”

“And if I do?’

Huh. It was your turn to turn flushed in the face. You’ve flirted so excessively with your crush as if to make up for his taciturn nature. Never in a billion years did you think you’d end up here.

“What?” you asked, lamely.

A smile tugged at the corners of Megumi’s lips, Not so chatty now are you, he thought.

“A date. It's where people romantically interested in each other go some place together and eat and stuff. Now that I've said food is involved you’re surely not going to say no arent you?”

Your appetite was undeniably legendary. And you were living on cup noodles, so any chance you got with free food was a battle to witness as you demolished plate after plate. But this wasn’t just any idiot asking you out.

It was Megumi. Megumi Fushiguro, the boy you’ve been (not so secretly) pining after ever since he beat your ass in a fight at the underground rings. He, along with Yuuji and Nobara had stumbled on the rings while investigating a case. The boss had promised them some information on a cursed spirit if they made the day’s show legendary. That’s how you had ended up pitted against Megumi. It was a long battle. You were the ring’s top contender until he came in. The fight was won by a hair breadth. You could both barely stand up after it.

And then covered in blood and panting like his life’s last breath was being taken each time, Megumi had never looked as beautiful. You couldn’t stop thinking about him.

So you wormed your way into being their informant. You flirted every chance you got. When Megumi offered up his number for, “Easier information exchange, I don’t want to hang around your stupid fighting rings every time I want something from you.”

But he had. Every rare holiday that the school offered him, he spent hanging around the rings watching you fight. The days you caught him hanging around he pretended to have been waiting to see you for information. Then after completing whatever task he had thought up at the last minute together, you both would have dinner.

He adored seeing you eat. You ate with such relish of the food. Your mouth stuffed and your eyes eagerly scanning for what you should take a bite of next. It was a secondary sight to seeing you in battle though.

Each kick, and punch delivered with absolute surety. Your cursed technique might have been dull, but you wasted no amount of cursed energy. Every move was calculated to utter precision and you moved with the grace of a dancer, and attacked with the strength of a seasoned warrior.

Megumi knew he sounded cocky as he asked you out, but his heart was hammering inside his ribs.

“So?” He asked. “Do you want to go on a date with me, Y/N?”

“Why?” you asked, all of a sudden not too sure about anything. Your insecurities coming at you in a rush before your insides which were screaming at you to shut up and just say yes.

But Megumi was prepared. He knew you from months on watching you move. You might fight fiercely and flirt shamelessly but he’s also seen you after fights lost, drowning in self-doubt and he knows how hard you find it to trust those on your side. It's not easy being raised to destroy and finding yourself in a moment like this that promises something more. Something like love.

So, he had known when he came today that you would ask him this question.

Megumi stepped froward and extended his hand. He softly brushed away the stray hair that fell on your face. From up this close, he could smell the familiar scent of soap on you, your sweet breaths coming out slow and heavy from how close you both were. He tipped your head towards his face.

Your heart was in your throat now. Ready to jump. He was so close. You could see his long. wispy eyelashes touching his cheeks in full detail. He was so fucking pretty.

“Why?” he repeated.

You nodded slowly, “Why?” you repeated.

“Why, because I like you. Because if you flirt with me once more and I’m not able to do anything about it then my heart might just explode.”

You felt your lips perk up into a smile. “What do you want to do about it?”

Unable to hide his smile anymore, he let it break out in its full glory. It was blinding to see. How could anyone smile like that, you wondered.

“This,” he said in response to your final teasing. He leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, he tasted like peppermints and the promise of something more. Something like love.

#jujutsu sorcerer #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu megumi #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk x gender neutral reader #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #megumi x you #megumi x y/n #megumi x gender neutral reader #gender neutral y/n #gender neutral reader #jjk x gender neutral y/n

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ddejavvu · 7 months

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hello! i just reviewed your req rules and i had been wanting to request something about spencer reid with an east asian partner bc i thought i remembered you saying you were okay with writing specific ethnicities, but i’m not sure if my request will match up with the rule you mentioned about teaching each other a skill.

my idea was for the reader to teach a clumsy, info-dumping reid about how to use chopsticks but i’m worried it goes against your req guidelines 😅 i’m not sure if using chopsticks is something you know how to do or also write about how to teach someone it, but i just thought it could be super fluffy and soft with reid being a klutzy nerd and the reader being super soft and encouraging but also laughing at him for being a genius who doesn’t understand chopsticks. super fluffy and soft stuff with maybe some kisses and stuff haha.

i hope that this doesn’t come across in any way i didn’t intend for it to bc i’m purely trying to ensure i obey ur req rules and don’t disregard them or disrespect ur boundaries in any way! 🥺

hope u are having a wonderful day or night 🥺🫶🏼🫶🏼

i appreciate your consideration!!! you have no idea how much i appreciate you reading my rules <333333 i do in fact know how to use chopsticks so i'm fine writing this :)

Spencer's plate is suspiciously empty and his mouth is suspiciously full when you get back from the kitchen, and he grins at you through a mouth full of beef as you clutch the training tool.

"I figured it out," He speaks through his bite, and you grimace at the messy view, "No need for the dinosaur, angel."

You squeeze the silicon dinosaur in your hand, two holes built into its back so that the chopsticks can be slid into them and run parallel to its body. It's something a child would use to get the feel of chopsticks before their motor skills are fully developed, or, in this case, it's for Spencer to use while he tries not to drop any more dumplings onto his lap. You'd figured their bulky shape would make it easy to catch them between the chopsticks, easier than thin noodles, but Spencer is having an exceptionally hard time.

You squeeze the dinosaur harder, feeling it warp beneath your fingers, "Spencer, why is there soup on your plate?"

"Hm?"

"There's soup there," You nod at his plate, "Why?"

"These are soup dumplings," Spencer hums warily, "Isn't that what you said?"

"Yeah, they are. But the soup is inside the dumplings. And you can't get to it unless you break open the dough. There's an awful lot of soup on your plate, Spencer."

He swallows even though his mouthful is long gone, "I spilled one accidentally."

"You liar," You grouse, "Did you just stab the chopsticks into them while I was gone to get them to your mouth easier?"

"No!" Spencer insists, shaking his head so wildly that strands of his hair fly, "No, I used the chopsticks like you taught me to!"

"Prove it then," You narrow your eyes at him, taking your own pair of utensils and easily transferring a dumpling from your plate to his own, "Do it now, so I can see."

Spencer summons all of the courage in his lanky body to grip the chopsticks, his fingers already slipping and sliding off of the placement you'd showed him. His form is clumsy and it's no surprise when he can't even get the dumpling off of the plate, much less to his mouth.

"You liar!" You repeat, your point proven as you snatch the chopsticks away from him and slide the silicon dinosaur onto their ends, "There, it's like training wheels. It'll keep them together so that all you have to focus on is your grip."

"Training wheels," He mumbles, cheeks scarlet as he jabs the chopsticks at the dumpling, his fingers purposefully limp so that they don't pick up the food, "Whatever. I'll just ask for a fork next time."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one-shot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid headcanons #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid hc #spencer reid hcs #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid dialogue #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fanfiction

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wheatnoodle · 1 year

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part 3 :)

read part one and two

—

july 13th, 1989. it was on a pure gut feeling alone that max was biking to loch nora at just gone 9:30pm.

steve had dropped dustin off earlier at the arcade, around three in the afternoon, but an hour in, walkied to let him know mrs. byers would be driving him home. dustin whined and complained into the receiver, only to get short, tired answers from the older teen, and shortly after that, silence. he switched it off.

he’d been doing that quite a bit lately. shutting off. shutting up. shutting down. he’s putting space between himself and the rest of the world. but this time felt…different. it felt wrong, even. and so, max’s scores dropped. she lost at pac-man four times. and she’s barely got even thirty tickets.

she can’t focus. even as she skates home, her brain is heavy with concern for her friend. for her brother. she pushes her food around on her plate at dinner, stares blankly at the table while her mom- while susan cracks open another beer. her homework stays in her backpack and she lays on her back on her bed, searching for advice in the ceiling.

and so she waits until 9:15 rolls around and she hears susan crash on the couch. then max is up and toeing on her shoes, stepping out of her room. she grabs her bag, shoves in two cans of chicken noodle soup, and sneaks out the front door.

she really shouldn’t be riding her bike when it’s this dark out, her glasses only helping in the daylight. but she pushes forward anyways. she has to. she makes it to his house in no time and parks her bike next to the front door.

unlike dustin, max rings the doorbell. few seconds later and the door cracks open about a foot. god, he looks…awful.

“hey, kid. um…’m sorry, but now’s not a good time,” steve slurs as he speaks, runs an uncoordinated hand through his hair that’s so messy it looks like he’s been yanking it all night. her eyes focus in on the red splotches in his cheeks, tear tracks illuminated by the porch light. his eyes are red rimmed and puffy, making them even bigger, even browner. the neck is stretched out in his shirt, the scar across his throat an angry red with scratches up and down his skin. sweatpants slipping just slightly down his hips and showing off more scarring.

“actually, it seems like now is the right time,” max says softly and nudges her way inside. there’s empty beer cans on the floor, couch pillows and throw blankets strewn everywhere.

“sorry ‘bout the…y’know. the mess,” he mumbled and gestures vaguely to the living room. she turns to face him, takes in how exhausted he seems, how he curls in on himself.

her backpack hits the ground and max walks forward, throwing her arms around his neck and holding on as tight as she can. it takes a few seconds before he hugs her back, burying his face in the top of her head. she’s not even the slightest bit grossed out as she feels fresh tears in her hair. her heart clenches.

“I brought soup,” she says into his shoulder. it gets a weak laugh into her hair and she pulls back with a little smile. “i’m gonna go make that, ‘cause i didn’t eat and i don’t think you have either. i think you should come sit at the table while i make it because quite frankly, i don’t trust you to not fall down your basement stairs.”

he nods a bit, cringing at the pain in his head. “fair enough.”

she’s made dinner and cleaned up for her drunk mom plenty of times, it’s like second nature. but this time, it doesn’t feel like a chore. like something she has to do. she wants to do it. she wants to take care of him. she’s helping. he needs a friend, and she is here. just like he always is for her.

it’s silent while they eat. comfortable silence. and soon enough he’s sipping on a hot tea and she’s doing her homework across from him.

“did i ever tell you about the russians?”

she looks up when he breaks the quiet. his voice is scratchy, dry from all his tears. “hm?” she hums, pushes him to elaborate.

“the russians. at starcourt,” steve says casually, like he’s talking about the weather. it happens so often, it might as well be. she puts her pencil down.

“no. do you want to?” max asks. her full attention is back on him. the bags under his eyes are so dark.

“yeah. it’s heavy shit though, so you don’t have to hear it if you don’t want to.” it blows her mind that even in such a state, he offers her an out. he lets her know that he puts her above him.

“tell me about it.” she’s sure in her words. she’s grown too quickly. wise beyond her years. it breaks his heart.

“you know the mall was just a front for the russians and their gate to the upside down. i won’t bore you with how we got there, but we ended up in their like…lab, bunker thing? in like…the basement?” his brows are scrunched and he’s staring straight into his mug, playing with the teabag string. “and…and they saw us. me, robin, dustin, erica. god, i can’t believe i got those two involved-“

“you wouldn’t have been able to stop them if you tried. you know that,” max interrupts him. she knows how stubborn those two are. she also knows how undeniably loyal they are as well.

“yeah…yeah, i know. but…anyways, they saw us. and we’re getting chased by russian soldiers through this underground lab and i’m dressed like a fucking sailor with nothing but an ice cream scoop in my pocket.” max snorts at the memory of his old uniform. (though of course she can’t help but miss the shorts.) “yeah, yeah, laugh it up.”

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry. go on.”

“okay. so they’re chasing us, and we make it through this door. we get is shut and luckily, there’s this like hatch in the floor. and robin and i are using our whole body weight to hold this door closed. they’re pounding on the other side and it’s so loud. i’m yelling at the kids to go down that fuckin’ hatch. dustin just stops. looks like he’s gonna try and stay back. if i could kick him down that hole, i would.

“finally, the kid goes down and it’s at just the right time because they open the door. i don’t know what they did to robin, yelled at them not to hurt her, but they grabbed me and i’m being…dragged to this room. at some point they get cuffs on my wrists and the bench in this room is metal and it’s so, so cold. and they shut the door. big, heavy fuckin’ door. there’s two dudes there.” he pauses, shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“steve…you don’t need to it it’s too much to think about,” max says, reaches her leg across and kicks his shin. he looks like he’s been going back to that room tonight.

“no, ‘s fine. gotta at some point,” he shrugs. “anyways, they start asking all these questions. they start with like, how did you get down here? what do you know? how did you find us? and…and i keep telling them that it was a mistake, that like…our shipment didn’t come or some shit and we went to look for it. said the elevator fell. that wasn’t good enough. they didn’t believe me. and the other guy who’s standing there, he just starts…he’s…he’s just fuckin’…wailin’ on me.”

she watches with sad eyes as he mimics getting punched in the face, his own fist lightly connecting with his jaw.

“no matter what i said. and he’s…he’s asking me who i work for. i tell him the truth, tell him i work at scoops. fuckin’ ice cream, dude. might as well have been telling him the best joke he’s ever heard. the other one just keeps punching me. i can’t hear them anymore. i don’t remember when that happened, but suddenly my ears were just ringing and my eyes were so blurry, all i can see is my own blood. it’s all i can taste.”

his hands are trembling as he scrambles in his pockets for his pack of newports and a black bic lighter. when he can’t get it to light, she reaches across and takes the lighter, flicking the flame and holding it steady. he nods his thanks.

he pulls in deep, holding it in his lungs until it burns. “dude, i’m fuckin’ begging them at this point to just kill me. i can feel the bones in my face just like, breaking every time he punches me. at some point, i pass out. finally, y’know? in the back of my mind, i’m hoping i’m dead. and then i wake up! tied to a chair! and to make things worse, robin hasn’t gotten away because she’s tied to my back. and after i get the life beaten out of me, at some point she reminds me what an asshole i was. which sucked, i was already hurting. then they gave me the ol’ mad max.”

“the what?”

“needle in the neck with some random drug.” a hand covers her mouth. she can feels tears in her eyes that she tries to blink away.

“holy shit…who- who knows about this?” max’s voice shakes as she speaks. she wants to reach out, run her fingertips over the barely there scars. she pulls the sleeves of her sweatshirt over her hands instead (it’s two sizes two big since it’s technically not her’s but it’s been a hard night and he’s dead, so he can’t tell her not to take it anyways).

“hm…robin, dustin, erica…now you too,” he says, staring off into the distance. she can’t get him to meet her gaze. “every time i close my eyes, i’m back there. i can’t fall asleep without dreaming of being there, or being…eaten…by fucking bats in another dimension.”

“i get that. every day i see that…thing killing him. i see vecna…taking his image and using it to hurt me. i’m hoping the memories from in the creel house don’t come back though,” max mumbles. steve passes her a napkin and she realizes she didn’t do as good a job holding her tears in as she thought.

“i hope you don’t remember it either,” he agrees. “i hate it here.”

“where? this house, hawkins, or life?”

“all of the above?”

“fair.” she nods, takes a sip of her neglected water. “would you leave?”

he doesn’t say anything. just takes a drag from his cigarette and taps off the ash in an empty cup. a look takes over his face. like he’s searching for the right words to avoid hurting her.

“yeah. in a heartbeat.”

she can’t be mad at him. she gets it. she loves the family she’s made in hawkins, but if she had the choice, they never would have moved here. “have you been looking at places? like…outside of here?”

“i…” he sighs. he knows he can’t lie, not to max. “i was lookin’ at this little place out west. it’s all the way out in california.”

max smiles then. bright and crinkling her eyes. “you would love it there.”

“yeah?” he chuckles weakly, clears his throat of the smoke.

“yeah. the sun and the water. you can be a stupid volleyball jock.” that one gets a real laugh out of him, one that’s got him slapping a hand over his mouth and her snorting at him. “but really. if it feels right, like leaving here will…will make life even just a little bit easier, do it. we’ll be okay. you have saved us so many times, it’s time you save you too.”

“max…”

“steve. it’s over. you can take a break from fighting for your life.” she watches as it all seems to click into place. something in his eyes changes and she knows he’s made his decision.

he writes down the address in her math notebook. tells her that if she’s more than welcome any time.

“i don’t know what to do about eddie,” he mumbles with a heavy sigh, his shoulders deflating.

her brows pull together and she looks at him in pure confusion. “what about him?”

“just…i dunno…” he says into his tea mug. she takes a second to look at him, squints as she thinks things through. and then she’s nodding.

“personally, i think eddie will wait until you’re ready. nothin’ wrong with needing to focus on yourself for a bit. besides, you can’t get into a special friendship with a special friend if you’re just gonna drag them down because you haven’t given yourself the time you need to heal from the shit the world dealt you.” max leans back in her chair, sips more of her water.

it’s steve’s turn to squint at her, glancing at her with faux disgust. “since when did it become you giving me advice? supposed to be the other way around.”

she smirks cockily, crosses her arms over her chest. “what can i say, i’m like, really good at it.”

—

they’ve gathered in eddie’s government present mobile home, everyone far too cramped together but nobody uncomfortable. dustin thought it felt like safe ground to break the news to everyone.

they’re sitting around, staring up at robin who’s standing in the middle of the room as she explains the events of the past few days. how steve had acted at the bonfire, to him no call no showing a shift and not answering keith’s calls, all the way to dustin letting himself in to the harrington household.

“…everything was just…gone. it was like he…like he never even…existed,” she chokes on her words, tears overflowing her large eyes. there’s a collective gasp amongst the group. nobody knows what to say.

max leans back on the couch, out of most people peripheral. there’s a soft smile tugging at her lips. proud and in disbelief. he really did it. he chose himself for once.

she looks over to eddie, sitting on the other end of the couch and separated by lucas on the middle cushion. his eyes are wide, every single emotion running through his face until it settles on one.

realization.

slips into another.

desperation.

he will be there when steve is ready.

—

taggie waggies:

@wonderland-girl143-blog @callme-keys @biatcgh @kgne-k @hagbaby420 @24-7shipping @coolestjoy30 @emly03 @v3lnys @sirbackpains @imzadidragonfly @definitely-not-cereal-og @alienace @starlight-archer

#stranger things #steve harrington #max mayfield #eddie munson #robin buckley #dustin henderson #lucas sinclair #mike wheeler #stranger things fanfiction #fic wip #part 3 #steddie #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #steve harrington fic

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renecdote · 1 year

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simmer

“This isn’t another Bobby secret recipe, is it?” he asks.

“Nah,” Buck answers. “I found it in a cookbook.”

“Okay, then let me do it,” Eddie says, moving forward to peer into the pan. “You can sit down, ice your shoulder…”

This amused little huff, like Buck can see right through him to the messy, beating heart underneath his words. Like he’s not quite sure what to do with it—being loved—which Eddie can’t even blame him for because he doesn’t know what to do with it sometimes too.

For BTHB: hurt caretaker

[Read on AO3]

Eddie wakes up to the smell of garlic and onions. He can’t place himself for a moment, the ceiling too high and the room too bright, the mattress just a little too soft and the duvet too heavy, and then he hears the sound of Christopher’s laugh downstairs and it all comes flooding back. He’s in Buck’s apartment. Buck’s bed. His fingers are tingling as feeling rushes back into the arm he was sleeping on.

“Just a quick nap,” he said earlier. “Wake me up in half an hour.”

But he can tell even before he fumbles for his watch on the nightstand that it’s been a lot longer than half an hour. His body feels heavy, his mind sticky with cobwebs, and it would be so, so easy to just roll over and go back to sleep.

He forces himself up instead.

“Dad!” Christopher calls when he sees him coming down the stairs. “We’re making lunch!”

Eddie rubs the lingering sleep from his eyes, warmth from the kitchen rolling over him as he draws nearer.

“Smells good,” he says, tousling Christopher’s hair when he reaches the island. His son twists his head away, groaning like the almost-teenager he is, but he’s grinning when he bends back over the recipe book open in front of him.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Buck greets him, too busy smiling at Eddie to notice the sauce dripping off his wooden spoon and onto the counter, bright red against granite grey.

“Hey.” Eddie has to clear his throat, his mouth dry from sleep. (And maybe, a little bit, the way Buck’s biceps bulge in his long-sleeved shirt.) “You were supposed to wake me.”

Buck’s head tilts, his smile bending into amusement. “I did. You grumbled about wanting five more minutes, then pulled the covers over your head. I figured you needed it so I let you sleep.”

Oh.

“I don’t remember that,” Eddie admits, sheepish. “Sorry.”

Buck shrugs, then winces, rubbing at his shoulder. Ice and rest, Hen instructed this morning, her gaze sweeping over Eddie as well like she already knew they’d be going home together. There was the suggestion of a sling as well, just in case, but Buck turned it down. Eddie wonders now whether he should have insisted on it, knowing Buck.

“This isn’t another Bobby secret recipe, is it?” he asks.

“Nah,” Buck answers. “I found it in a cookbook.”

“Okay, then let me do it,” Eddie says, moving forward to peer into the pan. “You can sit down, ice your shoulder…”

“It’s just spaghetti and meatballs, Eds, I think I can handle it. Besides, my sous chef is doing all the hard work.”

Christopher nods seriously. “I measured the ingredients and rolled all the meatballs.”

They’re sitting on a plate by the stove now, browned and ready to be added back into the sauce. Eddie is surprised the cooking didn’t wake him up earlier, but at the same time not surprised at all. Buck and Chris are a constant background hum of safe safe safe in the back of his mind; he thinks he could sleep through the end of the world, as long as they were nearby.

“At least let me do the spaghetti,” he tries.

Buck squints at him suspiciously. “You’re not going to break the noodles again, are you?”

Christopher’s giggles are music under Eddie’s groan. “That was one time. One time!”

“One time was enough,” Buck tells him solemnly.

“Fine.” Eddie rolls his eyes. “I guess I’ll just sit here and look pretty.”

Buck opens his mouth, then closes it, swallowing the first instinctual response that came to mind. Eddie has the crazy thought that he should kiss him. Reach in there and pull the words out with his tongue. He bites his cheek instead, hoping the flush he can feeling crawling up his neck isn’t visible to anyone else. Are Buck’s cheeks more pink than they were a second ago too? Maybe. It’s probably just the heat of the stove. What are the odds that he was thinking about kissing Eddie as well?

“You can make the salad, dad,” Christopher suggests. “Buck says we have to have greens too because of all the carbs.”

Buck says.

Eddie thinks about saying it sometimes: you don’t have to take care of us.

He thinks about saying the other thing too: I like it when you take care of us.

It all feels too dangerous to put into words. Too much like standing on top of a cliff and peering over the edge, unsure where he might land if he fell. Unsure how much it will hurt. Daring to hope that it won’t.

Eddie clears his throat. “Well if Buck says so…”

He chops salad ingredients under Christopher’s careful supervision (“that’s too big, dad” and “no, that’s too small”) while Buck moves around behind him and, god help him, it’s so easy to imagine doing this for the rest of their lives. So easy to look back and see the way they’ve already been doing this for—how long has it been? Not the whole time they’ve known each other, but close enough. Buck ducks his head over the pasta sauce, stirring his wooden spoon through the simmering tomato-y goodness, and when he comes over with a teaspoon of sauce a second later and says, “hey, taste this for me,” Eddie opens his mouth without question.

“Mm. Good.”

The pasta sauce. He’s definitely just talking about the pasta sauce.

“Yeah? You don’t think it needs anything?”

I think I need you, forever, and it scares me how much I want you to need me too.

“No,” Eddie answers. “It’s perfect.”

Buck’s smile is like a drug, shooting through Eddie’s veins straight to his heart. It feels dangerous, being smiled at like that. Like maybe he’s not standing on top of that cliff after all. Maybe he’s already falling—has always been falling—and with every foot closer to the ground, the hope wrapping around him like a hug gets a little harder to ignore.

****

“Video games?” Chris asks hopefully, when pasta and meatballs have been demolished, the faint red of the sauce all that remains on their plates.

Buck turns to Eddie as well, ready to follow whatever lead he takes, and Eddie probably would have caved right then and there if not for the pain lines creeping in around Buck’s eyes.

“You have a book report due Monday,” he reminds Chris instead. “Get it at least half done and then we can talk about video games.”

Christopher groans. “Da-ad.”

“Chri-is,” Eddie mimics, and Buck snorts beside him.

“You better listen to your dad, Chris,” he says, “that’s his serious tone.”

Eddie throws a wadded up napkin at him while Christopher grins.

They clear the table so Chris can set up there with his book and his tablet, putting on his headphones, “so I can concentrate, duh”. Buck runs water in the sink and pulls on his floral gloves to wash the dishes, so Eddie settles in beside him to dry and puts things away. It’s as easy as it always is; he doesn’t have to think about where anything goes, doesn’t have to say a word for both of them to move around each other so he can get to the cabinet right next to the sink. Buck’s kitchen is as familiar a place as his own and Eddie—doesn’t really know what to do with that.

There’s been this itch under his skin lately—more than usual—an uncomfortable feeling that he should have been more honest with Pepa. That he should have just looked her in the eye and said, “It’s okay, I’m not lonely, I’m not stuck, you don’t have to worry about me because I have Buck and Chris.”

But there’s fear with the itch—what if she didn’t understand what he meant? What if she did, seeing right through him to all the things he’s too scared to put into words? Eddie isn’t sure which option makes him more anxious.

Buck drains the dishwater from the sink and goes to the fridge. He holds up a beer, a silent offering, but Eddie shakes his head. Buck grabs out the water pitcher instead, favouring his left hand when he reaches up to get two glasses to pour the water into. Eddie takes them without being asked, moving to the couch, and he hears the fridge door open and close one more time before Buck joins him with an ice pack in his hand. There’s enough space for them to spread out at each end, but he sits down in the middle of the couch and presses the ice pack against his shoulder with a sigh, sinking back against the cushions. It brings them even closer together, which. That’s probably just a coincidence.

“Overdid it a bit, huh?”

Buck groans. “Don’t tell Hen.”

Eddie mimes zipping his lips: your secret is safe with me.

“You wanna take anything?” he asks, muscles half tensed to get up and grab the painkillers before Buck shakes his head.

“It’s not too bad,” he says, smiling reassuringly. “The meatballs were worth it, right?”

Eddie rolls his eyes and pokes him in the stomach, smiling while Buck squirms away.

“Now you’re just fishing for compliments,” he teases. “Don’t worry, I’ll leave you a glowing five-star review.”

“Shut up,” Buck complains, all laughter and no heat. “Was it as good as Bobby’s?”

“Not even close.”

Buck pokes him in retaliation, fingers digging in to tickle under Eddie’s ribs, and he chokes on a hastily-swallowed yelp. It comes out as an embarrassing wheezing-honk sound and Buck laughs so hard he has to abandon his assault on Eddie to clutch his own sides instead.

“Oh my god,” he gasps, tears in his eyes. “Ow.”

“That’s what you get,” Eddie tells him primly, but he reaches out and grabs the ice pack to hold it in place against Buck’s shoulder. Buck takes a deep breath, holding it, then releases it in another fit of giggles. Deep breath, hold it, hold it, giggles. It’s contagious; Eddie wants to laugh just because Buck is laughing. He’s happy, just because Buck is happy. If Buck was sad right now, he knows he’d be sad too, just because it’s Buck.

(“Does he know?” Frank asked six months ago.

“Know what?” Running his thumb nail up and down the grooves in his coffee cup instead of making eye contact.

“Eddie.”

He sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe. Sometimes—sometimes I think he must because, how could he not? But he’s never said anything.”

“Well.” In that tone that meant Frank was about to say something completely reasonable and annoying. “Have you said anything?”

Eddie’s nail punched a hole through the cardboard cup and he cursed as warm coffee dribbled onto his pants. Buck would take one look at it when he got home and know that something had happened; Eddie could see the look on his face already, soft and concerned and so eager to make him feel better.

“No,” he finally answered. “I haven’t said anything.”

Frank made a sound—Eddie’s brain translated it to I can’t believe I’m being paid to deal with this lovesick idiot—and then he very reasonably, very annoyingly, suggested, “Maybe you should.”

Yeah. Spoiler alert: Eddie didn’t.)

“Hey,” he says, when the laughter has fizzled out, Buck slumped back against the couch with his eyes closed and Eddie closer than he really needs to be to keep the ice pack on his shoulder. It’s starting to numb his hand even with a tea towel wrapped around it, but he doesn’t let go. “Tell me the truth.”

A sound in the back of Buck’s throat, halfway to a question. Eddie wants to run his fingers through the curls that have been left loose after his post-shift shower. He wants to smooth the wrinkles in the front of Buck’s shirt, just to feel the beat of his heart underneath. He wishes Frank had never told him that he’s allowed to want things because now all he can think about is how much he wants Buck, all the time, in every way.

It’s dangerous: wanting things.

(“You don’t want to break your tia’s heart.”

“Or mine,” Vanessa said. “You get that, don’t you?”

And the way she looked at him—through him—like she could already see all the places where his heart was intertwined with someone else—

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed. “I do.”)

“How are you really feeling?” he asks, hand curled in his lap so he doesn’t reach out.

Buck’s eyes open, his nose scrunching at the question.

“Tired,” he admits. “The carb crash is so real.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, more fond than annoyed. “Yeah, I’m sure it has nothing to do with being hurt, or calls keeping us up half the night.”

nothing to do with you dying not even two months ago

Buck pinches his thumb and index finger together, one eye squinted slightly. “Only a little hurt.”

A little is enough.

“I like it better when you’re not hurt at all,” Eddie tells him, and it’s not the first time he’s said those words, not even the second or the third, but something about the way Buck looks at him now—

Something about how close they are, and the family meal they just had, and Christopher mumbling to himself at the kitchen table—

Something Eddie can’t keep out of his voice and his eyes and his heart—

“Eds,” Buck says, little more than a breath, and Eddie knows—he knows—that if he leaned in and kissed him right now, Buck would kiss back.

He sits back instead. Reaches for the glass of water on the coffee table just so he can do something that isn’t stare lovingly into his best friend’s eyes. His skin itches and itches and itches.

“Eddie.” Stronger this time, fingers circling around Eddie’s wrist. “I’m okay.”

Eddie glances at Christopher—headphones still on, absorbed in his book report—and when he looks back, Buck’s eyes are wide and earnest. Eddie thinks about saying: you could so easily have not been okay. He thinks about saying: you don’t have to be okay all the time, not with me. He thinks about being brave—I love you—then shies away from it just as fast.

“Just—let us take care of you?”

Buck chews on his lip. More hesitant, Eddie thinks, than the question the deserves.

“I thought you had another date tonight,” he says eventually.

Aimee. A friend of a friend’s daughter who just moved to LA. She teaches kindergarten, Pepa told him. You’ll give her a chance, won’t you?

“I’ll cancel,” Eddie says, already preparing an apology to Pepa in his mind. “She’ll understand.”

Buck’s nose scrunches, like he doesn’t think she will, but he doesn’t fight it. “Okay,” he agrees, hand twitching up towards his shoulder, then falling back to his lap. “If you’re sure.”

Some days, Buck and Christopher are the only things Eddie is sure of.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling, and he feels how fond it is but can’t bring himself to care if it shows his hand. “I’m sure.”

Buck smiles back, warm and soft, the whole moment fuzzy around the edges, and—

Eddie has that realisation again: if he leaned in and kissed him right now, Buck would kiss back. It would be so easy, he thinks, except for how it would be the hardest thing he’s ever done in his life.

“So,” he says instead, clinging to safer ground. “Meds?”

He raises his eyebrows and Buck sighs, head tipping back against the couch.

“Fine,” he tells the ceiling. “Half a dose.”

“And I’m cooking dinner,” Eddie adds, standing up, their hands touching for one electric second as Buck takes over holding the ice pack against his shoulder.

He sighs again, more put on this time. “You’re so bossy.”

Eddie grins, unable to resist poking. “Would you prefer I call Maddie to come look after you?”

It’s a joke—it’s always so easy to joke around with Buck—so it startles him, takes his breath away a little, when Buck’s answer comes thick with sincerity: “You’re better at it.”

You don’t know her the way he does, he told Buck once, Maddie’s absence and Chimney’s worry a gaping wound around them. And it’s not the same thing, it’s not like that at all—they’re not together like that—but here the words are, pushing into Eddie’s mind anyway. It’s an effort to shrug them away. An effort to keep his voice light as he answers, “Well, you’re pretty good at taking care of me too.”

Buck is beautiful when he smiles. Eddie shies away from that thought too as soon as it pops into his head—not for the first time, but increasingly more insistent every time it does.

“We make a good team,” Buck says, like it’s simple. Like it could always be that simple.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, that ever-present hope tightening its arms around him. “I guess we do.”

He doesn’t have to search to find the pain meds in Buck’s bathroom cabinet. They’re right there beside a spare pack of razors and a bottle of vitamin C that Buck restocks every time it expires but hardly ever uses, just like Eddie knew they would be. He used to tell himself that it didn’t mean anything, knowing his best friend’s apartment as well as he knows his own house. But every time they sit around that dining table and share a meal, he and Buck and Chris, a neat little family of three, it gets harder and harder to lie to himself.

Buck is right: they make a good team. One day, Eddie thinks he’ll be able to take a chance on that. Or maybe not much of a chance at all. A leap of faith, but the kind where his feet never leave the ground.

One day.

****

“So what did you tell her?” Buck asks later, dinner in the oven and the TV flickering blue light through the room while Chris decides what game they should play. “Your date. Did she understand?”

“I told her the truth,” Eddie answers easily.

It’s sitting there in his text thread: I think I’m in love with my best friend.

Buck nods, toggling with the joystick of his controller. “So you’re going to reschedule?”

“Nah.” Eddie knocks their elbows together, almost an accident. “I don’t think I will.”

Buck really is beautiful when he smiles. Eddie lets himself look this time—lets himself imagine what it might be like to kiss that smile away—and this time it doesn’t feel so dangerous. It’s just that same steady hum in the back of his mind that he always feels with Buck and Chris: safe safe safe.

(Loved loved loved loved.)

He thinks one day might not be too far away after all.

#Eddie Diaz #Evan Buckley #911 Fox #fic #badthingshappenbingo #lazy title for this one because I should definitely be sleeping rn #but enjoy these two being so dumb and so in love

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nonexistent-introvert · 1 year

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Busy

pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

word count: 1.5k

Warnings: mentions of drugs, violence, Javier Peña himself and themes from the show and also angst. Both parties are shit in relationships.

A/n: i wrote this on public transport. I honestly dk what is this, i had an idea and decided to write it before i forget. I also dearly miss my man javi,. so this is the messy product of everything

The sound of keys and your door unlocking was enough to wake you up. From the horror stories that Javier had told you and the amount of tragedies you witnessed had trained you to be highly alert and prepared for any kind of danger. You rubbed your eyes, trying to rub the sleep away. When the door swung open, you heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of Javier. Then it occured to you that he is supposed to be overseas now.

Javier tried his best to look presentable. He didn’t want to make you worry. The lack of blood staining his clothes was a bonus but he doubted the eyebags and the various stray cuts would help soothe your nerves. “Cariño.” He started, his eyes struggling to meet yours.

“You should have told me you’ll be back early. I would have saved some dinner for you.” He was back, in one piece. You have learnt to be appreciative of that at the very least. Your eyes scanned his figure, no blood, no visible injuries.

Javier watched helplessly as you entered the kitchen, eyes searching for some food for him. He didn’t dare step into the apartment, he would be staining your clean floors with his sins. You busied yourself inside the kitchen, refusing to look at Javier despite how much you had missed him. From the forlorn and solemn look on his face, you doubted he would be back for long. You knew once you had him in your arms again you would refuse to let go.

“Would pasta do? I ran out of taco shells to make your favorite.” You called out to him. Javier hesitantly removed his shoes at the door. “Yes, thank you.” He stated, staring at his dirty shoes, tearing at the soles from how much activity he does in it.

A breath hitched in your throat. Javier hands were on your hips, his nose buried in your shoulder. “I miss you” your hands didn’t stop moving as you uttered a similar reply to him. Javier’s grip on you tightened, your cold response was scaring him. After everything he had been through, the last thing he wanted was to come back to is a breakup. Not after he finally overcame his fear of losing someone and decided to open up his heart to you.

You turned the fire off, moving to the side to place the noodles onto a plate for Javier. Javier reached out for the plate, taking the cutlery he needed. His other free hand immediately held your hand. “Eat with me please.” He pleaded, his brown eyes boring into yours. You smiled, you knew you were distancing yourself, it was a defence mechanism of yours. It was the whole reason why you didn’t want to go into a relationship, you hated feeling vulnerable, hated having one person that could determine your mood, the power he had to make you go through hell. Javier saw through the smile immediately, his heart tightening even more as he gently led you to the small table you had in your living room.

Patience is never the word to describe Javier Peña. Your vague responses, cold reactions to him, it was driving him beyond crazy. However, he knew you well enough to know that if he wanted to get to the bottom of this matter, he had to be patient, had to let you open up yourself. So he concentrated on the pasta before him, filling his hunger with the delicious pasta you had cooked for him. He always admired you for your culinary skills.

“You couldn’t have chosen a shittier day to come back.” Javier’s head perked up eagerly at the sound of your voice. “Had the most draining day and now you’re at my door when I was just about to bury myself in paperwork.” You gestured to the stack of papers left on your desk. “Tomorrow, once I drop off these paperwork I should be able to spend some time with you.” You grinned, happier at the prospect of spending time with him. Your grin faltered when you caught sight of Javier’s grimace.

Javier tried his best not to frown. Hiding his face behind the glass of water you had poured for him upon finishing his food. He took a deep breath, studying your features for a while. God, he missed you but time was never on his side. You fidgeted with your hands nervously, “Spill it Javier.” You demanded. Javier swallowed, you could read him like a book.

“I’m so sorry cariño but I have a flight to catch at 7am.” He admitted. His eyes remain fixated on yours, afraid that he’ll miss something. You blinked, pursing your lips slightly, trying your best to hide your disappointment. That means that you’ll wake up to an empty bed yet again and spend the next few days worrying about him.

“I figured”

Those two words might as well have been a punch to his gut. He swallowed the lump in his throat. With only two words, he realised what had gone wrong.

Time is a luxury that Javier couldn’t afford. His job demanded him to be ready on call 24/7. It was one of the major reasons why he didn’t see the appeal of committing to anything. You understood that, you knew from the various complaints that Connie told you about Steve’s outrageous work hours. Yet, Connie has always complained about Steve with a shine in her eyes and an understanding smile. You wished you could say that Javier’s work hours didn’t bother you. Especially when your own love language is quality time.

“Once everything’s over, I swear I’ll make it up to you.” Javier promised. Honestly, he didn’t know what to say to make you feel better. He never had to explain himself to the various women he brought home to accompany him on lonely nights. Your silence only scared him even more, it was like you were slipping from his fingers. “Talk to me.” He pleaded with those brown eyes of his.

“The narcos are a lucky bunch of motherfuckers.” You laughed, “I should start trafficking drugs.” Javier frowned, he knew you were joking but this joke hit a little too close for him. He wouldn’t wish upon his worst enemy to be part of this messy chaotic war of drugs and he desperately did his best to shield you against it. Hearing those words from you, you might as well have told him to his face that he wasn’t making a difference and that he was just wasting his life away.

Those words were meant to hurt. You hated yourself for it but you just couldn’t break the habit. You knew you were pushing him away by pushing his buttons. You knew how much he tried to give you the relationship you deserved, you were being selfish and you knew that. However those words left your lips before your mind even could process it. Your heart clenched st the sight of Javier. His eyebrows was furrowed, his jaw clenched tightly and his hands curled into fists at his side. Javier was losing his patience, your words hit him in a sore spot.

“I’m sorry, I’m not-“ you tried to apologise but Javier simply stood up. He ran his hands through his hair before he put on the jacket that he had left hanging on the chair. He took out a cigarette and lit it up with a lighter in the kitchen. The sound of your door slamming shut resounded through out the apartment. You closed your eyes, trying your very best to not shed tears, it’s your fault, you always sabotaged the good things you have in your life. You glanced at the door, vision blurring with tears. Javier had promised to quit smoking but it seemed he had picked up on the habit again considering how he readily had a pack of cigarettes in his jacket.

Javier Peña haunted your dreams that night. He always did. Especially on nights when you missed him dearly, especially today when you had pushed him far enough you were convinced he wouldn’t be coming back soon.

“Once I’m clean, healthy and free from this narcos business. I’ll make you mine. With a ring and a wedding and everything I can offer.” He promised once when he was in bed with you. Those words felt like decades ago compared to now. He already picked up the habit of smoking again, what’s stopping him from going back to his old ways completely?

There it is, the doubt and overthinking that caused you to self sabotage every time. You trusted him and love him with all your heart and yet, you couldn’t help these thoughts, couldn’t help the distrust that formed despite him giving you no reason to doubt him.

The empty side of the bed that you woke up to didn’t help.

Although the note that was stuck to the front of your fridge door made you feel like a fool for even feeling and thinking the way you did.

Wait for me to come home to you. - Javi

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petermorwood · 7 months

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An old article, but amusing regardless.

First it was James Lileks and the Gallery of Regrettable Food. What were the photo editors on these cookbooks thinking?

I'm well aware the colour quality of old pictures degrades and yellows, to their detriment, but IMO the images on that website can't have looked very appetising even when new.

There are ways to assemble variegated foodstuffs on a plate that looks attractive, and then there are these.

Dimly-lit meals for one and Sad desk lunches are yet more shuddersome antidotes to lovingly-photographed food porn erotica (porn would be messy close-ups of eating it).

However, despite what the article suggests, food photography doesn't need "the highest-spec kit while dangling from light-fittings for just the right angle" to look good.

*****

Using a phonecam while out with your friends in a crowded pizzeria isn't going to give the best results, but then neither is a joyless packed lunch on a rainy Monday in February, even if shot with a $33,000 camera like this Hasselblad, and full studio lighting.

@dduane's hobby site European Cuisines (down for maintenance) did just fine for years with a Sony W17, a compact digicam with a superb Zeiss lens.

Here are Sony shots of an apple upside-down cake made with Beauty of Bath apples from our own tree (they really are pink all the way through) and a quiche Lorraine just out of the oven.

After a while I got a second-hand Nikon D40 DSLR; the money saved on second-hand let me afford an excellent lens, a top-of-the-line flashgun and that neat little flash which is so much better than the camera's built-in one.

Here's the Nikon's take on last year's roast-goose-and-all-the-trimmings Christmas Dinner, as well as bacon (corned beef is the Americanised version) and cabbage for St Patrick's Day.

Now we're mostly using HTC U11+ smartphones whose cameras are not only top-notch but have excellent low-light capability.

This is good, because our lighting has always been mostly natural daylight with occasional flash and reflector-screen assistance.

Here are U11+ images of soda bread done in a cast-iron casserole or Dutch oven, and Geflügelragout (a stew of roast chicken with red wine and lemon) with saffron-pumpkin noodles.

This has become Brightwood Vintner's Chicken in the Food and Cooking of the Middle Kingdoms project, and why not? It's delicious! Here's DD and U11+ in action, and the noodle close-up she was shooting in that pic.

None of the food we shoot is "styled" for photography with varnish for glossiness, paint for cream, machine oil for honey, microwaved cotton-wool for steam and lots of other cunning but inedible trickery.

Our stuff is all for eating - so much so that getting "photograph the food" and "eat the food" in the proper order can sometimes be a struggle.

Like these crumpets, for instance.

You would, wouldn't you?

I nearly did, giving DD conniptions because she hadn't photographed them yet, and the Kerrygold butter was melting Just Right...

In a choice between shooting Have To Eat images and Want To Eat ones, we'll stay on the Want To side of the fence, and if people looking at those pix also Want To take a bite out of their screens, we're getting the job done.

And we're not hanging from the light-fittings to do it... :->

#food and drink #food photography #food and cooking of the middle kingdoms #gallery of regrettable food #james lileks

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keiskake · 1 year

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katsuki bakugo x gn!reader

fluff/one shot

a/n ~ ignore the feet in the banner, it was not meant to be there but it's okay because i found a use for it. i love bakugo but i almost forgot his birthday, i only remembered because of a tumblr post. :p

bakugo was a man who was simple to please. he didn't ask for much, hell if he could he wouldn't ask for a single thing from you. it was normal for him to spoil you and shower you in affection, but this was one of the very few days in the year that you could take the wheel. you wanted to go all out, sparkles, magic, confetti. it had to be a big shebang.

but realistically all that wasn't gonna happen, bakugo would rather die on the spot then go through with your scheme that was more than just grand. still, one of the greatest heroes in japan was your beloved boyfriend and he deserved more than a couple of words and a slice of cake. you just wanted to put a dumb smile on his dumb face. the same way he does for you.

heroes don't get days off for their birthday so bakugo still had to patrol around the city until noon. you were sure that put him at ease, he doesn't like sitting around doing nothing and you needed him out of the house so that you could put your elaborate plan into action. you messaged him to meet you at the top of the hill located in a field nearby after he was finished with his patrol. it was the hotspot to view cherry blossoms.

you grabbed a picnic basket, filling it with plates, cutlery, napkins and drinks. behind you was a pot of boiling water cooking up a portion of your handmade ramen noodles. bakugo always told you off for eating junk in stupid amounts, only because he cared about your health. but he was no downer, he knew how to enjoy a good spicy cup ramen after a long shitty day.

it was his favourite food, you found that out a few months into your relationship. you were no chef like bakugo but your homemade spicy ramen was your signature masterpiece, though you only perfected it to impress bakugo. it was a house favourite amongst the two of you and also the dish your friends would look forward to when a potluck was being held.

the sauce was made with a beef broth and real chillies that your boyfriend grew on the balcony, he saw them as his 'precious' babies. second to you of course. you made sure to add some leafy greens, meat and an egg. the perfect ramen combo. you poured a handful of sesame seeds into a little container and wrapped the dinner up before gently placing it into the basket.

but it wasn't just going to be a birthday picnic. it had to have a bang to it, that was what was gonna make it memorable. a night that bakugo could recall and smile about, remembering how big your love is for him. an assistant. you need an assistant. and you knew exactly who to call upon.

as the afternoon sun started to lower in the blue horizon, you made your way to the hill. the april breeze flew through your hair, freshening you up. you were a little nervous, unsure that your plan would go off without a hitch. it wasn't just the plan but his presence in general. even after being with bakugo for so long you still got shy around him during dates, as if you were a teenager again.

you set the blanket on the grass under a cherry blossom tree with an open view to the sunset. trees surrounded the hill and it felt like a magical fairy forest. rustles and footsteps startled you, throwing your head back to see what the noise was about. his silhouette emerged from behind the bushes. a messy blond still in his hero suit.

"hey baby, i missed you! how was your patrol?" you ran towards him and his arms opened up ready to hold you tightly into his chest.

" 'm was good, tired as hell though. what's all this?" he wrapped his arms around your waist and pressed a kiss on your forehead.

"your birthday dinner, so c'mon lets sit and eat. it's your favourite."

"spicy ramen? your homemade one?" he was drooling, like when dogs get even a whiff of a bone.

"yes, yes, homemade with meat, eggs and veggies." you took his hand and guided him to the meal, settling him down with a drink. a serving of spicy ramen for the birthday boy was placed infront of him as well as a pair of chopsticks. the two of you slurped down the noodles as the sun disappeared to make room for the moon. the sounds of full tummies and content souls filled the evening with serenading melodies.

his hand crawled into yours as both of you faced the midnight blue sky. the april wind blew cherry blossoms around your picnic blanket, a few falling into your hair. so peaceful and quiet. but it wasn't lonely, no, you never felt lonely. how could you feel that way when you had the most amazing lover sat right next to you, hand in hand.

your hand trailed to your phone, sending a 'go' to your assistant. you pulled your hand away, bakugo groaning as you do so. the basket is reopened again and you take out a cupcake with a candle on it. it wasn't just any candle, it was a '1' candle.

"i didn't make the cake this year, but it's still a good cake i promise!" you present it to him and he lights up, stars glistening behind his rouge eyes.

"what's the '1' for?" he points at the orange candle.

"you don't know?" you smile at him gently, placing a hand on his thigh.

"no, so spill. it's a birthday command."

"it's a wish not a command you dummy. i chose this candle because it represents something i believe in."

"stop beatin' around the bush."

"it's a '1' because you're my number one hero bakugo. so, happy birthday love."

they set off as you said those very words. bright and bold fireworks, blooming and popping in the space between where the sun was earlier. you could see it from miles away. beautiful flower like lights that shimmered throughout the heavens. that night really ended with a bang.

"you can thank izuku later for helping me out, kacchan~"

"over my fucking dead body. but yeah thanks for all this, didn't need to but i appreciate it." he leans over to kiss you cheek, his face very clearly flustered with a pink taint.

"light the candle and make a wish!"

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha fluff #bnha fluff #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou fluff

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fanficfanatic000 · 18 days

Text

A date?) Pt 3

Nerd loser eddie x nerd loser fem reader

Trigger warning 18plus 18 plus no minors

Read if you dare.

Summary ( the fem reader works at a craft shop .seems and patches. Reader has more alt style. Reader is 21 and Eddie's 22. Eddie dropped out of high-school after almost dieing. The reader has zero friendsUntil a certain boy came into your work.)

"Eddie its doneee" he smiles "finally i was afraid id starve to death" he says dramatically clenching his chest You and him grabbed a plate of spaghetti And sat on the couch side by side but you both criss crossed and faced each other You watched as eddie took a bite slurping the noodles he was a messy messy eater but it was cute the way the red sauce was all over to his cheek "what do i have something on my face?" He leaned foreword and crooked and eyebrow in a messing around notion that made you giggle. Eddie's gaze softened at the sound of your laughter as he grabbed his shirt and wiped his face revealing a tattoo of a bat covering faded scars that made your ears turn red as fuck and you cheeks. Minutes pass by and you both were done with the food. Eddie grabbed the plate from you and got up and put it in the sink. "So how was it? " You asked eddie as he plopped down on the couch " fucking delicious... probably cause I had your help" "please you probably have made that for all your other girls" you said it in a playful manner but it wasn't a joke because last time you took a chance on love you got played by a jock named Jason carver he took you on a date at the movies then he left with a girl you had to walk home that night."no actually this is the only date ive actually been on...." he said softy "Really eddie no girl has wanted you?"He looked at the ground "well more like i havent found somone i wanted.."He was serious actually serious."then why did you ask me?"He looked at you shell shocked "because i like you you're just really pretty and sexy and i get along with you like no one el..."He stopped when he realized what just slipped from him "i-i mean fuck ......""Eddie its okay i actually feel the same" He raised an eyebrow "you do?"You nodded yes "are you a virgin?" He raised an eyebrow and bit his lip "no why?"He said seductively "are you? my dear""no im not.." the air heavy "so you like my body huh?" He said leaning close "yes do you like mine?" His pupils dilate "fuck yeah ive been thinking about touching it for a long time"

#fandom #eddie munson #eddie x you #eddie x fem!reader #eddie #fanfic #eddie munson lives #eddie munson x reader #eddie stranger things #stranger things 4 #Eddie Munson smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #A date em

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thewritingisconsumingme · 2 months

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reminiscing

a/n: this is where i start re-doing ships because i genuinely cannot think how other characters could interact with each other

summary: johnny remembers his time with kung lao

warnings: none :)

Johnny tugged at the lapels of his suit, fixing his tie in the mirror and combing his hair back. He sighed and closed his eyes, remembering how Kung Lao would always fix his hair for him. For some reason, Kung Lao was exceptionally good at styling hair. He had said it was because Fujin always asked him to braid and style his hair because Raiden was often too busy studying to do it for her.

Kung Lao was good at a lot of things. He was great at fighting, styling hair, cooking and then eating that food, and everything else. He made Johnny laugh and smile and made the world seem a little bit brighter. Johnny loved Kung Lao. Ever since Kung Lao came to spar him that first time, cocky grin on his face and a teasing tone to his voice as he challenged Johnny Cage. Of course, the actor had bit at the bait and then proceeded to get absolutely wiped by the man. Kung Lao stood over him, that damn smirk on his face, and flicked the edge of his stupid hat before helping Johnny up to his feet.

Johnny was smitten after that, but he wouldn’t let it show. No, he was Johnny Cage, flirt extraordinaire, although less so after he got married to Cris, and loved by all. He was totally and definitely not in love with a simple rice farmer from Fengjian.

Except he was, and no amount of pep talks and witty comments between the two was going to change that. Johnny remembered their first kiss. They had a particularly nasty spar that day, bruises littering Kung Lao’s body and Johnny Cage sported some new scratches and a black eye. They sat next to each other at dinner because Kenshi refused to sit next to Johnny Cage, and there were no other seats available.

Johnny was a bit pissed because, damn, the black eye hurt like hell, and yet Kung Lao sat there stuffing his face with noodles as if nothing had happened. The actor shot a nasty glare at the rice farmer, but he didn’t seem to notice. If he did notice, he didn’t care, too busy piling food onto Kenshi and Raiden’s plate with more food from the center. Then, Kung Lao had piled some food onto Johnny Cage’s plate, telling him that if wants to beat the great Kung Lao next time, he’s gonna have to build up his strength and that you American people need to eat more.

Johnny stared at Kung Lao in disbelief. Johnny ate plenty! He was rich! Of course, he ate food! He definitely… Johnny thought back to the last time he had a proper meal in Las Vegas. Being an actor was hard. Being an attractive actor was even harder, and maybe he did skip a few meals sometimes. But it was fine! He looked great, and yet…

Johnny suddenly felt his eyes well up with tears but quickly blinked them away and dug into his food. Kung Lao just shrugged at the sudden silence and placed another egg roll onto Johnny’s plate and went back to his own food. Johnny stared at Kung Lao the rest of the night, completely enraptured by the man because this was, unfortunately, the first time since his mom since someone had put food onto his plate and made sure he was well-fed.

Later that night, before Kung Lao could retire to his shared room with Raiden, Johnny pulled him to the side and thanked him. Kung Lao just pat the man’s shoulder and said everyone should eat, glanced so briefly at Johnny’s lips that he almost missed it, and turned around to go to his room. Johnny pulled Kung Lao back and smashed their lips together. It was a messy kiss, teeth clashing together and hands groping everywhere to try and find the best place to hold onto each other. Eventually, their hands found their place and their lips moved together in tandem, and Johnny swore that he was in heaven.

Johnny snapped out of his stupor as Raiden called him. The actor wrung his hands out, winked at himself in the mirror, grabbed the bouquet of flowers, and headed out to the venue. He walked through the doors, and damn, even in a suit, Kung Lao still managed to look perfect.

Johnny walked up the aisle, gripping the flowers so hard that he thought they might break, but when he reached the top and turned to face Kung Lao, all worries disappeared. His other half. His heart and soul smiled back at him. Somehow they both got through their vows without crying, although Johnny had to stop himself a few times to keep himself from crying, but a few tears still slipped out as he slid the wedding band onto Kung Lao’s finger. As soon as he could, Johnny grabbed onto Kung Lao and dipped him into a kiss. Yes, Johnny Cage was deeply and irrevocably in love with Kung Lao, and nothing was going to change that.

a/n pt.2: this was originally gonna be a twist where johnny was actually getting ready for kung lao's funeral because kung lao somehow always manages to die and also that one au that i don't remember who started but damn i love it. man, i am just an absolute sucker for angst. and then i remembered this is fluffuary, and i can't just do that so you get a happy wedding instead :)

#noodle’s writings #fluffuary 2024 #fluff #mortal kombat #mk #mortal kombat 1 #mk1 #mk1 2023 #johnny cage #johnny cage mk1 #mk1 johnny cage #kung lao #mk1 kung lao #kung lao mk1 #johnny cage x kung lao #starhat

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shankschewtoy · 1 year

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Ok I just read your story about (y/n) making pasta for killer and can I request one kinda similar with kid.

Scenario being after a battle and a bit tired (y/n) is making a late night meal while everyone's sleeping and kid come wondering it. (´◡`) thank you!

a/n - I’m just gonna make this but with luffy as well 💜💜

Warnings ⚠️ - fluff, g/n reader

Is there a time that luffy isn’t in the kitchen scavenging for food lmao

It was late, the only ones who were awake were you and maybe Zoro who was on night patrol. That being said, he might’ve dozed off as well. You decided to make some pasta, even after Sanji’s cooking, you were still hungry. Right as you were boiling the noodles, you heard footsteps above you. It was as if Luffy awakened from the smell of pasta noodles.

He went downstairs, rubbing his eyes as he stared at you. His hair was messy, and he only had his trousers on, his chest vulnerable to the cold breeze of the sea. “Hey luffy, couldn’t sleep?” You asked curiously as you started to grate the cheese into a separate pan. “I smelled food!” He replied, his eyes sparkling as he bounded over to you. He sniffed the cheese and you swore he started drooling right then and there. You slapped his hands away, making him pout at you, crossing his arms like a baby.

“Don’t eat it yet- dummy.” You replied, continuing to try and make the sauce while defending the food from Luffy. It was quite a difficult task- swatting hands away while stirring? It was hard enough to deal with Luffy’s food obsession without doing anything else. He had almost no patience when it came to waiting for food, especially if you or Sanji were making it.

“Is it done yet?...” He asked, groaning as he melted into your shoulder with a groan. His stomach was already growling even though he ate a huge snack just an hour or two ago. “It would go by faster if you helped.” You replied, bonking his head with your fist.

He bounced to his feet, eagerly waiting for you to tell him what to do to help. Anything to make the food ready faster! “Here, we have to mix the noodles with the sauce, so stir it slowly while I pour them in.” You said, taking the pot and adding the noodles. Surprisingly, Luffy was a pretty decent cook! (If you counted literally just stirring the pot as cooking skills, then he was pretty good)

You poured some of the salted pasta water with the sauce, it always tasted better that way :) “Is it done yet?” How many times has he asked this? You didn’t know, but finally you had the answer he’d been waiting for. “Yeah, it’s done.” You replied as he jumped up and down with excitement.

You poured some onto his plate and he immediately took a bite. He had sparkles in his eyes as he continued to stuff his face with the pasta. “Mffm! Sho GHOOD!” You could barely understand him with his cheeks stretched out with pasta, but the message came across clearly enough. You loved it when Luffy was happy like this, and you’d gladly make pasta for him anytime he wanted.

“Thank you y/n! You’re the best.” He said, kissing your cheek before going back to the mountain of food on his plate. The food managed to disappear in a matter of seconds, you swore he had beaten a record of some sort. You patted his head softly before saying softly, “I love you luffy.”

It was a really late night, after a long battle too. Everyone on the victoria punk was either sleeping or receiving treatment for their wounds. Not you. You were in the kitchen, fixing up some pasta for yourself since you thought after a long fight, this was a nice reward for your efforts. Pasta was such a nostalgic food that you ate when you were younger, it never failed to bring you comfort even on hard days.

Kidd was wandering around, looking for you, only to find you in the kitchen. “Oi, what are you doing?” He asked gruffly, standing behind you with a tired look on his face. His hair was down, his goggles around his neck. His red hair draped down the sides of his face, his intense eyes now softening. “I’m making pasta, want some?” You asked softly. He turned away with a grunt, he didn’t want to admit he was absolutely starving. Not because of his pride, but because he didn’t want to make you work harder for him.

Stomachs don’t lie. When his stomach growled, there was such a long silence, and all you could hear were the pasta noodles boiling softly in the background. Kid’s face turned a bright red, even brighter than his hair as he clutched his stomach with his hand. You struggled not to laugh, “I’ll make some for you too. Can you help me?” You asked him. He nodded and tried his best to follow your instructions.

“Yeah, just grate the cheese.” You said kindly, showing him how to use the block of parmesan. He ended up breaking the entire block in half by accident, his hand was too strong. “That’s alright, we can just use it like that.” You replied, patting his head, earning yet another death glare with red cheeks from the tulip head.

The pasta was almost done! Now to just mix the sauce with the noodles, that was the easiest part! You had your hand guiding his as he stirred the pot as gently as he could. If you squinted, Kid had a soft smile on the corners of his lips, he enjoyed doing this with you. “All done!” You said happily, crossing your arms before serving it onto two plates for the both of you.

He noticed you gave him plenty more than yourself which made him scoop more onto your plate with a huff. “Don’t give me more, dumbass.” He said gruffly, sitting down right next to you. “Kid, there’s literally the entire pot full of pasta, I can get more if I want.”

Both of you ate in silence, but Kid now found a new comfort in his rather- uncomfortable life. Making pasta with you.

a/n - help this was adorable 🥺

#one piece #one piece x reader #eustass kid #kid x reader #kid x y/n #kid x you #kid one piece #eustasscaptainkid #luffy #luffy x reader #luffy x y/n #luffy x you #monkey d. luffy #mugiwara no luffy #strawhat luffy #ルフィ

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pancakes4two · 2 years

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hi i love everything you write like ur just so good!! could you pretty please write an angst where harry broke up with y/n because he found someone else and then years or months later they bumped into each other and y/n pretended that she was in an accident and pretended she has amnesia because she feels embarrassed about how shes still not over him and then so harry kinds of regretted that he left her so he did everything to get her back (you can end it how you like if you ever do write this :) )

aw thank you so much i really appreciate that! and thank you for sending this request :) i couldn’t figure out where to start with it for a while, but then i watched harry’s performance of no hard feelings and it clicked. i don’t write about cheating so i tweaked it slightly so that the new girl comes in after yn & harry break up, i hope that’s okay!

no hard feelings | h.s

words: 2.0k

preview: Harry wants to ask you so much. How are you? to start.

Then, Do you still dance barefoot in the kitchen to Ella Fitzgerald whenever you cook dinner? Are you taking care of our old dog? Does she still climb into bed with you when it storms, so you’ll protect her from the thunder? Whose hand do you hold to help you fall asleep, now that I’m gone? Did you listen to my last album? Do you know that all of the songs I’ve ever written are about you? Do you miss me like I miss you? When did you stop loving me?

MASTERLIST | REQUEST | READ MY NEWEST SERIES HERE

TWO YEARS AGO

“So what do you want me to do?” Harry asked, exasperation lining his voice. The two of you were sitting in his apartment in New York, the one he rented temporarily to be closer to the studio. It was small, barely big enough for two people, but that was okay for the purpose that it served. It was a place for Harry to sleep after long nights spent recording and mixing, and a roof over your head for forty-eight hours when you visited him on the weekends. Nothing more. It wasn’t home.

“I’m not asking you to give up everything,” you sighed, drawing imaginary circles into the wood of his dining table. You’d picked it up at IKEA and built it together when he first moved in, the two of you getting hopelessly confused by the simple instruction booklet. You both had spent hours putting screws in the wrong places and parts in the wrong order, and by the time you finished, the table had come out looking more like an abstract sculpture on display at a modern art museum than a dining table. But you both liked it better that way, and over time you’d grown to love the piece of furniture, with its uneven legs and crooked tabletop. Looking at it reminded you of that afternoon and how happy the two of you were, how beautifully messy and innocent your love was. You hadn’t made memories like that with each other for a long time now.

“It kind of sounds like you are, Y/N,” Harry replies. He twirled his fork in his plate but picked nothing up. You down at the Chinese takeout noodles in front of you, long since gone cold.

“I’m really not,” you say, picking up the glass of water beside you. You brought it up to your lips and swallowed, hoping to wash the bitter taste out of your mouth. “And honestly, Harry, if prioritizing your girlfriend is equal to giving up everything to you, then I have nothing more to say to you.”

“You can’t be serious?” Harry questions, his voice raising slightly.

“This isn’t some stupid argument about you not washing the dishes properly or me not being able to make an important performance. You said you wanted to start a life together. But I can’t do that myself, Harry. I can’t sit here alone in your apartment and wait for you to stumble in at 5 AM drunk from partying with your producers after I took a red-eye flight to see you. I can’t put my life on pause for you every time you disappear off to another country to record music. I have my own life too. I love you so much, but something has to change.”

“But this is my career we’re talking about! I can’t just completely change the way I make music for you!” Harry says indignantly. The light from the candle at the center of the dining table flickers across his face, washing his angry features in a red-orange glow.

“I get that, Harry, I really do, and I’m not asking for you to change everything,” you answer sadly, getting up from your seat. The legs of your chair scrape against the old hardwood floor, squeaking roughly as you approach the kitchen and pour your leftovers into the trash. “But I can’t sacrifice myself in exchange for your success. If we can’t compromise on this, then I’m done.”

“So just like that, you’re going to walk out?” Harry looks at you, a mixture of confusion and sadness flashing candidly from his eyes. As you hold his stare, you find a glimpse of the boy you first fell in love with. You want to reach out to him, grapple desperately at an invisible rope and bring him back to you. But you’re left with the reality, the two of you standing across from each other, ghosts of who you used to be. There’s only a foot of distance between the two of you, but it feels like an ocean.

“I’m sorry,” you said, grabbing your shoes. You ignored the suitcase that was left unopened in Harry’s bedroom. You were scared that if you went back there, you might change your mind.

You didn’t look back at him. Behind you, the apartment door slammed, plunging you into silence. Quietly, you walked into the elevator and hit the button for the ground floor, feeling hot tears fall down your cheeks.

“Maybe in another universe, it could’ve worked out,” you whisper softly.

PRESENT DAY

Harry should’ve thought a little more carefully about this. He should’ve consulted with a friend before coming here, because of course you would be at your favorite bar on your birthday.

He’s honestly not sure what he was thinking, coming here. He’s been cut up over you since the breakup, and Jeff must have been absolutely sick of seeing him wallow in his own misery for two years, because he cancelled Harry’s press appearances for the entire week and demanded that he go out and do something fun, for God’s sake—even though Harry has an album coming out in four days and desperately needs to be promoting it.

Because Harry might be something of a masochist, the only bar he could think of was The Lounge. Your favorite spot in Soho, because as you put it, there were “no pretentious fuckers gallivanting around and they played the best music.”

Tonight, you occupied the middle of the bar, surrounded on both sides by your closest friends. You looked beautiful as ever: you had your hair slicked back and your skin looked more tanned than Harry remembers. He watched your profile as you laughed with your friends, your hand curled delicately around a glass of tequila sour. You held yourself more confidently than you did back then, but your face hasn’t changed. It hurts Harry more than he cares to admit to see you sitting there, laughing as if he never existed.

Two years ago, he would’ve been right there with you, tangling his legs with yours and holding you in place as you spun around happily in your seat, singing along loudly to (I’ve Had) The Time Of My Life.

Harry finds his feet are automatically bringing him closer to you. It’s as if his body is having some sort of psychosomatic reaction to seeing you again, like it can’t bear to be away from you for any longer than it already has. As he approaches, he can tell that you’re already quite drunk. There’s a rosy flush to your cheeks and you’re wobbling ever-so-slightly in your seat. You seem to lose focus of your surroundings for a moment as you grab the hand of your friend sitting closest to you, giggling close to his face as he whispers a joke into your ear. It leaves a sour taste in Harry’s mouth, seeing you like this. A part of him bitterly wonders if it was even hard for you to move on from him. He was dating a model now, more or less, but it didn’t matter because she wasn’t you. He doesn’t think he could ever love someone like he loved you.

Loves you.

“Y/N,” Harry says, mustering up all the courage he possibly can to lightly rest his hand on your shoulder, directing your attention towards him. It genuinely feels like the rest of the world around him fades as you slowly turn around to look at him, your eyes sparkling brightly despite the dim lighting in the bar.

The walls, the furniture, and the people beside you continue to fall away as you look at Harry searchingly, a sort of mock-confusion painted all over your face. You cough softly into the front of your elbow and smile at Harry apologetically. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I know who you are.”

And just like that, Harry is brought crashing back into reality. The rest of the bar is still buzzing with activity, but everyone else around you seems to have stopped in their tracks. The side conversations your friends were having previously have slowed into an awkward, flat silence, everyone looking at him with varying degrees of pity. Even the bartender has stopped drying empty glasses with her towel, her attention turned towards the scene in front of her.

Really, Harry can’t fault you for lying. He’s had a lot of time to reflect on your relationship in the past two years, and in spite of his ego, he can admit that he was an utter asshole at the end of it. It makes sense that you wouldn’t want to acknowledge his existence, especially if you’ve moved on, which it seems apparent that you have. But Harry is nothing if not persistent, and he’s not willing to let go of you that easily. Especially now that he’s struck up some sort of newfound confidence to talk to you.

“It’s Harry,” he says softly. In his peripheral vision, he can see your friends eyeing him up, though none of them are stopping him from talking to you. They were once his friends too, and Harry finds some small level of comfort in knowing that you didn’t portray him too badly when telling them about your breakup.

“Don’t know a Harry,” you slur sadly, shifting your attention back towards your drink.

Harry just looks at you solemnly, committing your features to his memory. He used to know you blind, but as time passed, the picture of you tucked safely in the back of his mind had begun to fray and fade. If this would be the last time he saw you, he wanted to capture a mental image of you that would last forever.

Harry wants to ask you so much. How are you? to start.

“I guess you don’t,” is what he says instead, “I’m sorry. I must have gotten you confused with someone else. I thought you were -- never mind. Have a good night, and sorry again for bothering you.”

He turns on his heel, ready to walk away, when your hand reaches out and clasps tightly around his wrist.

“Wait, no,” you say, “stay. I don’t know why I did that. Sit here with me for a while, I think we have a lot to catch up on.”

Harry smiles at you and sits down on the empty stool beside you, vacated by your friend. Your head is now resting comfortably on the bar, your cheek squished against the varnished wood as you look up at him. He brings his head down a little and rests it on the palm of his hand as he matches your eye line. He relishes every second he gets to spend with you, you drunkenly telling him about your new job and the annoying teenaged interns you were forced to train while he sits there dumbly and grins, just so happy to be near you again. It almost feels as if he were transported into the past and this was any random night from two years ago, the two of you sharing a tub of dairy-free ice cream and attempting to stargaze from his balcony. It never quite worked out, as New York was far too industrialized to be able to see any sort of constellations beyond the city smog, but neither of you cared. You didn’t need the stars, anyways. All that mattered was that you were spending time in each other’s presence.

Later that night, Harry helps your friends take you home and slips a tiny note into the pocket of your jacket.

Y/N, it reads, call me when you wake up and have sobered up. My number hasn’t changed, but in case you deleted it (I won’t be mad if you did), it’s XXX-XXX-XXXX. You were right that we have a lot to catch up on. Let’s have dinner sometime this week, if you’re up to it.

Love, H.

He takes it as a tiny victory when you call him the next afternoon, demanding that he take you to the most expensive restaurant in London after all the heartbreak he put you through. This time he knows for sure that he’s never letting you go again.

#harry styles #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic rec #harry styles rec #harry styles angst #harry styles headcanon

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staycalmandhugaclone · 11 months

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The bad batch, Gregor, Howzer, Rex, Wolffe, and Cody all go to a Hibachi place. Who gets Hibachi, who gets sushi, who gets noodle bowls, who sings every time someone in the restaurant has happy birthday sung to them, and who gets miso soup? (Obviously they can all choose multiple things.)

So... many... That poor restaurant...

Let's go down the list!

Wrecker: He'd sing, he'd get Hibachi, and sushi, and noodle bowls and miso soup, and the wait staff love him too much to even mind the mess he makes, and love him even more when he helps clean up after (he may be messy at home, but dude knows not to do that shit in someone elses' place)

Tech: Miso Soup (it actually has been found to have several health benefits), and Hibachi, that way he can ensure everything is cooked correctly - plus he secretly really likes the show. He does not sing. Unless you get him drunk.

Crosshair: Noodle Bowl - it's quick and simple, and has all the nutrients and calories he needs without a ton of fuss. He'll throw utensils at anyone who sings and he'll make eye contact while he does it (except Omega of course)

Echo: He'd get the miso, too, but, depending on how good it is, might not finish if it's too salty. I think he'd initially go for the noodle bowl, but, if he's in a good mood, he'll do Hibachi just for the fun. The singing though? ... yeah, not likely to happen

Hunter: Sushi - the flavors are more subtle, but still incredible, and he'd rather stand a bit back during the Hibachi shenanigans - just a bit too much going on for him to relax during it. He doesn't sing initially, but them Omega gives him a look and reluctantly joins in

Omega: She get Hibachi because that's so COOL, but wants to try all of the things, so ends of just snacking off of everyone's plates. And oh yes. She sings. And when she learned what the song means, she then insists and "figuring out" everyone's birthdays so they can start celebrating them for each other, too!

Gregor: Oh Hibachi all the way! And he steals a nibble from the plates of whoever's around him when they're not looking, but he can't not giggle while he does it so always gets caught. And proceeds to finish putting the stolen food in his mouth anyway with a big grin. He sings loud and off-key and makes everyone smile so damn brightly because of it

Howzer: Yes to Miso - it's healthy and a good appetizer. He'd get the noodle bowl, but he'd also get a few bits of sashimi - nothing too crazy. He doesn't sing initially but, like Hunter, yields beneath Omega's insistence.

Rex: Another one for Hibachi - he can't help but think how much Fives would have loved it, and maybe the quiet evening could do with just a pinch of controlled chaos. He does not sing. Guys. Really. Come on, we came here to relax, not announce our presence to the whole damn restaurant.

Wolffe: He'll get some sushi as an appetizer and the Hibachi for his main course. It's rare he gets to indulge, so he's going to take advantage, but like hell is he going to let on how much he's actually enjoying the food. Until the kriffing singing starts... He gives Gregor the meanest glare before yielding with a disappointed eye-roll and getting back to his food.

Cody: This man has learned to appreciate the finer things in life, so he's going for pure sushi. He'll even get the weird stuff no one can pronounce so he can recommend them to Obi later. And yes. He sings. Much to everyone's shock and Gregor's absolute delight. His voice isn't loud and boisterous, but he lends a subtle undertone to it and unabashedly meets the eyes of anyone gawking at him (Obi taught him)

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nonclassyparty · 2 years

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no good- s.mg.

title; they told you i was trouble, you know that i’m no good

notes; part of the subtle variations of heartbreak drabble series. drabbles are not released in chronological order, but they will be added to the masterlist as chronologically as possible

mingi ran a towel through his wet hair as he held up his phone to his ear, counting the beeps and waiting for you to pick up. he hasn’t heard from you all day.

“hello?” mingi frowns a little at the unusual rasp in your voice when you pick up.

“babe?”

“oh, hey.” you sound sluggish and tired, words slurred from the other line.

“is everything good?” mingi questions concernedly, the towel falling on the couch next to him as he moves to sit up.

“uh, i’m a little sick.” the cough you just let out didn’t sound just a ‘little sick’. “flu, i guess. i skipped work today.”

“y/n, why didn’t you call me?” he scolds you softly, agitated that you were sitting at home sick for an entire day when he could’ve helped you out.

“you had work.” you defend yourself softly, guilt seeping into your voice a little. “i didn’t want to bother you.”

and there it is. the true guilt shouldn’t be hitting you but him. and, oh boy, it does. it hits him like a brick at the back of his head.

because mingi had the day off today, like he does every week. you just don’t know that because it’s information he never shared with you.

and the reason he never shared it with you was because he spent the day with someone else, doing things that someone in a loving relationship shouldn’t be doing.

while you were laying sick in bed the entire day, mingi was fucking his ex-girlfriend in her apartment.

“i’m coming over.”

“mingi, you’ll get sick-”

“y/n.” he stops you with a firm tone, “i’ll be there in ten minutes.” he has to blink the tears away after you hang up with a soft ‘okay’.

when mingi shows up at your door, you open it dressed in your pajamas. your messy hair falling over your shoulders, cheeks pink and eyes sunken and tired.

immediately, he takes of his shoes and goes to place a cold hand against your forehead. you pout at the contact.

“jesus, y/n, you’re burning up.”

he directs you to the bathroom, telling you to take a cold shower to help lower the fever and you whine desperately but follow his directions while mingi enters your kitchen and starts preparing a soup.

while the water for the soup boils, he goes to the bathroom and enters just in time to see you shiver under the cold water. mingi grabs the big, soft towel off of the rack and spreads it in his hands as he approaches you.

“c’mere, baby.” he says softly and your small, naked body goes into his embrace as he dries you diligently with the towel before wrapping it around you.

after you get dressed while mingi checks if the soup is done, he has to force feed it to you by the dinning room table.

“y/n, don’t be a baby.” mingi says with a small chuckle as you whine how you’re not hungry. “you haven’t eaten the whole day, i know you.”

you frown at that before sluggishly picking up your spoon and starting to slurp up the noodles from your plate. he watches you with a small smile etched on his face.

it disappears when he remembers what exactly he’s doing and how he is purposely hurting you.

god, this whole thing is so fucked up. what is he doing?

after the light meal, you both head to your bedroom. mingi tucks you in as he presses his front to your back and places a chaste kiss at the back of your exposed neck.

“i love you. so much.” because he does. he really fucking does. mingi doesn’t think he’ll ever love someone like he loves you in his life.

but what good is all that love when he fucks it up time after time.

mingi knows that one day, sooner or later, you will find out and you will leave because you’re not stupid to stick around after that. his ‘i love you’s won’t mean shit because he was fucking someone else while whispering them to you. and he will be fucking miserable but in the end, isn’t that what he deserves?

“i love you, too.” you whisper back into the darkness of your bedroom and his arms tighten around your middle.

with his eyes closed, he breathes in the sweet scent of your hair. he welcomes the tears that threaten to spill down the apples of his cheeks, because one day you will hate him so he has to treat each ‘i love you’ as if it’s the last, and at least he can enjoy the remaining few good times since he already dug his own grave.

#mingi x reader #ateez x reader #ateez angst

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notsolocalsimp · 4 months

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Rotten Ribbons

Chapter Eight

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he tried to cook, but it didn't go as planned. he had made a mess of his kitchen, flour was scattered on the apron he wore, and all over the counters, who knew making bread rolls was so hard! he already prepared a simple meal of ramen, but he wanted to add something more to it. and now his kitchen was a mess he'd have to clean up later, the ramen was getting cold since he made it to early, and he just used brick ramen anyway. . . he can't cook for shit!

with a frustrated huff, he threw the ramen container in the trash, grumbling under his breath about how shitty this was. he had barely managed to keep a lid on the ramen after pouring it all over the counter. what a mess.

"ugh, why is this so horrible" he sighed, pulling his hair into a messy bun and looking at the recipe again, "why do I even need salt for something that's supposed to be sweet? it's banana bread!"

there was a knock at the door, and it happened to be you, he rushed over to the door, not even bothering to take off the flour covered apron. when he opened the door you took one look at him and began laughing.

"You look like a mess Aizawa!" you snickered "anywho, how's the cooking going?"

"oh it's. . . fine." he lied, avoiding eye contact.

You raised an eyebrow at his response, clearly not buying his lie. "hm. . . okay?"

"Look, I'm just. . . not the greatest at cooking. . ." he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"I can tell" you chuckled again, setting the box you were carrying on the flour covered counter. "I also made some mint scones for dessert, but I think we might have to clean this mess up first. . ."

"We? no no no, I made the mess, I'll clean it up" he insisted, grabbing a small broom and dustpan from the linen closet, and began sweeping the mess off the counters "we can just order takeout"

"or we can cook together?" you offered with a grin, picking up the ramen and rice ball ingredients. "I know your favorite food is ramen, so I thought we could start there."

"...i guess you're right..." he relented.

"good!" you grinned at the defeated tone he spoke with and set the groceries back on the counter before heading towards the oven and grabbing a pot to boil the water. as you wanted for the water to boil, you offered a scone to Aizawa while he waited.

"I feel like I should be helping, not eating the scones you brought." he deadpanned, shaking the flour off his apron

"I don't trust you near an oven, Aizawa." you deadpanned "not after what I saw"

"wow" he had a hurt expression, before sighing "I mean I wouldn't trust myself near an over either. but still."

you chuckled, shaking your head before continuing to gather ingredients. after the water had begun boiling, you had managed to gather everything you needed, which included a large bowl of water, a wooden spoon, a plate of maruchan noodle bricks, and two plates that you filled with the extra ingredients.

"can you cut these?" you gestured to the two plates of extra ingredients.

"yeah, sure," aizawa grabbed a knife from the knife block and began cutting the Ingredients at the dining table as you cooked the noodles

once the noodles were done you added the broth seasoning packets because you were too lazy to make regular broth. Aizawa handed you the chopped ingredients and you began preparing the bowls.

"And. . . Done!" you said happily as you set the two bowls on the table before looking for the silverware. "uhh. . . where's your silverware at?"

"that drawer." he gestures to the drawer between the fridge and oven.

"thanks." you went to grab two forks, and handed one to him.

He slid the fork into the bowl of ramen and stirred the noodles before adding a bit of sauce.

the two of you ate quietly for a few moments.

"hey um, about the other day. . ." he began "I'm really sorry for taking you for granted even though you cooked for me, and then saved this night by cooking for us. . . again"

"oh it's fine, it's really not a big deal," you smiled, before taking another bite of ramen. "really"

he stared down at his bowl in disbelief. "so you just forgive me without a second thought?"

you rolled your eyes playfully before taking a bite of noodles. "of course, why wouldn't I?"

". . . because I was an asshole who took what you did for granted, and then when I try to properly thank you you have to go and save the day" he deadpanned

"well don't you need a break from saving the day? Mr underground hero." you laughed, pointing your fork at him teasingly.

"what's that suppose to mean?"

you looked up at him, feigning innocence and shrugging "you've been working hard lately."

"so you think I haven't worked hard enough?" he smirked mockingly.

"no way, you're working harder than ever!" you retorted defensively. "your literally a teacher and a pro hero! how are you not exhausted?"

"I mean I get 8 hours of sleep every day. . . I think" he admitted, blushing lightly and running his fingers through his dark hair, scratching lightly at the back of his head.

"okay, whatever you say Aizawa." you shook your head and picked up your drink. "now, about the normal dinner topics, what are your interests?" you asked curiously, leaning forward and resting the plastic rim against your lips once more.

he shrugged. "I mean I like cats." he then stood of and made a pot of coffee

"uhh, you realize it's like 7pm right?"

"yeah? and?" he turned around to face you with a mug full of hot coffee in hand.

"and what do you plan on doing for your evening once I leaveif I may ask?" you asked.

a mischievous grin slowly spread across his face as he walked towards your, standing behind you. "sleeping, I'm exhausted"

"I mean I can leave now if you want."

"no, finish eating at least while I think of conversation topics" he protested

"I can just look some up" you pulled out your phone and searched 'conversation topics for dinner with a friend' and quoted one "number one, what's a super common thing you've never done or experienced?"

"getting shampoo in my eyes" he curtly responded drinking his scorching hot coffee with a deadpan expression

"two things" you began "one, how the hell have you not gotten Soap in your eyes with that mop on your head? and two, that just come out the pot, isn't it hot?"

"how dare you speak to my hair like that!" he exclaimed, acting offended. "don't talk about my hair with such disrespect!"

"sorry" you chuckled "so, number two, opinion of pineapples on pizza" you asked

"never." he answered simply, sitting back down at the table. "I feel like the only fruit that should go on a pizza is tomatoes, and that's only for the sauce"

you continued to scroll through questions "number three, If you could choose anyone, who would you have narrate your inner monologue?"

"Kevan Brighting" you both said at the same time before laughing a bitawkwardly.

"um... okay." you giggled nervously, not used to having conversations quite like these with someone you didn't know very well yet. it wasn't like your relationship was completely new, you had met before, but it seemed like you would have to reacquaint yourself with each other sooner than later...

"these questions kind of suck. . . maybe we could just watch a movie or something" you offered "Maybe The Mask?"

"sure, I like that movie" he kneeled down to go through his CDs, and pulled out The Mask after a minute or so of searching. "here it is."

after putting on the DVD, you turned towards Aizawa and noticed he was already asleep. you decided to sit and finish the movie after covering him with a blanket covered with kitties.

you then wrote a note that said: 'I took care of the dishes and then went home, I hope that was okay!' before standing up and grabbing your bag, and heading home

once you got home you greeted your Norwegian Forest cat, Fudge, with a smile before feeding them and heading to bed. as you stared up at the ceiling, you thought about how funny it was that Aizawa wasn't great at cooking, maybe you could teach him sometime? or at least, he'd get better if you helped him a lot more often

#aizawa shouta #aizawa x reader #aizawa x y/n #bnha aizawa #ao3 #mha aizawa #writers on tumblr #writing #archive of our own

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b-i-t-c-h-y-m-u-g-g-l-e · 1 month

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Update:

One of my tenants is a nurse and she's gonna help teach me how to put special shots on my stomach (my doctor prescribed shots to deal with my chemo better).

My pharmacy delivered the shots home personally and now they're in the fridge waiting for tomorrow.

I have chemo on Monday so yay I guess.

Sorry I haven't talked to anybody but I'm trying to learn how to calm myself down cos my drug induced depression really made me asocial af.

Thanks to my studies I know what's my real emotions and what are drug induced ones. I would never recommend self-diagnosis but considering the knowledge I have... yeah, I went down that route and gave my self-diagnosis to a psychiatrist as well as a med list i believed would help me and she listened to me unlike the male doctor I was given the first time.

So I'm on my way to getting better.

My steroids caused me the most hard-core depression that my teen suicidal tendencies had returned with a vengeance so bad that my head doctor had to take me off steroids earlier than expected.

I'm getting better now but now I'm starting to feel my REAL depression. No suicidal tendencies or anything... just feeling very exhausted and unworthy of the care I'm getting cos people are too damned good to my messy ass and i don't know how to handle kindness so i cry like an idiot.

It'll take awhile for the effects of the steroids to be completely out of my system and my prescribed meds to start finally kicking in so I'll be gloomy for awhile longer. (Weeks or months even. This is why I hate steroids)

I wanna handle this depression first before resuming my regular social activities again cos I feel like I'm unintentionally dragging people down into my misery and I feel even worse for it.

I don't want pretend to be happy. I want genuine happiness. My family knows when I'm faking shit. They don't like it and call me out pretty fast.

I'll need to take my percocet at 10 cos my doctor wasn't around all week and couldn't give me the pain patches that really took my hip pain away like a switch.

Strangely I'm walking better and am managing to cook, but I need my roller walker to move but I'm doing a lot stuff on my own. (Still need some assistance but not as much as before so that's good I guess)

The pain is bad when I wake up, sit on the edge of the bed and stand up. After that if I'm walking or standing for awhile... I'm fine.

Made Luthian and I some Mediterranean sandwiches since I've changed my diet for a "cancer friendly" one and we were by ourselves in the house. Turns out Luthian loves my diet so every time I say I'm preparing something, they ask me to make extra and they gobble it all up. First time I've seen them eat that fast. 🤣 Gotta sneak out of my room to make us more food since relatives don't want me outta my bed. If I had gotten busted I wouldn't been allowed to cook, lol. I like cooking new recipes as soon as I learn them (found a sweet soup dumpling recipe I wanna try. I can't fry them but I can boil for my soups and homemade sauces)

That's a good food for Luthian too. These diets not only fight cancers but also prevents them so my kid being healthier makes me a lot calmer. They tend to be picky with food and now they eat and leave the plate clean... so I guess my kid just needed different foods with different spices.

Unto other things: My arms get tired quickly but it's cos I'm using them a lot. 😔😥 I need the exercise and I know it but damn my shoulders pop so loud whenever I roll them after doing strenuous activities. My whole skeleton is an orchestra.

Then there's the tiredness.

Like "lifting my whole body weight with my noodle arms" kinda tired. (Quite literally. I'm like teke-teke lifting my entire body, useless leg and all, with my arms. If i start walking with my hands only i know Luthian would hate my guts cos they fear teke-teke big time)

Anyways, my pills are giving me hot flashes again and I feel strangely horny by myself in here. I'm hoping it passes quickly cos I know it's another drug induced thing.

Like what's up with that? My doctor told me my estrogen restricting pills could take or lower my libido completely due to early menopause (It stopped my period since last year)...

Another doctor told me I could have a different reaction sexually... like a higher sex drive despite no longer ovulating since every woman takes to hormone treatments differently.

These reactions are so damned weird.

Well that's all for now. Hopefully my chemo on Monday won't fuck me up like the last one that literally gave me a severe gastritis that had me hospitalized for 8 days. (No freaking joke. That's why I lost 40 pounds so fast. 😭)

PS: checked my newest percocet instructions and the doc had actually upped it to twice the dose in less time. Damn, I must have looked like shit... my family said I'm looking better since getting my gastritis taken care off but the doctor really went "you need stronger meds asap!"

Took them properly now. Within 40 or so minutes I'll feel numb af. Might bother people on whatsapp until I pass out. I get chatty af when on pain meds.

#personal

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