#Custom-made kitchen solutions | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

saltnsugarbear · 2 months

Text

take time and erase you

summary: after being betrayed by Carmy four years ago, you reunite with him at The Beef after Mikey's death.

title from: "Bad Blood" by Taylor Swift ft. Kendrick Lamar

word count: 2.2k

content warnings: LOTS of swearing, mentions of Mikey's death, allusions to depression, reader is close friends with Richie

part two!

You knew Carmen Berzatto from your shared time with Chef Daniel Boulud. You two worked better together than any of the chefs in that kitchen, able to work around and with each other without having to talk. Moving around each other organically and clearly. You worked so well together you could stop each others future mistakes or work out a quick solution with just looks.

That was until the week Carmen started acting prickly. When he started to shoulder you out of the way and moved in ways that were so alien to your usual system.

And then he made a mistake.

And then he blamed it on you.

And then Chef Daniel gave you an ultimatum that you could leave yourself or be fired.

You "chose" to quit. You told Chef Daniel that when he gave you the ultimatum, put your stupid chefs hat on the counter and left without a glance at Carmy.

You sat in the alleyway going through half your pack of cigarettes, a habit you picked up from Carmen, when he found you. His whites were disheveled and he had lost his hat along the way.

He stopped when he saw you, sat up against the wall with your arms hanging over your knees and cigarette in hand.

"I'm sorry-"

"Fuck you." You spit out at the same time as him. The face he makes has you scoffing before you know it. "I dished up a plate with a known allergy and forgot to sub? Fucking really Carm?"

"I didn't, I didn't mean for you to get- for you to quit. I didn't think-"

"You're right, you didn't think. All you thought about was saving your own ass, Carmen." Using his full name has him flinching before he knows it. It's always been Carmy or Carm or Bear. Never Carmen, unless you were stressed or pissed.

And you were pissed.

You put out your cigarette beside you and then stand up, putting yourself in Carmen's space.

"I didn't- I'm sorry, I don't-" He looks at a complete loss, his own eyes searching yours.

"You can't fix this, Carmen. You made your bed, fucking lie in it." And with that, you push past him to walk out of the alley and into the New York night.

You hadn't seen Carmen Berzatto in the last four years and barely thought about him after two.

You moved back to Chicago and got a job in another kitchen. Despite it being dysfunctional beyond belief you loved your staff. They were loud and bustling and disjointed but they had so much life in them you hadn't seen in so long.

Coincidentally, the restaurant was spear-headed by Carmen's brother, Michael. Despite your differences with Carmen you found yourself getting on with Mikey. The difference between the brothers was astounding and you found yourself enjoying working with Mikey more than you had when you worked with Carmen.

You weren't even really in the kitchen, Michael had hired you to work register and front of house with Richie and Gary. It was a nice change of pace from being elbow deep in a dish.

You got to spend most of your day bantering with Richie and roping in the customers to your bit.

The two of you formed a bit of a front of house trio with Mikey. Before February, anyways.

Michael's death shook everyone at The Beef. No one had seen it coming, despite Mikey's recent spiraling.

His death hit Richie the hardest, after being childhood best friends and the closest you could get to brothers without blood.

You spent the following weeks afterwards going by Richie's place and making sure he got out of bed. You would take him home from work, sometimes spend the night and then make him breakfast in the morning.

You could have moved in with how often you were there with him. You helped him be presentable for Eva and got him through some of the more monotonous tasks.

Both of you going through that loss allowed the both of you to build a stronger relationship that really shown in front of house.

Until Carmen came home in June.

The moment you saw Carmen in the back office you turned yourself around and walked towards front of house, "Richie! What the fuck is in this office!?"

Richie pushes the door between front and back of house open and pops his head into the kitchen, "What's in the office, sweetheart?"

The rest of Richie's body followed as you point in the direction of the office, brows furrowed and mouth set in a frown.

"Oh shit," Was what came out of Richie's mouth and you turn to see Carmen in the office doorway with his hands on his hips.

"What the fuck is up, Cousin?" Richie walks past you to clap a hand on Carmen's shoulder and put an arm around him.

You cross your arms as you glare at Carmen, making your displeasure as obvious as possible.

Richie turns to you and gestures towards Carmen, "Sweetheart, this is-"

"I know who he is, Richie. What is he doing here?"

Carmen decides to pipe up then, "Y'know I can fuckin' hea-"

"Shut the fuck up, Carmen." You turn your glare on him and he closes his mouth.

"Oh, shit," Richie giggles and jostles Carmen by his shoulder. "Cousin, the fuck did you do to piss 'em off? I didn't even know you two knew each other."

You turn back to Richie, your glare weakening, "Of course you knew, Richie. I just never talked about him because he was a backstabbing asshole."

Carmen decides to open his mouth again and say, "You know that's not-"

You turn back on the man beside Richie, "Not what, Carmen? Not what happened? How would you explain what happened? Because I would love to hear how you would describe it."

Richie whistles before Carmen can answer and pats him on the shoulder again before letting him go. "You must've really fucked up, Cousin. Never seen 'em this upset before."

Richie walked past you to front of house and you followed him, putting as much distance between you, the office and Carmen.

"Is that gonna be a problem?" Richie leveled with you when he reached the counter.

"If he stays in the kitchen, no, it won't be." you respond.

And Richie leaves it at that.

And it wasn't an issue for the first two weeks.

Sure money had been tighter but it had been since before Mikey passed. Richie just wanted to blame the money issues on Carmen, instead of tainting the memory he still had of Mikey.

When the third week of Carmen returning to The Beef came around, tensions were high. Tina and Ebra weren't used to the change in pace and system, finding it hard to work with the emotional whiplash of mourning Michael and wanting to strangle Carmen.

The third week brought Sydney Adamu, who looked at Carmen with stars in her eyes. you had heard her talking about his accomplishments and you could see the idol pedestal she had put him on.

You walked in with Richie, after picking him up from Eva's recital. You let him beeline his way to Tina and Ebra to recount the event as you put your coat in your locker and exchange it for your apron.

You spot Sydney floating around the kitchen, collecting ingredients from the walk-in and pantry. She moved with a grace you hadn't felt in so long and had a concentration many would envy.

She was perfect, to be truthful.

"Chef," you turn your gaze on Carmen, face blank. "You're late."

You roll your eyes and tie your apron around your waist. "Well, Chef, I'm not kitchen staff. And we don't have service for another two hours."

"It doesn't matter when we open. We need to capitalize-"

"Capitalize on my fucking dick, Carmen." The look of shock on his face makes you want to laugh. "I'm front of house, you don't need me for your prep. Two hours is more than enough time to get the restaurant ready for service, when I don't have a child whining in my ear about my supposed tardiness."

Carmen puts his hands on his hips, making his stance wider.

"Now, if you could move, I have shit I need to go do. Chef."

Carmen looks at you for a moment, his brow furrowed. "Okay, go, chef."

You roll your eyes at him and slide past him to the door between the front and back.

"Chef, can you stay for a minute?" When Carmen stands in the doorway of the office while you're grabbing your bag, you want to throw one of the lockers at him. You make a show of sighing and then take a deep breath.

"Richie!" You see Carmen flinch in your periphery from the raised volume in your voice.

"Sweetheart!" Richie calls back from front of house.

"Carmen's keeping me hostage! Go have a cigarette or something!" You pause and wait to hear his response, tilting your head towards the door.

"Yes, chef!" You wait to hear the front door open and close before you motion for Carmen to go into the office.

"How long are you going to stay pissed off at me?" Carmen is settled against the edged of the desk, his arms crossed.

You sigh. "Well, Carmen, I lost my job because of you. Which thoroughly fucked up my whole life. So, I'd say it's valid to be pissed off for the rest of your lifetime."

"I apologized. I- I don't know what else you want?" Carmen gestures with one hand, waving it before moving to rub at his top lip. A nervous habit he's still kept.

"An apology doesn't fix what you did, Carmen. You used me as a scapegoat-" You adjust your stance and cross your arms over your chest.

"I don't know what you want me to do. Or- or say."

"Nothing, Carmen!" You gesture expansively and straighten up, "There is nothing you can do or say that will change the fact you massively screwed me over to save yourself."

Carmen's eyes are wide and searching your own.

"So, own your shit, Carmen. Quit acting like you didn't know what you were doing. And quit digging up old bones and expecting me to feel bad for you. You're not a child, quit throwing the blame off yourself." Your voice had gotten quieter and more neutral as you spoke. You've pictured this argument before and it's much exhausting then you thought it would be.

You put your hands on your hips, thinking that's the end of it before Carmen speaks up again.

"I need you to respect me, then. I- I can't have you mouthing off to me, or- or fucking showing up late. Because how am I supposed to- t'get the respect of the rest of my staff when I have someone treating me like I'm- I'm a fucking joke." He's placed the hand he gestured with on the desk and you can see him resting some of his weight on it.

"Then earn my respect, Carmen. Work for it."

Carmen furrows his brow and stands up straighter, no longer leaning on the desk. "What? What- what does that even mean?"

"It means," you punctuate this by getting in his personal space. In a few steps you'd be chest to chest with him. "Work for it. You don't get my respect just because you took over. You earn that shit, you know that."

Carmen is silent as he studies your face, eyes searching yours.

"And don't try making this like those other kitchens. It's not going to work, you'll break them or they'll break you. My money's on them." You watch his face before adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder. "Now, if we're done here, I need to get Richie home. It's past his curfew."

Carmen rolls his eyes at that and you can see the slight tug at his lips that he is fighting. "Go home, chef."

"Yeah, go fuck yourself." You reply as you turn around and walk out of the office. On your way through the front of house and outside, you fish out your pack of cigarettes. Once you're out the door you're lighting a stick before jamming the pack in your pocket and turning to corner down the street.

Richie is standing by the boot of your car, one hand stuffed in his pocket and the other scrolling through his phone. When he spots you he slides his phone into his front pocket.

"What did he want?" He holds his hand out for you cigarette and you pass it to him to fish out your keys.

"Planning the menu for dinner with your mom." You reply, pushing the button to unlock your car.

"Oh hardy-har-har. Very funny." Richie stubs the stick out on the sole of his boot and hands you the dead stick.

"Get your ass in the car or you're walking home, Germ." You look at him as you open the driver's door and get in behind the wheel.

"You wouldn't do that to me, sweetheart." Richie scoffs as he gets in the passenger side.

"Maybe I would." You look at him as you turn the key in the ignition. Richie huffs again and looks out the window, leaving the two of you to drive with only the music making noise.

#saltnsugarbear #not enough sugar #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #the bear fanfiction #carmy berzatto fanfiction #carmy berzatto imagine

477 notes · View notes

fangswbenefits · 11 months

Text

The Arrangement (1)

Summary: You managed to convince Astarion not to go through with the rite of profane ascension. He remains a vampire spawn, and you now offer your blood from time to time to help with his sanguine hunger until a solution is found. Even though you had both decided to stay as friends back in Moonrise Towers, lines begin to blur once more as other cravings come to the surface… and things with Astarion are seldom uncomplicated.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Word count: 6k

Warnings: 18+. Endgame spoilers. Blood drinking. Mutual pining. Biting. S*xual tension. Mentions of past trauma.

Series masterlist . AO3

"He's upstairs."

You nodded curtly, but before you could turn in your heels and head to the wooden staircase, you felt a hand grip at your arm.

"He hasn't been paying his due," Bork, the Blushing Mermaid tavern's publican, said with a rise of his brows.

"Noble room again?"

"Yes."

As expected. Astarion would sooner be caught dead again than having to stay at a merchant or peasant room.

He adored all things lavish and that extended to his accommodations, naturally.

"I'll cover for it," you said, snatching your arm away. "How much?"

He bared his yellow teeth. "Thirty gold pieces."

You felt Shadowheart's burning gaze on you. She didn't approve of you cleaning after him. Especially since her protective instinct dragged her along with you every single time.

"Very well," you said through gritted teeth, rummaging through your pouch, and handing him the expected amount.

"Good," the older man said with a twirl of his kitchen knife. "If your pale friend does it again, he's done for."

Threats like this would usually warrant you to bare your dagger or cast a less friendly spell, but you couldn't afford to cause a scene.

Not in front of so many onlookers.

You felt Shadowheart briefly tense up by your side. "Do hurry up. I shall wait for you."

Nodding, you gave her an assuring nod before heading up the staircase.

The first floor was reserved for the highest paying customers, and it was heavily decorated and with candles spreading along the narrow corridor.

You paced quickly along the wooden floor, already knowing where to find him.

Room 7.

At this point, you were already over common pleasantries, so you skipped knocking at the door and just barged inside.

You heard a sleepy groan from the crimson bed placed at the centre of the luxurious room.

Astarion wasn't alone.

He was laying on top of the silk sheets, flipping through a book, seemingly undisturbed by your sudden appearance. Curiously enough, he was fully clothed, wearing a frill shirt and his regular trousers.

However, the woman next to him was very much fully naked, with only a blanket draping over her bare torso.

The sight made your stomach twist and turn.

"Hello, darling," he said casually as if you had just walked in on him picking flowers.

She peeked over her shoulder with a horrified look spreading across her pleasant face.

Of course she was extremely attractive.

She let out a shriek. "Do you mind?"

"No," you said dryly.

She immediately rolled out of bed, shooting a murderous glance your way, while scrambling to collect her belongings from the carpeted floor.

The door snapped shut behind her, and you were already pacing toward his bedside table once you spotted his coinpurse.

"Happy, are you? You scared her off, poor thing," he shook his head, feigning disapproval.

"You owe me."

You reached out to grab the thick pouch, but caught sight of the glint of a blade and the cool touch of metal being pressed gently against the back of your hand.

Typical.

"Ah-ah-ah..." he tutted with a click of his tongue. "Where are your manners?"

He seemed very serious all of a sudden, but you knew better. "I'll hex you."

"Faster than me piercing through your skin?" he asked, tapping the flat side of the blade playfully on your skin.

You really did consider hexing him for a split second just out of spite. "You overestimate your abilities."

"And you could have cursed me already, but are too lost in my dashing good looks."

Your jaw dropped in utter disbelief.

"That lovely mouth of yours could never compete with my agile fingers."

The insinuation wasn't even subtle, and it was enough to make your blood boil.

You scowled deeply at him, shoving his dagger out of the way. "Thirty gold pieces."

He slipped the blade under his pillow again with a devious grin.

"Bork was rather eager to have at you, so I just paid him. Maybe next time I won't intervene."

"And what would he do? Kill me again?"

Point taken.

A dangerous smile danced across his lips. "And here I thought you intended to start charging me for our arrangement."

You glared at him intensely, feeling momentarily outraged. "You're the one profiting off of it. Entirely."

"Hmm, debatable."

You narrowed your eyes. "If anything, you should be paying me, no?"

He snatched the coinpurse from your grasp, tugging it open before handing you a few gold pieces.

"Here you go, darling. Sixty gold pieces," he said, voice dripping with amusement. "Buy yourself a new attire, while you're at it."

You glanced down the length of your body, arching a brow and straightening your shirt and trousers. "What's wrong with my clothes?"

Astarion scoffed. "I don't even know where to begin, but do not fret. You could be wearing nothing but a rotting sack of potatoes, and I would still not be deterred from your neck."

You pressed your lips tightly together, and glanced at the gold pieces in your hand. "Your sweet-talking skills have been slightly below par as of late."

He chuckled, crossing his hands behind his head and against the meticulously wooden-carved headboard. "Yet here you are."

Not that you had much of a choice, really.

Halving the sum of money he had given you, you shoved the rest in your pocket while placing the other half on the table.

"Keep it."

"Don't be ridiculous," you groaned.

"Working on your flattery, I see?"

He was enjoying this far too much, and the more you talked back, the more you instigated him to continue.

"Why don't you just pay him when he asks for it?"

"Oh, darling…"

Here we go…

He was casually checking his hands, putting on his condescending demeanour. "Patience is a virtue he clearly lacks. If I'm to live eternally, I might as well teach these commoners some manners."

"Or you just adore getting on people's nerves," you said with a sly smile.

He grinned so wide, you caught a glimpse of his razor-sharp fangs peeking through. "You know me too well."

You used to think so.

Now, you weren't so sure.

Clearing your throat, you looked around the dimly lit room until your eyes settled on the large majestic bed. "She was really pretty."

"You sound surprised."

"Not at all. She does fit your type."

He laughed dramatically, further grinding your nerves. "I have a type?"

You gave him a look.

"You mean outrageously beautiful and undeniably entertaining?" he asked innocently. "Like you?"

Your heart jolted.

His method of seduction was deemed nigh pristine, and a few weeks ago, you would have maybe fallen hard for this level of charm.

But not anymore.

Well, for the most part…

"She was not outrageously beautiful."

He placed on hand at his chest, feigning hurt. "First you rob me, and now you question my taste in beauty. I'm not entirely sure my dead heart can take much more of this."

You huffed, crossing your arms before glancing out the window. The full moon lit up the street below, as the night began to draw out those who preferred to keep to the shadows.

And those who had no choice but to do so.

Like Astarion.

"I didn't do it."

His voice startled you and you stared at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"

He paused briefly. "I didn't do anything with her, if that's what you're thinking. There is an odd comfort in being surrounded by beauty, even if only to glare at, and nothing else."

Your heart clenched at how vulnerable he sounded all of a sudden. His pleasing face held an expression that you'd seen many times before…

Guilt.

The ripple effects of centuries of torture and abuse still slipped through the cracks of his usual pompous demeanour.

"Your personal matters are your own, Astarion. No need to justify yourself."

He stared at you in silence for a moment, and the urge to reach out to embrace him nearly took over.

Until his features began to twist into a light frown. "Don't look at me like that. I can't stand it."

"Like what?"

"That look. Pity. Spare me," he groaned with a roll of his eyes.

You weren't surprised in the slightest that he went into his defensive mode so rapidly.

He would fluctuate so often around you these days, that it gave you whiplash. Some days, he would let his guard down and allow you in, while others were plagued with him having a brick wall up around him if you happened to breathe in the wrong direction.

You had learned how to navigate through his tough exterior when the two of you traveled together, and as he opened more and more to you.

It all culminated when you offered your help against Cazador, and having him make the decision not to go through with the ritual that would doom so many souls – including his own — in the process.

He had thanked you for saving him from himself.

But nowadays, talking to him was like walking on eggshells while simultaneously dancing around his weathervane mood.

It was as if your relationship had somewhat soured over the past few weeks, and all the remnants of a solid friendship were now beginning to crack.

"You know, you don't have to be here," you said softly, trying to disperse the tension. "You are more than welcome to stay with us."

Astarion snickered darkly. "And having to endure that dullard? Please. I'd rather stake myself, darling."

You rolled your eyes and heaved a sigh at the targeted provocation.

"Gale is not a dullard. He is quite inter-"

But he began to part his mouth into a forced yawn. "Boring already! See, this is what happens when you choose to surround yourself with such unstimulating company – it spreads, and you used to be so much fun," he finished with a dramatic pout.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you sent him a death glare. "He's not the only one there."

There was a hint of amusement gleaming in his eyes. "Oh, yes! How could I forget Shadowheart and her magnificent ability to bore me." He swung his feet off the bed, standing gracefully. "Or perhaps you mean Lae'zel? She's clearly in debt to whichever god bestows a sense of humour."

An added layer of defense: sarcasm.

No one wielded it quite like Astarion, which also proved to be a major inconvenience when trying to win an argument.

I'm also there, you wanted to say, but chose to remain silent.

Deep down, you detested how you still longed for his company. Even after so many weeks had gone by. Even when he seemed so averse to it outside of this… arrangement.

Your relationship had been reduced to nothing more than a transaction.

Once again.

Your blood for his hunger to be quenched even if only momentarily.

"Or are you referring to yourself?" he mused, pacing towards you while adjusting his shirt.

It was extremely infuriating that he could see through you so easily.

"Let's get this over with, then," you said, words stinging in your throat.

He offered a faint smile, as he came to stand before you. "I must say, our weekly encounters are nothing short of exciting," he brought his fingers to your jaw, tilting your head gently as his eyes roamed across your neck. "And I am positively famished."

You felt a gentle tug at the collar or your shirt, and glanced down to see him undoing the buttons with just one hand.

All those years of honing his dexterity were bound to come in handy at the most convenient of times, and Astarion would never shy away from displaying his expertise.

Your senses were suddenly hit with the faint scent of bergamot, rosemary, and aged brandy.

His scent.

The same that once brought you comfort through the toughest of times.

But now…

"Which side will it be this time?"

You swallowed hard, shuddering. "You decide."

He caressed your neck tenderly, tipping your head to the opposite side, half-hooded eyes roaming across your exposed skin.

"Ever so generous."

You huffed in annoyance. "Astarion."

He didn't need to be warned twice, and you soon felt his soft lips brush across your skin, as he searched for your steady pulse. The contact made you jolt slightly and he took your hands in his, placing them at his waist.

"Hold on, darling," he whispered, as his breath fanned your flushed skin, before darting out his agile tongue and enclosing his lips around the selected area.

You had let him feed on you many times before, but the flutter was ever present. It wasn't out of fear or concern that he might take it too far. He never did. But the knowledge that you were, once again, involved in something so intimate truly gnawed at your nerves.

As soon as you felt the initial sting, you balled your fists, gripping the fabric of his shirt tight, as you hissed in pain.

He held your jaw in between his fingers whilst his other hand was firmly pressed to the back of your head, making sure you were anchored in place.

Astarion moaned first – a muffled and deep sound that reverberated across his lips with each mouthful of blood he downed.

Your eyes dropped close all of a sudden and he pressed his body against yours, acting purely on the instinct driven by his bloodlust.

And just like all those times before, you began to feel it.

With each passing second, the all too familiar and ever-growing pressure in your lower abdomen became harder and harder to ignore.

He had once revealed how your blood worked like an aphrodisiac whenever he drank from you; how he couldn't keep his body from reacting to it, and, ultimately, to you. After all, you had been the first thinking creature he had ever fed on.

As such, you had grown accustomed to his erection being pressed firmly against you – a constant reminder of how easy it was for him to make you yearn for more.

Whatever pain you had left from the initial bite, had morphed into a very subtle wave of pleasure that spread from between your legs.

You cursed inwardly, tugging harder at his shirt.

You didn't wish for your body to be so… primal.

Even with blood being drained from you, and the act itself being considered so profane, it was still a much welcome moment of intimacy that you had come to embrace.

A soft roll of his hips lulled you into him like a moth to a flame. Your body struggled with fading from the blood loss as well with the increasing throb between your thighs.

At this point, you couldn't help but moan softly as he eased his grip on you until he had fully withdrawn his teeth from you.

Your eyes fluttered open and you had to blink twice to disperse the haziness blurring your vision.

Crimson red tainted his lips, and droplets of the warm liquid threatened to spill over. The sight of him revelling in your blood used to make your stomach turn, but now it had morphed into a habit.

But what truly caught your attention was how he looked faintly… displeased?

He lowered his head, crimson eyes locking in with yours.

"That was quick," you whispered, struggling to ease your throbbing clit, as his erection was still very much pressed against you.

But now he was frowning.

Suddenly, you felt experienced fingertips trailed across your lower abdomen, casually teasing the hem of your waistband.

You sucked in a breath, chills sprawling all over your body, as he began to trace down your thigh, just where your dagger was resting.

"What are you–"

He pressed a long finger to his blood-stained lips and you swallowed, his eyes darkening. "We have company."

Before you could process his words, you felt your dagger being yanked swiftly from its sheath. With a languid shift of his feet, you watched as he threw the sharp blade across the room.

Just as it cut through the air, the large wooden door began to swing open and Shadowheart came into view.

The dagger landed dangerously close to her head, the tip carving into the wood and wobbling faintly.

She frowned slightly. "You missed."

He darted out his tongue to collect droplets of blood. "Did I?"

She looked positively unimpressed by such a display of skill, even one that could have easily maimed her.

But he had deliberately missed.

Of course he had.

You caught a glimpse of Astarion's reddened ears – the ultimate proof that he had recently fed, and one that, somehow, sent a shiver down your spine.

The bloodless effect was also beginning to take a hold of your body, as dizziness spread more and more.

Snapping out of your transfixed gaze, you hurriedly brought the handkerchief in your pocket to apply some pressure to your bleeding wound.

"Stealth was never your forte, darling," Astarion mused, visibly annoyed. "You're about as subtle as a pack of gnolls."

A teasing smile parted her lips. "You have such a way with words."

He grinned deviously. "It's called being eloquent, dear Shadowheart. Not that you'd know anything about that."

"I was taught to converse with others without constantly resorting to sarcasm," she mused, hurling your dagger back at him. "Not that you'd know anything about that."

As expected, he caught it in between his fingers with little to no effort, twirling it easily with the expertise that only centuries of practice could provide.

He clicked his tongue. "No wonder you're so tedious. But… eavesdropping? My, my… how unbecoming of you, darling."

A flash of surprise crossed her face. "I - I was doing no such thing! I merely decided to make sure everything was all right." Her face softened as she turned to you, her usual caring nature surfacing. "Do you need any healing?"

You smiled warmly at her, patting the pouch at your hip. "No need, thank you. Brought the scroll of Lesser Restoration you gave me."

Astarion scoffed.

Shadowheart ignored him. "I ought to go. Gale needs my assistance with some letters he's received from Waterdeep," she said, straightening up to her default stoic pose. "I trust you're quite done here."

You nodded, clearing your throat.

"What, you're not joining us for a nibble?" Astarion pouted dramatically.

"Over my dead body."

He looked as amused as ever. "That can certainly be arranged. Though I prefer fresh blood… right from the source."

Her features hardened once more and you decided to intervene. "Will you stop it? You're like a cat with its claws out."

Astarion snapped his head at you. "Excuse me? Claws?"

"Would it kill you - well, again - not to be so damn abrasive all the time?"

He groaned sheepishly. "She interrupted my feeding. It can be quite hard to resist the urge to behead her."

Shadowheart's gaze dropped to his lower half with the slightest uptick of one corner of her mouth. "By the looks of it, Astarion, you have other hardships to concern yourself with."

A rush of heat spread across your face as you followed her line of sight and were met by the very prominent outline of his erection strained against his trousers.

He turned around, mumbling curses under his breath to adjust himself, and Shadowheart looked at you with a triumphant smile.

It wasn't an easy feat to silence Astarion, yet she had achieved it so gracefully.

"I'll see you later, I suppose," she mused and you nodded. "It was rather entertaining seeing you again, Astarion."

He threw her an infuriating glance over his shoulder.

By the time she had closed the door behind her, you were already taking the scroll into your hands and whispering the incantation, as the paper scroll began to disintegrate itself.

A wave of warmth spread through your hands, before engulfing your body in it. Strength and heightened senses gradually returned to you as the lasting effects of him feeding on you dispersed.

From the corner of your eye, you spotted him glaring at you with a visible sulk.

"I'll come back next week."

"Leaving already?" He asked, fake heartbreak twisting his features and voice. "Was wondering if you could, perhaps, give me a hand."

He handed you your dagger, which you promptly slid back inside its sheath.

Your eyes then widened at his not so subtle suggestion.

Uncertainty boiled deep within you, and you had to muster your will to keep yourself from immediately leaving.

Astarion's healing path had been one he had decided to tread alone. The relationship he had with sex had been the reason you two had decided to be as friends and nothing more. You had fallen hard for him – or his deceit – but you figured what he truly needed was a friend and not a lover.

And so you left your infatuation for him behind.

It was better off this way.

But now… watching him fall back to his usual charming advances made you somewhat wary. Was he back to forcing himself to seek intimacy with his body, because he still couldn't do it effectively in any other way? Was he simply feeling more at ease?

You met his sultry gaze and cleared your throat. "Well, I'm sure you can ask that outrageously beautiful woman to help you out, if that is what you truly seek."

That seemed to have caught him by surprise, and he cocked his head. "What?"

"She seemed positively distraught for having to leave your company so early," you said, dragging the handkerchief down your neck to wipe off the trail of blood.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Do I detect a hint of jealousy, darling?"

"Delusion does not suit you, darling."

He took a few steps towards you until you could see the crimson of his eyes flicker as they studied your face.

Your stomach turned.

The proximity made you feel vulnerable and you immediately felt naked under his burning gaze.

Astarion had over two centuries of practice when it came to reading others. It wasn't an easy feat to deceive him, and you were no exception.

"We traveled together for so long and I can safely say I never took you for a liar – perhaps too soft-hearted for my liking, but not a liar."

"I did not lie," you shot back, lifting your chin in defiance. "I can offer you my friendship and even my blood, but I'm not so sure about anything else."

He heaved a deep sigh.

"I just fed on you and the bloodlust can be quite… overwhelming," he confessed. "I usually take care of it myself, but you did taste absolutely exquisite tonight, what can I say?"

That caught you off guard.

"What do you mean? Take care of…" your voice trailed off as realization hit you.

Oh.

Astarion clicked his tongue. "Don't act so surprised. You can feel it whenever I'm feeding, can't you?" He took another step back and only came to a halt once your back was pressed against the carved-wood wall. "There is only so much I can withstand with your delicious blood coursing through my body, darling."

You swallowed hard.

He was being particularly firm on his advances tonight. You were used to his occasional flirtatious remarks whenever he fed on you ever since the arrangement took place. However, this was bringing things to a whole new level.

One that you hadn't expected you'd reach ever again with him.

Somehow, you managed to find your voice. "Maybe you should stop feeding on me, then?"

A weightless taunt, obviously.

Crimson eyes darted all over your face as if studying you. He remained silent for what seemed like an eternity, before the corner of his mouth curled into an intriguing smile.

He had seen immediately right through it.

"If that is what you wish, then so be it," he said in a rather dismissive tone, but still towering over you.

You arched a brow. "That's it?"

"Darling, as immortal as I am, I do not beg," he continued, now tracing around the fresh bite marks on your skin with uncharacteristic tenderness. "I will surely find other exquisite necks to sink my teeth into."

His words carried a hint of a threat, which unsettled you.

"That was not the arrangement, Astarion," you said with a scowl. "It's either wild animals or my blood."

His fingertips paused at your pulse point, and you were certain he could feel the throbbing increasing rapidly. "How possessive of you, my dear," he mused playfully. "Although, I am quite sure you are aware that many do carry fantasies with vampires."

You pressed your lips together in a silent reply.

A man as attractive as Astarion was bound to allure all sorts of attention. When passing through Moonrise Towers, the drow Araj had tried to have him bite her in exchange for a rather powerful potion, but you had assured him that you did not demand anything against his will.

The memory still left a sour taste in your mouth.

But he did have a point.

Vampires could be regarded as a taste of the forbidden, and he could certainly deliver it.

"That was not the arrangement," you repeated through gritted teeth, deciding to ignore his previous remark.

His eyes narrowed dangerously in an instant.

"'The arrangement'," he mocked, inching near and pinning you frozen against the wall with the weight of his burning stare. "Does dear Wyll know that I haven't been exclusively feeding on wild animals? Because that was the arrangement, darling," his face drew closer and his cool breath fanned your skin.

Upon becoming Duke of Baldur's Gate, Wyll had agreed to allow Astarion to reside within its walls, but not without assuring he posed no danger to others.

But then you decided to volunteer in aiding him until a solution to his vampiric condition could be found. Hopefully, it wouldn't take too long to find something useful.

Your research had led to a couple of enchanted items, but those were rare to come by. A wish spell seemed to be the easiest way, but even as a sorcerer and with Gale's help, it would be extremely challenging.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "He does. He knows blood from thinking creatures sates you more effectively, so he allows it for the time being."

He scoffed, dropping his hand from your neck. "How very thoughtful of him, indeed."

"This is what friends do."

He sneered at you. "Friends do not hand out ultimatums. Care to revive my memory?" His lips almost brushed against yours and you didn't dare take a breath. "I am to wag my tail like an obedient pup as I wait for a solution to this minor inconvenience, all the while enclosed in a golden cage."

Impatience gripped your nerves ferociously. "These things take time, Astarion."

"Oh, my darling… I have all the time in the world, but you only have a limited supply of blood," he whispered softly and you could almost taste his taunting words.

He drew back slightly, his glare so intense you felt yours waver and drop, catching a glimpse of his sharp canines. "We are actively looking for a solution. Gale is also making some progress-"

He pressed a finger to your lips, effectively silencing you.

"Do not make the mistake of thinking I am faulting you," he said, his face suddenly softening, as he caressed your lower lip. "If anything, you are the only reason I was ever able to kill Cazador."

He was being sincere, and that was what made your heart drop to your stomach.

"You have my eternal gratitude."

You shuddered under his touch, feeling your breath quicke, as his other hand trailed down your neck until it was resting just above your left breasts and beating heart.

He was too good at this…

Unfairly so.

"Wyll ought to allocate more of his resources into aiding me, don't you think? After all, you are the one at risk here," he continued. "I know he cares not for me, but I could have ascended and bent Baldur's Gate to my will… if not for your intervention."

"I'm not at risk," you said with a roll of your eyes. "And if you drink more than what you need, then you know the consequences."

His eyes dropped to your cleavage as he began to caress the flushed skin. With each deep breath you took, you pushed more of your breasts into him, further igniting the heat between your legs.

"Promises, promises… unfortunately for you, darling, your words don't match your body."

Fuck you. "You're impossible."

He slowly dipped his head until his lips grazed yours. "You would stake me?"

Never.

"I would."

He chuckled. "You would stake me as I sink my teeth into your darling neck and feast on your divine blood?"

No. "Yes."

But his smile only widened as amusement settled on his face. "I can't think of a better way to part this world for good."

Your mouth parted slightly in surprise, and he rolled his hips into you, earning a soft gasp.

You half-expected him to finally take your lips, but he tilted his head instead to press a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth.

And your body nearly imploded as old sensations resurfaced.

Fuck.

"You're so sweet…" he whispered with a sigh, as he began to graze along your jaw, taking your hands in his and planting them on his waist. "So warm… the gods above could never do you justice." He continued in between light kisses with his hips matching the pace.

As your eyes fluttered shut, you lost track of how eagerly your hands tugged at the hem of his shirt, fingers brushing impatiently against the waistband of his trousers.

Astarion groaned softly, helping you with the inconvenient lacing at the front. "And here I thought I was the starving one."

He always talked way too much and had a natural talent for doing so at the least opportune time.

"Can you shut up for once?"

"Gladly," he said as he quickly took your lips in his, muffling your groan of protest.

Reason told you to halt everything once. That you were taking things too fast, and that there was no need to indulge in such depravities.

But you had missed this.

You missed having him so close that he completely overtook your senses.

The kiss turned rougher and his tongue soon found yours. Instinct guided you as you succumbed to the vicious grip of desire, and you pressed yourself further into him.

It was almost embarrassing how wet you already were and how intensely your swollen clit was pulsing. Your body was already readying itself for him to be buried inside you, and you shuddered at the prospect of it.

Your tongue darted into his mouth and your eagerness had it glide across one of his sharp fangs, and you felt a sting of pain as you accidentally drew blood.

"Fuck," you grumbled, breaking the kiss at once.

The familiar taste of metal began to pool in your mouth, and you felt gentle fingers grip your jaw tight, as he titled your head back.

"I would apologise, but it was your own doing," he said with a smile, hunger in his eyes. "So let's not allow it to go to waste, hm?"

And then he pressed his lips against yours, immediately parting them with his experienced tongue, in search of the warm liquid he so badly craved.

The cut wasn't deep or wide enough to cause much to spill, but it was certainly enough for him to let out a beautiful moan of delight, as he lapped at your blood.

Your hands gripped the front of his trousers, the lacing now undone and offering you the opportunity to feel him, and he was kissing you so ardently, that your mind was completely clouded by all of him.

Testing the waters, you caressed his cock through the fabric.

He immediately parted from you to let out a delicious hiss, as he rolled his hips into the palm of your hand.

Astarion was incredibly hard, but just as you were about to slide it inside to grip him, he caught your wrist and held it firmly in place.

And everything halted all at once.

Your eyes found his, and he seemed… distant.

Concern washed over you. "Astarion?"

He was frozen, eyes fixed on the floor.

As he eased his grip on you, it became apparent that he wasn't listening to you.

Fuck.

You brought one hand to grip his shoulder. "Astarion…"

He shook his head lightly. "Give me a moment, darling."

The way the last word drawled out of his lips, made your heart clench violently. It was so instinctive for him, that you doubted he even realised he had uttered it.

You stood still, unsure of what to do to help.

The two of you remained silent for a few moments. You kept your hold on his shoulder, gently caressing it in an attempt to bring him some comfort.

Then you felt rage swirl in you.

Cazador had warped him in such a way and for so long, that the ramifications of his abuse on Astarion seeped so deep and gripped him so tight, causing you to feel nothing but anger.

You took a deep breath, and carefully placed your hands on either side of his face, slowly guiding him to meet your eyes.

He looked broken.

"I apologise."

You caressed his cool skin with your thumbs, shaking your head. "There is nothing to apologise for. Ever. Do you hear me?"

He tilted his head until his forehead touched yours. "I really wanted this."

Even though the two of you had grown apart over the past few weeks as he had distanced himself, you couldn't think of anyone else who had such a hold on you.

With one hand drifting along his soft curls, you pulled him further into a hug, which he promptly embraced, lacing his hands behind your back.

This was your Astarion.

The one who made it so easy to love and care for him.

"Sometimes what we want is not what we need."

His cheek was pressed to the side of your head and you heard a faint chuckle. "So poetic. I reckon Volo has competition."

"Your mind goes to Volo when holding me? Is there something you wish to tell me, Astarion?" you teased lightly.

He patted your back twice before letting go.

"Guilty as charged," he mused, slipping back into his usual antics.

He crossed the room, tying the laces of his trousers before plopping himself on the bed with a stretch of his arms.

"I'm sure you're exhausted. Maybe you should go back to that dullard friend of yours," he said with a sly grin.

His words hit you hard and your face dropped. "I can stay a little longer…"

He picked up the book next to him, examining the cover. "Whatever for? I'm perfectly fine, darling."

Now, this was not your Astarion.

Cold. Distant. Impenetrable.

The one who pushed you away whenever you attempted to bridge the gap that had come in between you two.

He focused his attention on the book in his hands and you swallowed the lump in your throat.

"Very well."

You composed yourself, and headed to the door, not even bothering to exchange another look.

"Thank you for the meal, and for… well, you know."

You nodded, feeling the overwhelming urge to just leave. "See you next week, then."

He didn't reply.

You rushed out of the room, feeling the familiar prickle of tears in your eyes, and you tried to convince yourself it was better off this way.

That he needed time and space.

That he didn't need you.

By the time you crossed the crowded lounge of the tavern, you crossed paths with that woman again.

She locked eyes with you, a faint smile curving her lips, as she rose to her feet from her chair, probably heading back to him.

She truly was a sight to behold, no doubt.

But what tore your heart was realising that, even after everything you'd been through with Astarion, he still favoured her company over yours.

Next chapter

Masterlist . Series masterlist. AO3

#astarion smut #astarion #astarion x female reader #astarion x female tav #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion fanfic #bg3 smut #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x you #astarion x mc

3K notes · View notes

davidnorton · 2 years

Text

Bathroom Renovations Gold Coast QLD

Capri Qld was founded in 1996, starting from a small factory in Southport, Bathroom Renovations Gold Coast QLD for 8 years then quickly run out of factory space due to more clientele and staff.

0 notes

dira333 · 7 months

Text

What's in a scarf - Matsukawa x Reader

A/N: Roommates to lovers, Miscommunication, Angst to Fluff

Requested by @notsochillnerd

The girl is pretty, with soft blond hair and chocolate brown eyes that are now peering up at you.

“Hi?” You ask, stomach swirling with emotion. What is she doing here? Who is she? And, more importantly, who is she to Mattsun?

“Hi,” she chirps, holding out her hand, “I’m Yachi Hitoka.”

Your voice wavers a little when you tell her your name, but if she notices, she doesn’t point it out.

“Do you- uh, are you waiting- do you want something to drink, or?”

“Mattsun should be out any second,” there’s a blush forming on her cheeks as she speaks. Your stomach drops. They must be close if she’s referring to him by his nickname as well. But, doesn’t almost everyone?

“Ah, well, I guess… Do you want some coffee?” You step into the kitchen just to get away from her and the implications of her. You’re still wearing your coat, but you don’t want to go back out where she’s standing.

You make coffee, more so to distract yourself than to offer her.

If only Mattsun would reappear from wherever he’s vanished too.

The universe grants you this wish much too readily for how deaf it has been to your begging in the last months.

You can hear the front door open, can hear Mattsun’s voice before you see him, or before he sees you.

“There you go, Hitoka-chan,” His voice is warm and filled with affection. When you turn to look at them, your stomach flips. Mattsun’s tying a scarf around the girl’s neck, the color a familiar turquoise. It’s the one he brought back from Seijoh, a custom-made accessory everyone bought. It had been a whim of the Captain in his third year and he’s insanely protective of the piece. To see it wrapped around some other girl's neck makes you choke. You turn back to your coffee, wishing with all your might that it trickles down faster. You need to get out of here.

“Oh,” Mattsun’s voice changes. If it had been warm like a cup of tea before, it’s now smooth and deep and sweet, like drinking molten chocolate. He calls your name.

“Oh, hey.” You turn around. His brows shoot up at the sight of your forced smile… Or maybe it’s the furrow of your brows that sets him off.

He’s next to you in two big steps. “You okay?” He asks and you nod instead of shaking your head.

You’re not okay. But he’s got a pretty girl waiting for him, a girl he willingly gives his scarf to, a girl that’s prettier and daintier and just not you.

“I’m fine, just tired. Are you going out?”

“Are you sure?” His hand moves but you step back before he can touch you. Something flickers over his face but you don’t dare to follow it. You turn back to the coffeemaker, fill the drink into your travel mug, and straighten again, presenting it to him like the solution to all of your problems.

“Well, I’ll be going. See you around. Yachi-chan,” You nod in her direction as you rush out of the apartment.

Actually, you had planned to stay home. You had been dreaming of a cozy evening on the couch all day, the thought of a movie night cuddled up with Mattsun the most heavenly thing. But this isn’t going to be happening. Not tonight, and not in a while, it seems.

And isn’t that just pathetic?

That you can’t even begin to unravel yourself from him, that your mind doesn’t allow the thought of “Not him!” but instead clings to the possibility of “Not now!”?

“Are you sure you’re not just overreacting?” Your older sister asks an hour later.

You’re sitting on a park bench outside of the library. This one has the best view, even more so now that the sun is beginning to set and below you, the city turns into a canvas of twinkling lights.

“I’m not overreacting!” You defend yourself immediately. “You know how much this scarf means to him.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the only one in existence. It could be Makki’s or belong to one of the other guys that were on his team.”

“But she was so pretty-” You begin, only to be interrupted by her sigh.

“Haven’t I told you enough times already that you don’t have to worry about that? You’re the only one who thinks you look like a troll.”

“I don’t think I look like a troll.”

“Listen,” your sister’s voice suddenly gets that specific tone that tells you to listen up and behave and you straighten without really wanting to, “You need to go back and talk to him. And if I’m wrong in this, which I am not, you can have that dress of mine you always want to borrow.”

“For real?”

“For real.”

The apartment is quiet when you enter.

A quick check confirms your suspicion, Mattsun isn’t home.

You busy yourself with doing the laundry and even get rid of a fat spider hiding next to the washing machine. As you take a picture of your confirmed kill, a habit you’ve grown into ever since you moved in with Mattsun, you can’t help but feel the sadness crawl into your bones again.

It’s comfortable, sharing a flat with him. He’s clean, organized and he always pays his bills on time. The only thing he brings home - besides discounted flowers from the funeral home - is Makki and you’ve long grown used to their humor, awful Karaoke session, and the occasional bout of drunken weirdness.

You send the picture anyway, even though you should have let it live. It would serve Mattsun right to stumble across it in the dead of night.

But still… How can one not fall in love with him? That’s a question you still have not found an answer to.

You resume your task, get back to folding the clean laundry, still warm from the dryer.

Something turquoise peaks out of the mess and you tug at it, half expecting it to be Mattsun’s old team jersey.

But it’s not.

It’s a scarf.

His scarf, you confirm. His mother stitched his first name into it because he kept coming home with more than one, never knowing which one was his.

Your heart stumbles as your mind tries its best to catch on.

If this is his scarf, then….

You must have fallen asleep, drained from feeling too many emotions in one single day. You blink against the dim light coming from the kitchen only to realize that there’s a warm hand cradling your cheek.

“Mattsun?” You ask and he hums low in his throat.

“Hey,” He mumbles, dragging his fingers through your hair, “Are you feeling well?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you try to push yourself up but he settles heavy on your legs, keeping you down.

“Stay, please?”

“I can barely see you,” you point out.

He laughs and maybe it’s the lack of vision that enhances your senses, makes his voice trickle over your skin like the touch of a feather.

“Maybe that’s for the best.”

You huff and cuddle back into the pillows. The Couch lacks the abundance of your bed, but it’s good enough. Something soft is curled around your right arm and you nuzzle into it, recognizing its telltale turquoise color a little too late.

“Ohmygod,” you gasp, trying to untangle yourself from the scarf as quickly as you can, “I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” Mattsun’s hand is warm on your wrist. “It looked cute how you cuddled with it.”

Heat envelopes your face and you press your face into the scarf to hide from him.

You’re the master of lying to yourself, of letting insecurity overwhelm you, but even you have to acknowledge that this looks like more than friends.

It feels like more than friends too, has felt like that for months now.

Mattsun’s hand is on your back now, rubbing lazy circles into your skin. He seems to be comfortable sitting on your legs and maybe it’s that, this comfortableness and the fact that you can’t get away, that has you address what needs to be said.

“Mattsun?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you like Yachi-chan?”

“She’s nice,” he tells you quietly, “A little shy but she’s good for Kentaro.”

“Kentaro?”

“Mhm,” his hand stops for a second, “Did you not know-?”

You bite your lip, glad he can’t possibly see your face right now. But his voice is too soft when he speaks on. Either he’s able to see right through the thick fabric of his scarf or he knows you to well.

“Did you think I was dating Hitoka?”

“Maybe?”

His hand leaves your back. His weight leaves your legs. You try to swallow but only meet resistance.

Suddenly the room is flooded with brightness. You flinch back and blink into the light.

Mattsun’s in the door, hand still on the switch.

“I want you to see my face when I tell you this,” he declares with determination. “I’m in love with you.”

Your heart stops for a beat, only to resume it’s work with double the speed.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely!” There’s a boyish grin on his face now as he kneels down in front of the couch and pulls your hands out from under the scarf. “Who else will kill all the spiders for me?”

“You’re an idiot!” You scoff, unable to hide your own grin now.

“But you love me, right?” He asks, peering up at you. “Right?”

You nod, unable to speak. But Mattsun understands anyway.

He eases the scarf from your hands and wraps it around your neck, pulling you close by the ends until there’s nothing but a breath keeping you apart.

“I’d love it if you kissed me now,” he teases.

So you do.

my Kofi if you want to tip me

#my writing #matsukawa x reader #matsukawa issei #mattsun x reader #mattsun #seijoh 4 #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x you #haikyuu drabbles #hq x reader

381 notes · View notes

pogueswrld · 1 year

Text

*•.¸♡ thread of pleasure ♡¸.•*

pairing: jason todd x fem!reader

summary: reader is tired and jason decides to please her.

prompt: "You can either have sexy time or a home-cooked meal tonight, but not both because I am tired."

warnings: 🦢 smut w/ minimum plot!!! domestic!jason (he's husband material yk), pet names (heart eyes), pussydrunk!jason (he gives reader good head), handsfree cumming/cumming in his pants... Yeah, basically reader is given the princess treatment <3

note: I didn't know how to close this one up so the ending is abrupt and weird, sorry babes :/// anyways here's some Jason brain rot 😵‍💫😵‍💫

Y/n released a deep sigh when she finally shut her apartment door closed, the build-up of her entire day came crumbling down on her shoulders. Her eyes were tightly shut and her hands gripped the plastic grocery bags.

With another heavy sigh, she blinked her eyes open and pushed herself off the door to set the bags on the counter.

Her week wasn't out of the ordinary, but for some reason, it felt far more draining the all the other weeks she's worked combined. And with Jason going on patrol more often, she felt extremely alone whenever she went to sleep without him and woke up to him already gone.

She stared, deadpanned, at the six bags before her before pressing her lips together and coming to a decision. She knew that if she started making dinner now, she will be able to have a meal prepared by the time Jason makes it home- they'll have dinner and then she'll immediately crash and not see him again until tomorrow night.

However, if she decided to not make dinner, she and Jason might be able to spend at least two hours before she decides to go to sleep.

But then he won't have dinner, she thought, a pout forming on her lips.

To find a solution, she dug up her phone from her back pocket and sent out a single text to the familiar number of her lover.

You can either have sexy time or a home-cooked meal tonight, but not both because I AM TIRED

Jason was with Dick and Tim when he received the message through the AI on his Red Hood helmet. As soon as he spotted the notification, his face lit up with a grin, and then he read the text and couldn't help but bite his lips in a poor attempt to contain the grin.

He was thankful that tonight's patrol was mostly calm. Nothing more than a few petty crimes that either Dick or Tim can easily handle.

Helplessly, he turned to his brothers. "Hey, guys?"

Tim turned to him first, humming in question. Dick glanced up after, raising one questioning brow.

"Would you guys mind if I ditched?"

The other batboys shared a stare, "Right now?"

Jason only nodded, thankful for the helmet over his face to cover his smile.

Dick shrugged, "Sure, why not?"

Before he could even finish his sentence, Jason had jumped off the roof they were idling from and disappeared into the night.

When she didn't get a reply, y/n shrugged and emptied the bags of food. She checked her phone again, still on delivered, and made her way into her bedroom to change into something more comfortable. Unaware of the boy unlocking the door to her apartment.

Jason walked in with two boxes of pizza balanced on one arm while the other made sure to lock the door of the apartment. The click of the door reached her ears, and she turned her head to the door as she fixed the massive shirt covering her form. She padded out of the room and smiled at the sight of Jason placing the boxes of pizza on the kitchen counter. He's still in his Red Hood custom.

She's biting her bottom lip to hold back a grin.

"You couldn't reply to my text to let me know you've seen it?"

Jason turned at her voice and smiled, the Red Hood helmet sat at the counter. His grin revealed the pointy teeth underneath, and he visibly softened at the sight of her. He shrugged.

"Figured I could just show up."

Y/N bites her lip as she slowly approached him, purposely slouching as she hums, burying her face in his chest when he opens his arms for her. She sighs into the embrace, her arms wrapping around his middle. He rubs her back, gently pushing his fingers on the stress points on her shoulder blades and spine, and the girl simply groans as she pulls back slightly, her lips forming a cute pout.

"Missed you so much." She mumbles, her lids heavy as she blinked up at him.

Jason took note of her tiredness and smiled softly, brushing back some of her hair. "Miss you more, angel. C'mere." His index hooks itself under her chin and tilts her head upward to meet his lips, her eyes flutter closed at the contact and she hums against his lips.

Jason has complete control over the pace of the kiss, and he's gentle as he cups her face and pulls her closer; deepening the kiss. He swipes his tongue across her bottom lip and she happily parts her lips for him, allowing him to kiss her deeper.

She lets out a sigh as her hands climb up his armored chest and try to hold onto the neckline of his suit. She tugs on it once, silently begging it to pull it off. Jason smiles and pulls back to see her, his hands already working on dismantling his suit.

"Someone's desperate."

Y/N grins. "You brought pizza."

Jason chuckles at her, his chest armor falling to the floor, revealing his black undershirt. "You wanna eat it before or after I eat you?"

Her face flushes and her jaw drops, a single laugh escapes her lips and she shakes her head. "After." She breathes before launching herself at him again. Her arms hold him close by his neck, and her lips press against his tightly.

Jason smiles against her lips as he pulls the shirt off his body, his hands grabbing and pulling at her body, keeping her impossibly close. He trails his hands down the sides of her body, causing goosebumps to rise all over her body. He hooks his hands under her ass, his fingers kneading and groping at her thighs before mumbling, "Jump." breathlessly against her lips.

She lets out a whine before following his demand, her legs immediately wrapping themselves around his bare waist.

Blindly, Jason sits her on the counter. The grocery bags and the boxes of pizza are somewhere beside her, and he carefully pulled her to the edge of the counter. He pulled back from their heated and messy kiss, saliva connecting their bruised lips together. He stared down at her, observing the way her parted lips look as she panted for air and blinked at him from underneath her lashes.

"Fuck." He rasped, an image from a while ago of her on her knees looking up at him the exact same way flashed into his mind, and he groaned as he leaned down to press harsh and soft kisses down her neck.

"You're so pretty..." He trailed off, his teeth nibbling and grazing her clear skin, marking his way down her body. Y/N gasped, arching into him as he softly bit into a particularly sensitive spot on her neck. One of her hands leaned behind her, holding her up for him, while the other grabbed his bicep.

"Jay-" Her words were cut off with another gasp as his hands that were previously on her knees pushed them apart, settling him between her legs.

"Yes, pretty girl?" He mumbled, his words muffled against her skin. He's grinning as she whines, her back arching to push herself closer to him.

His crotch area was bulging, a tent forming where he desired her most, but he'd be damned if he used her for his pleasure while she was so tired. No, he was going to pleasure her thoroughly.

"Need you to talk to me, baby. I can't read your mind." He whispered against her skin, his hands pulling up her -his- shirt and letting it pool around her hips. He let his fingertips trace up her thighs, occasionally pinching the fat, but never actually touching her how she wants him to.

She whines, her head falling on his shoulder. "Touch me." She mumbled, a blush flushing her face and the tips of her ears.

One of his hands pulled her face off his shoulder, gently forcing her to meet his teal eyes. His pupils were blown wide, she can't even see the color of his eyes. He's smirking smugly.

"Good girl." He cooed. His eyes glistened, "Where?"

Y/N was breathing heavily, her hand grabs his that was on her thigh and pulls him to her core. He cups her through the cloth, her dripping arousal seeped through the fabric and left a dark patch. Jason chuckles, the sound rippling through his chest. "Hmm, alright. That wasn't very hard, was it, angel? Now keep your eyes on me, I wanna watch you."

His other hand hooked around the elastic of her underwear and pulled it off of her in one swift motion. She gasped and watched with half-lidded eyes as he dropped to his knees. He looked up at her, grinning devilishly.

His stare sent fire through her entire body, and a shiver ran down her spine in anticipation of his next move.

His eyes moved down from her face to her dripping core. He ran his thumb up her slit, collecting her wetness. His tongue wetted his lips, and Y/N let out a desperate noise at the sight.

He looked heavenly on his knees for her, his hair disheveled and messy, and he was still in his combat pants with an obviously painful bulge. She felt the wind being knocked out of her chest, and she leaned down and grabbed his face, pulling him close and clashing her lips against him.

"I love you." She mutters before pulling back, returning to her previous position.

Jason's lips parted in shock at her rapid movements, he blinked at her, his mind blank. Then he beamed, his head leaning on her leg, hearts pouring out of his eyes. His lips pressed soft kisses up her leg, leading up to her thigh and under the fabric of her shirt.

"I love you," He breathed against the skin of her inner thigh, causing a ticklish sensation to fly through her. She giggled breathlessly, then gasped as she felt his lips wrap around her clit and suck harshly.

She jerked, her hand immediately latching onto his locks as she moaned loudly. Her eyes fixated on him, just as he asked. He's looking up at her through his lashes, lust and something else stared back at her, something far more intimate.

His tongue pressed against the sensitive bud and lapped up at her juices, and she shuddered as she realized it was yearning.

His arms hooked around the thickness of her thigh, pulling her closer to the edge, closer to his mouth as he devoured her. He felt intoxicated with her, a particular sensation fluttering through him. He couldn't get enough of her, and the way her face contoured with pleasure made him moan against her. Every noise she made traveled straight to his cock and made him twitch against the fabric of his briefs.

His moans sent vibrations through her, accompanied by his fingers thrusting steadily into her, curled just right to stimulate a spot within her that made her see stars, Y/N was in heaven. She whimpered and whined, her hips unsteadily and subconsciously bucking into his mouth, chasing a thread of pleasure just barely out of reach; tying itself at the bottom of her stomach.

"Jason- I'm- oh fuck- please~" She whined, writhing above him as she tiptoed across the edge of a climax. Jason mumbled something, his words muffled by her clit, and she whines loudly as the wave of pleasure crashes down on her.

Her eyes were shut tightly, and her legs tightened around his head, closing on his ears. Her hand tugged at his hair, roughly pulling at his roots- he liked it though, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he moaned against her. His fingers never stopped their movement, helping her ride out her orgasm.

He looked up, caught the way her mouth was agape in a silent scream, the way her brows furrowed in immense pleasure, and shudder as his throbbing cock strained against nothing and emptied itself in his boxer. He muffled a groan against her and his tongue lapped up her release happily.

He didn't move from his spot on his knees until Y/N was jerking and shivering, her hand pushing his head away from her clit to stop him from overstimulating her.

"Sensitive-" She breathed, panting as she looked him over. He sat back on his heels, his eyes blinking at her from underneath his lashes, his tongue swiping on his glistening lip, his nose and chin drenched in her juices. His hair is a mess, and his pale skin is tinted with pink where her thighs were wrapped around him.

Jason sends her a lopsided grin and brings the fingers that were inside of her up to his mouth, he keeps his eyes on hers as he sucks them clean, purposely making a pop sound as he pulls them out of his mouth. "Hmm, my favorite dinner." He winks at her and Y/N's face flushes red.

"Shut up," She giggled, jumping off the counter and leaning down to catch his lips in a kiss. He tasted of mint, Jason, and her. She grinned against his lips and pulled back, helping him stand on his feet. Her eyes curiously glance at his previous bulge and noticed the dark patch, her lips parted before she glanced back up at him.

He was red in the face, embarrassed. The tips of his ears, neck, and cheeks were flaming pink as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Did you cum in your pants? Handsfree?"

Jason shrugged. "...Maybe." His answer was quick and short, averting his gaze from her.

Y/N giggles, reaching up to cup his chin in her hand. She forced his eyes back on her, a grin on her lips. "That's really hot and attractive, and incredibly thoughtful for some reason."

Jason smiles at her, his eyes nearly glowing. "What can I say? Making you cum is one of my favorite pastime activities." Y/N giggles at his words and wraps her arms around his shoulders, Jason wraps his around her waist and hoists her up in the air. "Let me clean you up then we can have dinner, yeah?"

Y/N squeals as her boyfriend carries her like she weighed nothing across her apartment and to her bathroom.

#jason todd #jason todd smut #red hood #dick grayson #tim drake #dc titans #tv: titans #beast boy #starfire #kory anders #garfield logan #rachel roth #raven roth #dc robin #red robin #nightwing #batfamily #batkids

763 notes · View notes

dxckgrxsonx · 2 months

Text

Out of office is ON. Absolutely ZERO customer service duties until Monday and I am sososo relieved!

May i give you all a look at my exbf!dick WIP?

Watching that first edge of your relationship catch at the precipice of failure felt so much like grief it was alarming; letting go has never been something you’re good at, especially not when it comes to him.

But you couldn’t stop Dick Grayson from slipping through your fingers the same way he couldn’t stop you from slipping through his.

Ending the relationship was a mutual decision. But that fact brought no relief. He was still leaving you, and in the terrible reflection of that, you were leaving him too.

There was no coming back from that.

Your relationship ends on a Tuesday and first thing Wednesday morning you walk into Titans Tower to find Dick standing at the kitchen counter.

Time stalls, your whole life stuttering in a furious backfire.

Whatever you were expecting. It wasn’t this.

Memory blooms against the palms of your hands and it’s tangible, focus hard enough and your fingers could trip along the interlocking bones of his spine. It’s historic recollection, almost twelve months eclipsing the time it takes to blink; one trip around the sun together and your life comes back to you irrevocably changed.

Three hours of sleep isn’t enough to deal with this; you don’t think any amount of sleep is enough for this.

Dick stares at the wall just past your head, mug held halfway to his mouth. He’s still wearing the same clothes as last night, doesn’t look like he’s slept for even a minute, and you could throw a dart at what you’re feeling about that and still not pinpoint it exactly.

Silence seems to echo, then swell, and you can't help but fumble in the face of it, caught in foreign territory. You wasn’t quite sure what you were expecting, but seeing him again so soon wasn’t really on the list. For a moment you consider turning on the balls of your feet and leaving, and yet, you know that won’t solve anything.

A cup of coffee is pushed across the counter in your direction and you stare at it, bewilderment shoved up against the roof of your mouth. You know it’s made exactly the way you like it; know with the same sort of certainty that you bring into mission briefings, the same concrete accuracy you display in combat.

It feels like you’re going fucking crazy.

Glancing at Dick you try to gauge the look on his face but you can’t.

When you first starting dating it was hard to read between his lines–difficult to spot the miniscule changes in his mannerisms–you could stare him straight in the face and miss the switch; miss the split second where emotion filters through the cracks and he shuts it down, hides behind a smooth facade of indifference.

After all the time you spent together it got easier. You learnt. But you look at him now and you might as well have never known him at all.

Dick opens his mouth and every muscle along your spine flexes in preparation, "Let’s not make this weird, yeah?"

Your teeth grind.

What a fucking diplomat.

One thing about you is this: you’re petty. Hand on heart you can’t help it. You get wronged and hit back in the lowest form you can think of–the most inconvenient way your mind can conjure up. The satisfaction you get from it is unparalleled.

Years ago, your uncle told you to leave your own house after a disagreement and in retaliation you parked your car so close to his bumper he couldn’t get out of the space. Then you blocked his number and didn’t come back for three days.

Not once did you regret it.

Dick knows exactly what you’re like; who you are on the inside, and yet he arrives at the solution of damage control. As if that would have ever gotten a positive reaction out of you–as if there would be any moment in your life where you wouldn’t bite all the way back to your molars into something glaringly spiteful.

There’s a split second where you wonder if he’s doing it on purpose.

He knows you on a level you can’t speak about–knows you through all four seasons and right down to the cosmic dust that interlocks with the fabric of your being–and he’s so brilliantly clever. Strategist since he was a child. You don’t have a doubt in your mind that he knows what you’re about to do before you do it. The revelation stings the same way a papercut does, wound superficial and with clean edges, yet painful no matter what.

Dick Grayson knows you, and in a fit of something helpless and tearful, you wish he didn’t.

The mug of coffee tips in your fingers and you pour the whole damn thing down the drain.

“Yeah.” You say, blinking furiously, refusing to acknowledge the wobble in your voice. “Fuck that.”

Dick stares at you the whole time–the blue of his eyes almost flashing with something un-named–his free hand tightening into a fist. The exhilaration is damning, blood rushing up to greet the sick satisfaction sparking in the hollow of your throat.

Fuck him.

Fuck him so goddamn much.

#exbf!dick grayson my beloved #I’ve missed him #being petty to push his buttons is my number one goal in life #to the anon who sent the ask inspiring this #I owe you everything #dick grayson x reader #ella writes #WIP: Event Horizon

87 notes · View notes

vagabond-umlaut · 5 months

Text

synchronise 2.0

On one end of the line, you've sunny days, mild breezes and not one thing to worry over. On the other end, there are only moonless nights, foul gales and one too many decisions– made and unmade– to repent for. And in the middle of this line segment, is you—

The only means by which the scales can be re-balanced. The equilibrium lost can be re-discovered. The wheels of life thrown off-kilter can be re-synchronised.

[Long story short: Time can be a funny little bitch— Good thing, you know how to be funnier than time itself!]

gojo satoru x fem!reader; canon divergence; time travel fix-it; the story begins here... freaking finallyyy 🤗🤗; tw: food mentions and mild *friendly* violence

prev chapter // synchronise masterlist // THE masterlist

chapter two: 23/3/2005

Working in a coffee shop sucks.

Sure, there are many nice things about the job: free coffee, yummy brownies, upbeat music, lenient managers and a pretty good pay— Still, you deem it to be the worst of the worst— Many, many thanks to the white-haired, shades-wearing abomination across the counter.

You decide not to hold back your grimace when he grins.

"You're looking very cute today, y'know?"

"Yeah, I know. I've got a mirror in my room," You retort, trying to wring and squeeze every bit of your exhaustion– exasperation– into the sigh ensuing, "Now, can you tell me your order quickly? People are getting late because of you."

"Oh, let them be," The boy waves your concerns away with an uncaring chuckle, "Surely, none of them is as important, or as generous, a customer as me— are they, candy?"

No, they aren't.

Neither the university student, nor the mother of those triplets, nor the salaryman, nor the elderly couple at the end of the queue: None of them buy as much as this boy does, yet– given your math is correct [it always is]– their collective purchases amount to more than the cost of whatever new solution of sucrose and caffeine he comes up with each new day...

Your teeth clack against each other as you peer up, eyes narrowing into slits, "Look, this is the last time I'm asking you. Tell me your bloody orders and step away, or–"

A cold palm over yours startles you into a sudden still.

And your hand moves before your brain can even grasp what the hell just happened– or directs, what will happen.

---

"You're not going to say sorry."

You should apologise to Gojo. You know you must do that.

Both of you have shared far too many casual touches for you to react this way– for you to twist his wrist then punch his face– at the mere feel of his palm on yours— Still, you choose to keep your mouth shut, willing your mind to focus only on the trash you've been tasked to take out.

A task seeming impossible now, thanks to the blinding reservoir of cursed energy trailing behind you from the time you were asked to leave the billing counter... Insistent, persistent, terribly obstinate— You huff a quiet groan when two familiar footsteps sound across the kitchen, following even into the dark alleyway behind the shop.

He calls your name. It sounds somewhat desperate– or maybe that's just your wishful thinking. Maybe you should stop watching those stupid, unrealistic romance movies— "So, you've decided you won't apologise, huh?"

"No," You reply, terse and firm, stopping but without throwing a glance backwards, "Why must I say sorry for your piss-poor blocking abilities, hm? Go improve your skills instead of bugging me at my part-time job... Just go, Sato– H-hey! W-what—"

The boy's reaction shouldn't shock you.

No, really. It shouldn't. You ought to be more used to the phenomenon named 'Gojo Satoru' by now, after twelve long years of close friendship with him... So sad, all that time together does nothing to stop your squeak of surprise when he wraps an arm round your midsection then snatches the bag of rubbish, effortlessly throwing it into the bin more than a few feet away.

Your muscles instantly grow tense, readying to fight to be free— only to relax when you hear your name. Spoken so softly... so carefully... Almost as if you aren't some furious animal baring its canines; almost as if you're some fragile glass figurine.

You don't like it, but can't really bring yourself to hate it either. Not when Gojo's voice sounds so worried when he asks, "Skipped your breakfast, mochi?"

"No." You return a sharp shake of your head.

Making you sit on an empty cardboard box by the wall, he crouches down before you. And asks, "Got yelled at by someone in your family, then?"

"No." You shake your head again, albeit with lesser edge this time. Confusion pushes your brows into a deep furrow, your mouth into a sour frown. "Why are you asking me these, Satoru? What the hell is wrong with you?"

The addressed's features break from their state of extreme focus, to become one of extreme hurt, before reverting to their state of extreme focus. Gojo removes his glasses, the shine of his blue eyes increasing manifold as they travel over your form, finally settling on your face.

Absolutely hating the tingles now dancing in your chest, you watch the boy exhale a sigh.

A very long, very tired sigh.

"There's nothing wrong with me, candy... There's something really wrong with you— You've been snappish and rude since today morning. And don't ev–" He falls silent, features scrunching up for a beat before lighting up in a moment of pure happy realisation. Too happy realisation, you think, watching the mile-wide grin on his face.

"You're sad because I'll be moving away next month and you've been pushing me away because you're sad— Isn't that right, candy? Isn't that right? Right? Right???"

Probably. Possibly. Almost certainly–

You lean back into the wall, schooling your face into one pretty unbothered.

After all... It won't do now if you confess to him all your fears and concerns. It won't do ever if you confess to him all your fears and concerns...

"You're not leaving for Jujutsu High in a month, idiot," You say, sternly ignoring the dull ache the thought makes in your heart, "You're leaving in less than a week. Auntie called today morni— 'Toru, no!"

Yanking the phone from his hand, you flip it shut and stuff it into your pocket. Then glare when you find Gojo reaching towards it. Bright beam now nowhere to be seen, the boy glares back and huffing, gets up to plop down onto the box beside yours.

You stare at the marks on your fingers for a while, before looping an arm round his shoulders— Shoulders, you never realised until this moment, had grown so broad... Whatever—

"Please don't make a fuss over this, 'Toru," You murmur, squeezing his arm lightly, "First off, the higher-ups will scold you terribly: They are hell-bent on making you go away from your home to under their shadows as soon as possible— And second–"

You lift his chin to make him look you in the eye. Azure pools of power, prestige and now upset, blinking back at you, bare and free of any and all covering.

"They'll give me hell because I told you this: I am not supposed to tell you this— something to do with shocking you then kidnapping you away while you're numb from the shock, I guess..." You trail off for a bit, before chuckling, "Those old geezers are so dumb, right?"

Gojo returns a weak nod and an even weaker "Heh!"— And you think, this is it.

This. Is. It.

Your last conversation with your best friend in the foreseeable future... Or probably ever.

That happened in the dirty narrow alleyway behind a mill-of-the-run coffee shop.

Where neither of you laughed. Or joked. Or did anything, anything remotely happy...

You don't really think– not even once– before you wrap your arms round Gojo's waist and push your face into his arm. It takes less than a beat for the boy to shift his body, and you, so that you're no longer trapping him in a weird sideways hug, rather hugging him properly. His fingers comb through your hair: so firm, so sure. Much like the suggestion reaching you next.

"Why don't we both run away to Paris, candy? We can escape from all this mess then."

"Wha–" You exclaim, incredulity seeping into your huffed chortle as you pull away. [It doesn't sound bad, a tiny voice in your brain whispers. Not bad at all– You strangle that stupid voice...] Hope shines in Gojo's eyes as he peers down at you. You force your lips down into a flat line.

"You're not Romeo, 'Toru; and sure, I'm pretty but I don't wanna end up dead like Juliet." You say, patting his cheeks, letting your tone grow a tad soft on receiving a pout. "You really need to stop watching romance movies, y'know... That teeny-tiny brain inside your huge skull is rotting– I can get the stench even– Ow, you ass!"

Gojo's lips quirk up slightly when you shove him back– but it's gone before it can form fully.

He shifts even closer to you, nearly engulfing your figure in the chill of his bigger frame. "Not every love story has to end that way, candy."

"Ours is not even a love story to begin with, Satoru," You scoff, noticing yet opting to ignore the sudden tensing of his posture, "And considering we do run away to Paris, like you suggested— What then, hm? Where will we stay? What will we eat? From where the hell are we going to get the money we need? Most importantly, how long will we keep running, Satoru?"

Screwing your eyes shut, you inhale then exhale, just the way your mom taught you to do when your emotions seem to be getting a bit out of hand— Opening your eyes, you find Gojo staring at you... rather weirdly.

You let your eyes fall to the fading colors of your shoes.

Resuming as you do, "What I'm trying to say is: we're teenagers, 'Toru. Whatever plan we make is bound to be stupid– more like, doomed to be stupid. Let's just go with the flow now. When we are older, we will be much smarter, stronger, scarier: We can do whatever we want then, and no one will dare to stop us. We can even run away to Paris, if that's what you want— Yeah?"

Looking back up, you find the boy's features not too far from that weird state... Until they are, and you feel as if you're staring straight at the sun. Or maybe that's just his cursed energy flaring up... Ugh, why is he such a powerhouse–

Grinning widely, Gojo clasps your hands in his. "Wanna do a Binding Vow, sweetness?"

No. Hell no. Never ever—

You know you must refuse. You must shut him up before his foolish tendencies take him way too far— take you with him way too far. Still, you do very little to quieten that pleased hum in your mind, when you register just how much he wishes to stay associated with you...

"A pinky promise sounds cuter, right?" You suggest with a smile– One that grows wider when you receive an eager nod in answer. You, however, curl your hand into a fist when he moves to lock his little finger with yours.

Grinning when he dissolves into whining, "Heyyy... what's the problem now, candy?"

"There isn't any problem, 'Toru. Just few conditions," You correct with a cheeky lilt to your tone, "Like, we ought to text each other minimum once a day, call each other minimum once a week, meet each other minimum once a month– And, last but not the least," You drop your volume to a value so low that only the two of you can hear.

"We must not forget each other, no matter what."

Gojo's frown melts away into something graver— before his beam's back in every bit of its glory.

You watch as he slowly pries your fist open, intertwining his little finger with yours and saying, "I agree. Pinky promise to do whatever you said, sweetness."

"I too pinky promise to do everything you said, 'Toru," You don't waste a beat in echoing his dedication in your words. The boy's grin grows bigger, reminding you yet again of the midday sun– Not the scorching one in summer, though! His resembles the gentle one of winters...

A sudden beep! from your phone jolts you out of your thoughts– And you jolt Gojo out of his seat next to you, scowling playfully as you do.

"Now off you go, my sucrose-loving fiend-for-a-friend," You rise as well, pushing him towards the back door to the kitchen, "Go, give your orders and get us a nice table; preferably, one closest to the AC. I'll finish my chores here and join you in a bit."

"Promise?" The boy asks with a pensive pout, just outside the building. You reach up to flick him– kind of– on the forehead, laughing fondly. "Yeah, you idiot. Now, go! I'm getting late!"

"Geez... okay, okay," Gojo exclaims back, laughing. And with that, plus a last-moment ruffling of your hair by him, he walks back into the shop. Leaving you to the quiet of your mind, the latter now much lighter, after your much-needed [yet much-avoided] conversation with him—

Too bad, you were never meant to relish the sound of silence.

No sooner do you step one foot towards the garbage bins than you feel the world before you tilt by a few degrees, for longer than a few measly seconds— Until everything is right again.

Or maybe nothing is... Nothing will ever quite be...

Not when you find yourself on a fine Wednesday morning, face-to-face with your carbon-copy— Except she isn't really so: She seems much older, much thinner, much sadder than the girl you saw in your mirror today...

It isn't really your fault, you think, when you end up blurting out, "Oh my God... So, I'm not my parents' only daugher, am I?"

next chapter

loserboy x girlboss → got to be my fave dynamic of all time [bonus points if both r somewht weird & stupid 😂😂]

header from pinterest; dividers by @benkeibear; jjk isn't mine

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #satoru x reader #satoru x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #gojo fluff #jjk fluff #gojo angst #jjk angst #kit posts 📝

102 notes · View notes

undead-moth · 2 months

Text

Ok ok my guess is that things have already died way down for The Bear fandom but I've made several posts defending season 3 now which I only did because I was so stunned to see that the fandom's criticisms of this season were mostly of legitimate and frankly common sense writing decisions and now that I've gone over all that - I thought I would share the few criticisms I do have for this season, starting with the one I think is the most damning:

The theme of gentrification being treated like a footnote.

In season 1 there was a very purposeful commentary on the implications of Carmy taking over The Bear, and immediately changing the culture of the kitchen to reflect his own, very high-end, culinary background. At one point there's a drive-by shooting and their front window gets shot out. Sugar asks about calling the cops and everyone but her immediately shuts it down. Sugar is a white woman currently living in what appears to be a more middle-class suburban area of Chicago, and so naturally she doesn't see any problem with calling the police. Everyone else understands why the police, under no circumstances, should be called.

Richie dwells on "the delicate ecosystem" of this specific corner of Chicago changing. He comments on how changing any tiny thing has devastating consequences. He brings up the statue without a face that was placed on top of what used to be the tallest building in Chicago and how so many buildings have become that tall since that everyone can tell she doesn't have a face. This is a very astute metaphor for the soullessness of a gentrified Chicago. Richie also mourns the loss of a pub down the street, not because he frequented it but because it was a staple. It had always been there, and now it was forced to close.

In this same episode, the people who hang out on that street have begun crowding closer to The Beef, and when Richie approaches one of them, he asks Richie, "Are you going to call the cops?" and Richie is offended, and says, "I would never." The person explains they can't hang out where they normally do because of construction - a newer, flashier institution is being built on that street and displacing the very people who occupy it. These same people who hang out on that street get in a dispute, and once again, calling the cops is not an option. Richie panics, trying to find his gun to scare them off, and Sydney resolves the issue by promising to feed them every Tuesday as long as they keep the peace. At the end of the episode, Richie steps out to smoke a cigarette, and down the street police cars roll up with their sirens flashing, and Richie shakes his head.

This episode beautifully showcases the value of community organization, as well as the harms of gentrification.

It would stand to reason that in following seasons The Bear would have continued exploring the implications of these characters opening a high-end - potentially Michelin-star no less - restaurant in the same building that was once The Beef, where regulars frequented and where employees weren't expected to provide impeccable, inhuman service. The people who worked at The Beef were allowed to yell, to swear, to be conversational with customers, and the regulars were regular entirely because they could afford the food. The atmosphere of The Beef, however unprofessional, however classless, was human, and once again a place for community.

But in the following season, the decision to keep the restaurant window open during the day so that the regulars can still buy food from the old menu is treated like a band-aid solution to the entire theme of gentrification, and there's little more said about it. The very characters who were once allowed to be imperfect and human and on equal footing with their customers now must dedicate themselves to impeccable, inhuman levels of "service."

And while I will say that "Forks" is possibly one of my favorite episodes in the whole show, maybe even my favorite, and that I get deeply emotional every time I watch it because it is just so beautiful, the way it takes a job - being a server - that most people have little regard for, and most people dread doing, and present it as something rewarding, and fulfilling, and deeply meaningful - I'm nevertheless critical of romanticizing that level of service, especially given that that level of service is functionally required because of how expensive the restaurant is, making the beauty of finding purpose in service about serving the ruling class, rather than just serving others, or serving your community.

The episode "Forks" draws attention to the idea that the reason these servers can do this is because "everyday you make someone's day" and on top of that, they show people being informed that their meal that night was "on the house." This is not the reality for most people dining in these restaurants. In real life, most people dining in these restaurants are not having a once-in-a-lifetime experience that they've saved for and dreamed about - it's Tuesday to them, because they're so filthy rich, they can do this kind of thing whenever they want. And of course, most guests aren't going to be told their meal is on the house - this can't ever be the case, because the entire purpose of everything about the restaurant that makes it such an experience is money.

I understand why this side of things wasn't explored in the episode "Forks," which needed, for the sake of Richie's character arc, to be as romanticized and inspiring as it was, and I wouldn't change it for the world. But there was more than enough room to make a more purposeful commentary about this side of "service" and this side of "high-end" restaurants in season 3 - and there's nothing. There was even more room in season 2 elsewhere - and again. Nothing. Even when Sydney is researching for The Bear menu and becoming overwhelmed with how many restaurants are closing - this is not touched on in order to continue a commentary on gentrification or capitalism. The only purpose of it is to demonstrate the stakes for The Bear.

And then on top of this, they are opening this restaurant in the wake of the height of the pandemic, which a lot of restaurants didn't survive, and there's no one talking about the fact that the last thing most people need post-pandemic is a high-end restaurant they can't afford to go to. There's no commentary on how part of the reason restaurants are dying as much as they are is because people literally just can't afford to eat out anymore.

Now...any time I'm critical of some component of a written work, I have to make the distinction: "Do I dislike this because it's bad writing, or do I simply dislike it?"

in this case, I think I would have leaned toward, "I just dislike it," except for the fact that they bothered to introduce the theme. If Storer had, from the beginning, purposefully decided that his story wasn't about gentrification, and wasn't going to explore it - I still would have disliked it. I still would have thought it was an oversight, and a missed opportunity -

But it was introduced. It was very purposefully explored in season 1, and it was explored beautifully. And then they slapped a narrative band-aid on it and moved on, as if serving sandwiches through a drive-by window during the day completely tied up that narrative thread. To me, it screams, "If I want to write about people opening a high-end restaurant in Chicago, people are going to expect me to acknowledge the implications of that, so here. I talked about it. Can I write my story now?" It's just so...tacked on. It's the narrative equivalent of a diversity-hire. Like Storer was just checking an obligation off a list. And now, the writing is worse for it, I think.

There are times when the story comes close to touching on it again, and other times when there was so much opportunity to. We see Tina struggling to find a new job after being let go from her place of employment of fifteen years. Storer took the time to show us this and then really didn't say anything with it. We understand how important this restaurant is to Tina now, how much she can't afford for it to fail - but this still doesn't really say anything about the standard of living in Chicago. The fact that it's set so far in the past begs for a modern comparison, begs for something to be said about how much worse it's gotten since, and why - and yet, nothing.

Marcus's mother needed full-time medical care. Marcus was also already employed at The Beef before Carmy arrived, and it doesn't appear that he or anyone else in his family has any other source of income. He has a roommate, which would ease living expenses, but wouldn't do anything to help with medical debt, and the fact that he has a roommate also demonstrates that he couldn't afford to live on his own. There's no way he was getting paid that well at The Beef - and did employment at The Beef come with any benefits? Health insurance? Not a chance. Yet in season three, the reason this restaurant is so important to Marcus is because his mom wanted it for him. That's a lovely sentiment - but I'm also left baffled by the decision to at no point bring up the cost of his mom's healthcare, and the debt Marcus is likely swimming in.

There were opportunities to use both Tina's and Marcus's backgrounds to contribute more to the gentrification commentary. It would have provided a juxtaposition - yes, it's unfortunate the neighborhood is being gentrified, but look at how it's potentially benefitting and providing hope to these impoverished people. But once again, Storer doesn't make any obvious effort to continue exploring this theme. He is treating it as though it's been wrapped up, as though he's said everything he needs to say, as though he ticked off the "gentrification elephant in the room" box and is now free to ignore the same setting and circumstances he purposefully chose to set his story in.

It is, in my opinion, wasted narrative potential and a huge oversight on Storer's part. Frankly, I think it's possible this story, when finished, will miss its own point, or at least part of its own point, if Storer continues to treat this theme like it's been taken care of already. I'm holding out hope that he's building toward this conversation again, that he at some point does something with Tina's and Marcus's background, that he maybe even explores Sydney's feelings about it, and possibly uses it to develop her character in an interesting way...but I'm not holding my breath.

#the bear #the bear fx #sorry I was initially going to include all my criticism on this same post #but this is already so long that I'm going to leave it and just make a different additional post #long post

21 notes · View notes

partyanimal167 · 5 months

Note

Grimmjow as a professional chef 👀

As a professional chef myself...I can totally see it.

(Not proofread because its 2am and I haven't taken my melatonin yet)

Chef! Grimmjow Headcanons~

First things first, Grimmjow did not plan on being in the restaurant industry (like most people). He was just trying to make some cash, but it was quickly made clear that customers were not safe even with him as a busboy. He got quickly relocated to back of house.

Now, this wasn't an immediate solution since Grimmjow's nature leads him to rebel against authority. However, he quickly learned that he couldn't intimidate the chefs in the kitchen, and they'd just bark more tasks and curses his way when he was a brat.

Grimmjow still butted heads with the servers (Ichigo). He could have "patience" for real mistakes, but forgetting to put allergies on a ticket? Come on, we're not trying to kill people!

As his career went on, Grimmjow was still hotheaded but passionate.

He chugs Monsters and Bangs like no one's business, but who could blame him? He at least kicked that smoking habit.

Grimmjow works at a fairly popular restaurant in the city known for its Mediterranean cuisine. He likes working with a lot of fresh produce and local vendors.

Grimmjow tends to get himself in trouble because he will hire fresh grads or inexperienced folks on the street. Some have potential, but when they no-call/no-show or simply not care, Grimmjow will lose his shit. He won't say it but he tries to give others a chance because he got one.

All the profanity. (No slurs, duh)

Listens to old school rock playlist while prepping. Lo-fi when placing orders.

Will get a beer with the team occasionally.

Grimmjow isn't sure what he'll do when he leaves the industry. His back hurts, and his feet are fucked. But he's happy he's here.

~~~~~~

-whispering- don't self-project, don't self-project, don't self-project

Lol

#bleach #grimmjow jaegerjaquez #bleach headcanons #bleach fanfiction #asks #requests #chef fics #modern au #mine #one piece #partyanimal167 #chef au

19 notes · View notes

lifestyleblogeruk · 1 year

Text

The Beauty and Benefits of Bespoke Kitchens: Why Customization Matters

In the world of kitchen design, the concept of one-size-fits-all is rapidly becoming a thing of the past. Homeowners today are looking for unique and personalized spaces that cater to their individual tastes, lifestyle, and functional needs. This growing demand has led to the rise of bespoke kitchens, where customization is the key to creating a truly exceptional kitchen space. In this blog, we will explore the beauty and numerous benefits of bespoke kitchens, and understand why customization matters more than ever.

1. Personalized Design: At the heart of bespoke kitchens lies the concept of personalized design. Unlike generic off-the-shelf kitchen options, bespoke kitchens are tailor-made to suit your specific preferences. From the layout to the materials used, every aspect of the kitchen can be customized to reflect your unique style. Whether you have a love for classic elegance, a penchant for modern minimalism, or a desire for a cozy rustic vibe, a bespoke kitchen can bring your vision to life.

A bespoke kitchen allows you to be the master of your own design, giving you the freedom to choose the colors, finishes, and overall aesthetics that resonate with your personality. This level of personalization ensures that your kitchen becomes an extension of yourself, making it a joy to spend time in and showcase to family and friends.

2. Tailored Features: Another significant advantage of bespoke kitchens is the ability to incorporate tailored features that match your specific requirements. A professional kitchen designer works closely with you to understand your needs, habits, and workflow in the kitchen. With this knowledge, they can create a layout that optimizes functionality and maximizes the use of available space.

Custom cabinetry is a hallmark of bespoke kitchens. From the size and style of cabinets to the type of storage solutions, every detail is carefully planned to suit your lifestyle. Whether you need extra-deep drawers for pots and pans, pull-out shelves for easy access, or specialized compartments for your unique kitchen tools, bespoke kitchens have got you covered.

3. Quality Craftsmanship: Bespoke kitchens are a testament to superior craftsmanship. Experienced artisans and skilled designers collaborate to bring your vision to life, using high-quality materials and techniques. The result is a kitchen that not only looks stunning but also stands the test of time.

Unlike mass-produced options, where quality may be compromised to meet cost constraints, bespoke kitchens prioritize excellence in design and construction. The attention to detail, precision, and passion invested in crafting each element of your kitchen ensure that you receive a product of unparalleled quality and durability.

4. Unparalleled Elegance: Elegance is a defining feature of bespoke kitchens. The thoughtful integration of various design elements, meticulous attention to detail, and careful selection of finishes create a seamless and aesthetically pleasing environment.

From luxurious countertops to exquisite hardware and stylish lighting fixtures, every element in a bespoke kitchen is carefully curated to complement the overall design. The result is a kitchen space that exudes sophistication and refinement, making it a true centerpiece of your home.

5. Enhanced Functionality: Functionality is at the core of every bespoke kitchen design. By working closely with a professional designer, you can ensure that your kitchen layout is optimized for efficient workflow and ease of use.

Bespoke kitchens are not only visually appealing but also highly practical. Every aspect of the design is intended to enhance functionality and provide a seamless cooking and meal preparation experience. From smart storage solutions to ergonomic design principles, your bespoke kitchen will cater to your needs and make everyday tasks a breeze.

6. Value Addition: Investing in a bespoke kitchen is not just about creating a beautiful space for yourself; it's also an investment in your property. Bespoke kitchens add significant value to a home, making it more attractive to potential buyers in the real estate market.

Buyers today appreciate the level of craftsmanship and customization offered by bespoke kitchens. They understand that a tailored kitchen provides not only aesthetic appeal but also practicality and long-term durability. As a result, a well-designed bespoke kitchen can set your home apart from others and potentially increase its market value.

7. Sustainability and Environmental Consciousness: In recent years, there has been a growing emphasis on sustainable living and eco-friendly practices. Bespoke kitchens align well with this trend. Custom-made kitchen cabinetry and furniture often use locally sourced and sustainable materials, reducing the carbon footprint associated with transportation.

Additionally, bespoke kitchens allow for smart space planning and better utilization of available resources. By optimizing storage and minimizing waste, bespoke kitchens contribute to a more sustainable lifestyle.

8. Embracing Smart Technology: As technology continues to play a significant role in our lives, bespoke kitchens are no exception. Homeowners can integrate smart appliances, lighting, and other technology-driven solutions seamlessly into their customized kitchen design.

Smart technology in bespoke kitchens offers numerous benefits, from energy efficiency to enhanced convenience. Imagine controlling your kitchen's lighting and appliances through your smartphone or voice commands, making cooking and entertaining more enjoyable than ever before.

9. A Reflection of Your Lifestyle: Your kitchen is more than just a place to cook; it's the heart of your home, where memories are made, and gatherings happen. Bespoke kitchens have the power to reflect your lifestyle and the way you use this vital space.

Whether you're an avid home chef, a busy parent, or someone who loves to entertain, a customized kitchen can be designed to suit your specific needs. By incorporating features and amenities that align with your lifestyle, a bespoke kitchen becomes an expression of who you are and how you live.

10. The Joy of Creativity: Designing a bespoke kitchen is an opportunity to unleash your creativity and imagination. You get to work with skilled professionals who can bring your ideas to life, collaborating to create a space that is truly one-of-a-kind.

From selecting materials and colors to deciding on the perfect layout, the process of creating a bespoke kitchen can be immensely fulfilling. It's a chance to make choices that resonate with you and create an environment that feels like home in every sense of the word.

Conclusion: Bespoke kitchens offer a level of beauty, functionality, and personalization that is unmatched by their mass-produced counterparts. The ability to personalize every aspect of the design, the use of top-quality materials, and the attention to detail make bespoke kitchens a valuable investment.

Customization matters because it empowers homeowners to create a kitchen that aligns with their lifestyle, reflects their unique style, and enhances their daily experiences. A bespoke kitchen is not just a space for cooking; it's a sanctuary, a place to connect, and a testament to exceptional design and craftsmanship.

If you're looking to create a kitchen that speaks to your soul and makes you fall in love with cooking all over again, consider the beauty and benefits of bespoke kitchens. Take this opportunity to collaborate with professionals who understand your vision and can turn it into reality.

At the end of the day, a bespoke kitchen is not just a room in your house; it's an expression of who you are. Embrace the power of customization, and let your kitchen tell a story that is uniquely yours Contact us!

#Custom Kitchen #Tailor-Made Kitchen #Personalized Kitchen #Handcrafted Kitchen #Bespoke Cabinetry #Customized Kitchen Design #Unique Kitchen Concepts #Custom-built Kitchen #Exclusive Kitchen Solutions #Custom Kitchen Cabinets #Custom Kitchen Furniture #Luxury Kitchen Design #Custom Kitchen Remodeling #Custom Kitchen Appliances #Custom Kitchen Finishes #Bespoke Kitchen Showroom

0 notes

j0kers-light · 4 days

Note

OMFG CHAOS! ♡ ︎♡ ︎♡ ︎

I am obsessed with your version of airhead!reader!! She's so soft and naive and ahhhh! 😝 I see alot of myself in her and I was thinking bout a request where J snaps at her probably for no reason, this is J he's always being a big meanie! Maybe she runs off and he has to calm her down somehow? I know you will come up with something better than I can! I love your writing!!!!1 Oh and pls take your time girly no pressure if you don't wanna write this! 💕

Luv you Chaos !! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

Hey hi my lovely anon! 🖤✨

I'm so happy you loved airhead!reader, I'm always self conscious about writing for a pink aesthetic since I hate that color with a passion 😤 but, this ain't about me. You asked and I shall deliver!

I hope you enjoy anon! I wrote this while bedridden from my period, so if there are any errors haha no there isn't 😉

After your unexpected visit to Joker’s hideout with your bright smile and tasty sweets, you are welcomed with open arms by his crew.

They can’t help but love your adoring personality!

Joker might not like you around his organization, but he can’t deny you anything if it makes you happy. And being apart (a tiny part) makes you very, very happy 🥰

You waltz in almost every Friday with baked treats for everyone to enjoy, bringing rays of sunshine with you. ☀️✨

The goons let you play Mario Kart with a customized pink controller and include you in on juicy gossip around the hideout to keep you company while Joker is out terrorizing the city.

However, more often than not, you are left to your own devices because everyone is busy.

And that spells trouble because you don’t understand the concept of danger. At. All. 🙃

You wander the hideout and unknowingly meddle in things that should be left alone.

You almost got hurt from a few well placed boobytrap and you almost burned down the abandoned kitchen after trying to light the oven.

That thing has seen better days decades ago but you swore you could fix it. You of all people...

Joker isn’t happy. His Sunlight is a magnet for danger and he honestly wishes you would stay far farrrrr away from his operations but again.

When has he ever said no to his sweet girl? It’s virtually impossible, so you keep visiting much to his annoyance.

Joker’s solution is to lock you inside his office but that soon backfires when you throw a tantrum and somehow hurt yourself.

He’s more annoyed that you broke his favorite office chair so when you whine that you’re in pain? Oh Joker has had enough.

Joker came back from an unsuccessful mission to loud sobs coming from his office. Frost shrugged his shoulders before uttering, “I don’t get paid enough.” as he walked off.

Pussy. Fine, Joker could handle this! He wasn’t terrified of you..

When he opened the door and saw you sitting on the floor with his broken chair lying in pieces around you, his already limited patience evaporated like vapor.

“What did ya get into now?” He groaned.

You sobered up your tears and tried to greet Joker but the large cut on your leg stung too much so you remain seated. You weren’t expecting J to be in such a nasty mood.

“Are ya too dumb to speak, Y/n? I asked a question?” He rolled his eyes when your lower lip wobbled.

Sure you were a bit ditzy, but Joker never insulted you about it. To hear him belittle you at a time like this, hurt more than falling out of the chair.

You tried to respond but apparently not fast enough for J’s liking.

“You wouldn’t be sitting there lookin’ stupid if ya stayed at home! Whyy do I keep you around?”

The last part was said under his breath but you heard it loud and clear and it shattered your heart.

You ignored the pain and ran out of Joker’s office, a sobbing mess. He waved you off and set to work cleaning up the mess you left behind. He’d deal with you later.

When he reached down to pick up a broken piece, it sliced through his hand and made him hiss. It didn’t hurt him but that wasn’t the case for you.

His sweet Sunlight with your low tolerance to pain. It must’ve been agonizing. Seeing droplets of blood on the floor made him feel instant guilt.

Joker knew he messed up and chased after you to make things right.

You were startled awake by something soft brushing against your lips.

You almost freaked my but stopped the second you saw Joker laying on the bed beside you, spinning a flower in between his fingers.

He brushed it along the tear tracks that stained your cheeks, “I hate when ya cry…”

J sucked at apologizing but you knew by his sheepish behavior, that it was genuine. He didn’t know how to say, I’m sorry. So he found other ways.

It wouldn’t kill him to say it and you fixed your lips to help him out when the same flower trailed down your cheek, past your lips, and slipped straight to your leg.

You’re shocked to see that it was cleaned up and a pretty pink bandaid was covering the wound you had from earlier. You were speechless. Did J do that for you?

Joker watched you pensively as he brushed the wound with the flower. “I was mad earlier n’ took it out on you. I uh.. I didn’t mean what I said.. mkay? Kisses?”

He nudged a giant bouquet of flowers you didn’t notice closer to you on the bed and waited for your response. He looked absolutely pitiful, expecting your forgiveness.

What Joker said to you was really hurtful however he didn’t have to treat your wound or buy you flowers as an apology. With Joker, actions spoke louder than words so you knew he was truly sorry for being mean.

You couldn’t stand his green puppy dog eyes any longer. You never stayed mad at J for too long.

He breathed a sigh of relief when you leaned in to kiss him but panicked when you pulled away rather abruptly, “Don’t ever call me stupid again.” You warned.

Joker frantically nodded, “M’promise pretty girl, I won’t.”

#thanks anon!#thanks for the ask!#swf headcanon #soft girl vibes #ledger joker #ledger joker x reader #joker x y/n #heath ledger #heath joker #joker x black!reader #joker x you #joker x reader #heath ledger!joker #ledger!joker x reader #heath ledger joker x reader #ledger!joker #pink aesthetic #soft joker loading

14 notes · View notes

mactavishwritings · 2 years

Note

hi! could you maybe write a soap/reader where the reader comes back home after a bad day and he comforts them? lots of fluff please.. thank you :,) ♥️

anything for you :,) i may be projecting a lil here but ignore it.

The Scottish Solution

You loved your job. You absolutely did, but sometimes it sucked the life out of you. Most days felt like a repeat; you would get up, go to work, get yelled at by people with no reason to, go home, sleep, and do it all over again.

Today was no different. You had gotten up, but when you had gotten to work, it was a shit show. You spent the first half of your shift doing damage control and cleaning up other peoples' messes. You then tried to soothe the angry customers just to be screamed at by multiple people about uncontrollable issues.

By the end, your head and jaw were pounding and you were on the verge of tears. you drove home in silence, gripping the steering wheel so hard that your knuckles had turned white.

You pulled into the driveway and parked your car. You rested your head on the steering wheel, letting the pent up tears fall down. You sobbed quietly for about 5 minutes until you finally felt human enough to get up.

You gathered your things and walked into the unexpectantly warm house. "Doll? That you?" You hear Soap call out and you followed his voice into the kitchen. "Listen, I know I can't cook, but I tried and it did burn a little. I tried my hardest this time to....What happened?" He immediately came to your side after seeing your red eyes and tense shoulders.

Soap scooped you up into his arms and you threw your arms around his neck. "I'm here. What's botherin' ya?" He gently whispered to you, kissing the side and top of your head repeatedly. Your grip tightened on him and he nodded.

"Bad day? I got ya. Let me order up somethin' and take care of ya." Soap brought you towards the living room couch and set you down on it. After convincing you to let go of him, he wrapped you up in a blanket. "I ain't goin' nowhere. Just to take care of the food I burnt and grab my phone, yeah?" You nodded, rubbing your eyes.

"I could smell that something was burnt when I walked in."

"Oh fuck off. Was tryin' be nice for ya!" You giggled and soon he was sitting down beside you, showing you places to order from on his phone. Once you picked a place, he picked you up again and brought you to the bathroom where he demanded you shower while he picked out "warm cozies for ya to wear." You told him you were tell Ghost he said that, which made him laugh.

After your shower, the food arrived and the two of you sat on the couch. You told him all about your day, saying the words "fuck that place and everyone in it" about 3 different times.

#request #johnny mactavish x you #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish #johnny soap mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap mw2 #soap fluff #mw2 x reader

291 notes · View notes

davidnorton · 2 years

Text

Commercial Office Décor Services to Transform Your Workspaces

A modern office décor is a must if you want to transform your workspace. Modern kitchen designs Australia can be a great way to bring life and energy into your workplace. It can also help you to make the most of your time by adding personality and character to your workspace. However, it’s important to consider what kind of décor you are looking for before you commit to anything too big or too small. If you want something that will be comfortable and easy to move around in, then you should look for something that will fit into your work space well. If you want something that will be a little more formal and formal than the rest of your commercial office fitouts Brisbane then you should look for something that will fit with other pieces in the office. One thing you should remember when looking for a modern kitchen design is that so many different kinds of furniture are out there! You could have a simple wooden desk with some chairs around it, or an industrial desk with some chairs around it. Whatever furniture you decide on, ensure it fits into your workspace well and will be easy to move around.

Office kitchen cabinets Gold Coast are a great way to transform your workspace. They can be used to create an updated and more functional environment. They can also be used to create a more stylish and comfortable work environment. Including office décor services in your overall design process is one of the most efficient methods to leverage their services. By incorporating office décor services into your overall design process, you can ensure that you are creating a fully functional workspace that is both attractive and functional. For instance, you would need to incorporate some of the following components into your entire design process if you wanted to establish a gallery of modern kitchen designs:

- A central desk area with a clear workspace area

- A clear area for filing documents

- A clear area for working with colleagues and clients

- A clear area for meeting with clients

- A clear area for meeting with other employees

- A clear space for storage (e.g., filing cabinets)

- A clear space for meeting with clients or other employees The first two elements of this list should be included in any initial design process. After the initial design process is complete, these elements can be added to the final product as needed.

Designing your workspace is challenging, but plenty of tools can help you achieve your goals. The best office décor services can transform your workspace and make it more inviting. Here are some of the best office décor services:

1. Create a unique environment with furniture, decorations, and other accessories.

2. Create a welcoming environment by decorating your workspace with artwork, photos, posters, and other design elements.

3. Create a comfortable environment by adding seating and storage to your workspace.

4. Add accessories such as lamps, coffee tables, and other furniture to create an inviting environment that will keep you occupied for hours.

5. Add accessories such as lamps, coffee tables, and other furniture to create an inviting environment that will keep you occupied for hours.

Conclusion

Commercial office fit out companies are an essential part of any office. It can be a great way to create a unique space that reflects your company’s personality. It also creates a welcoming, inviting environment that will keep you interested and focused on your work.

0 notes

canon-in-too-deep · 4 months

Text

Love Comes With Extra Pickles

I've decided to release the beginning of my unfinished Durgetash fast food au out onto my tumblr, where it may overgraze and ruin the landscape as it roams. Love Comes With Extra Pickles A modern day fast food Baldur's Gate au. Rating: T Relationship: Gortash/Dark Urge (called Tav) Wordcount: ~3.6k (Also I wrote this around Christmas so, uh, that's why there's some weird holiday references)

Beginning below the break.

It was a muggy day in early December. The overcast weather made the sea look like a gray silk sheet tossed out into the wind, and the once vibrant colors of fall were now muted as the promise of rain clung to the air.

Enver Gortash climbed off his silver motorcycle, and tucked his helmet away as he stretched his legs in the parking lot of Hellrider’s Kitchen. The smell of french fries and grease mingled with that of saltwater. Fast food wasn't his preferred fare, but after a long day at work and then a tedious commute of weaving between rows of traffic, he wanted to just grab something quick to eat before he headed back to his loft.

It had been ages since he’d last been in a Hellrider’s Kitchen, Gortash mused, as he twirled his keys in one hand and strolled towards the entrance. The franchise had exploded out of Elturel and now had at least one shop in every city of the Sword Coast. Their food tended towards the spicier side of things, but it was a flavor that Gortash had long grown up with, and he at least preferred spicy to the slimy and briny slop they served over at Balduran’s Burgers (‘Baldurans’ Burgers, Eat Like An Emperor!’ was their trite slogan). It was a quick and efficient solution to sate his hunger and refuel his caffeine stores when his awaiting fridge was empty and the nearest Coffee Grove was overflowing with a line of hippies and teens—two demographics he didn't care to endure over any period of time.

The electronic doorbell dinged as he crossed the threshold of the eatery, passing the cardboard cutout of a caricature knight astride a disproportionate horse. A crimson, fur trimmed santa hat had been placed atop the knight’s helmeted head—a touch of holiday cheer amidst the glaring fluorescent lights that bounced off the red, yellow, and white tiles of the floor.

Gortash’s gaze flickered over the half filled plastic tables and stools that were scattered across the left side of the eatery. To the right, prop shields and swords that looked like they belonged on a C-list medieval movie set were hung up on the wall, bracketing the framed certification that promised that this establishment had, at one point, been deemed suitable enough to serve consumables in. A few more cheap attempts at decor in the form of tacky tinsel garlands and strings of tiny bells adorned the counter, in front of which was a short queue of customers that curved out around black stanchions topped with striped bows.

Gortash took up his place at the back of the line and absently checked his phone, flipping through the tedious emails from work he'd have to respond to and deleting the incoherent text messages from Orin that were mostly just gorey pics she'd found on the internet—at least, he hoped she had found them on the internet.

He opened up the group chat and checked to see if Thorm had finally sent the confirmation info he had asked for.

Ketheric Thorm [4:58 PM]

I have finalized the deal with the Zhents. - Ketheric Thorm

Enver Gortash [5:00 PM]

Good. Send us the receipt. Ketheric Thorm [5:07 PM]

How do I do that? - Ketheric Thorm Enver Gortash [5:07 PM] Thorm. Save the image of the receipt. Then go to this group chat and pick the photo you want to send. Ketheric Thorm [5:17 PM] How do I save it? - Ketheric Thorm Enver Gortash [5:17 PM] Tap and hold, then click ‘Save To Photos’.

Ketheric Thorm [5:28 PM] Now how do I proceed to show the group? - Ketheric Thorm Enver Gortash [5:29 PM] You’re in the group chat now. Click the button in the bottom corner and select the image of the receipt. Hit send.

Ketheric Thorm [5:46 PM]

What button? - Ketheric Thorm

Orin de Red [5:47 PM]

OMFG THE BUTTON THAT LOOKS LIKE A CAMERA YOU SHRIVELED SACK OF SINEW

Accompanying Orin’s last text was a dozen knife emojis followed by a dozen heart emojis. And Ketheric still hadn't sent the copy of the receipt. Gortash punched the bridge of his nose, closed the chat and tucked his phone back into his pocket.

He sighed. He was never truly off the clock when it came to his job at Bane, Bhaal, & Myrkul. Climbing the ranks of the company had long been his goal, one that he had utterly devoted himself. Over the years, he had clawed and charmed his way to the top to serve as Bane’s personal chosen assistant, snatching up whatever control and power he could find along the way. Unfortunately, his position under Bane meant working closely with the right hands of the other two partners in the company. And that meant managing Ketheric’s tediousness while simultaneously wrangling Orin’s madness, and praying that their brittle workplace relationship would endure long enough until Gortash got his next promotion. Still, he could deal with his inept colleagues after he’d sated his appetite and refueled on caffeine.

At last, the person in front of him finally paid and got out of the way. Gortash stepped up to the register, glancing at the menu board hanging above the counter.

“Welcome to Hellrider’s Kitchen,” came the empty enthusiasm of the cashier. “We swear an oath to flavor. What can I get you today?”

“I'll have a number three and an extra large coff—” Gortash eyes widened as he looked at the cashier, and he suddenly froze.

There, right in front of him, was none other than Tav. Tav.

Tav, Bhaal’s favorite child. The one that the senior partner had hand chosen and trained to rise through the ranks of the company. The one that had cleaned house and crushed any and every sniveling coward that dared to step out of line. The one that had combined ruthlessness and efficiency into one divine form dressed in a blazer and a killer smile. The one that had spent countless hours working alongside him, toiling away at their ambitious schemes and grand designs. The one that had fucking crushed his plans when she’d disappeared without even a goodbye.

His Tav.

Gods, how long had it been? One year? Two years? Three? It felt like their history had been dragged into the depths of eternity, but at the same time, the image he had held of her in his mind was one that felt as real and vibrant as the woman before him.

Time seemed to stop completely now as he took her in. And he saw that she was still the same. Sure, her hair was longer now and worn up in a ponytail, and she was dressed in that tacky red and yellow uniform, but she was still the same.

The same nose that seemed to wrinkle up in unfettered judgment. The same lips that pressed together and looked like they could utter gut wrenching curses or sneering false praises. And the same eyes, that were so bold and defiant and utterly piercing, with an underlying glimmer of barely contained murderous annoyance.

A single syllable slipped from his uncharacteristically paralyzed lips. “...Tav?”

Her name hung in the air between them. And he felt the anticipation of the question build up, until she blinked at him, and gave her answer.

“Yes?” was all she said back.

Gortash swallowed dryly, and quickly recomposed himself, tugging down his coat collar and making sure his shirt was smoothed of any wrinkles.

“Tav,” he said again, more pointedly this time.

She glanced down at her name badge where T-A-V was written in black sharpie. Then she looked back up at him. Sounding slightly exasperated, Tav said, “Yes? That's my name. Do you need help with the menu? I recommend smiting your fries. It gets you an extra serving of our radiant ranch dipping sauce.”

Gortash frowned, and leaned forward a bit, placing his hands on the counter that separated them. “Tav, it's Enver Gortash. Surely you must remember me.”

She blinked.

“Oh.” She parted her lips hesitantly. “Uh, yea, sorry, I don't. I had an accident a few years back, and my memory's been a bit of a mess since.”

“When you didn’t show up at Moonrise, I… I thought you'd left me,” Gortash said to her, completely ignoring the line behind him.

“I what?” Tav’s brow scrunched up. “Look, whoever you thought you knew, that was a long time ago and I'm a different person now. I think. Or so I've been told. Anyway, I'm sorry if I wronged you or anything and forgot about it. Really sorry. So, if you'd like to place an order, I do have other customers that—

“Hells, Tav, I've missed you,” Gortash said, eyes only on her. “Come back with me.”

“Uuuuh like I said, I don't know you, dude,” Tav said. “Sorry if I forgot, but if you're not going to order anything, I have to ask you to step out of the line.”

“Forget the goddamn line,” Gortash said, leaning in closer. Tav backed away, squirming behind the register. “You have to remember me. Tav, we were good for each other, we could still be good for each other—”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, mister.” “We were on the cusp of perfection, you and I. We were poised to take over the entire company—” “Sure, sure. Look, I have other customers waiting—” “Tav, you were my favorite fellow assistant at the company. I tolerated Orin, but I liked you—”

Tav backed away from the counter and gave him a sharp look. “I'm getting my manager.”

“Wait!” Gortash reached out for her, but the counter was in the way. He let his hand fall back to his side. A thousand questions and a million commands roared through his mind, but a resigned sigh was all that came out. “Just…give me the number three with an extra large coffee.”

She eyed him cautiously. Then took a small step forward. “Will that be for here or to go?”

There was a pause as he gritted his teeth.

“...to go.”

She rang him up. He took out his wallet and paid.

As he took his receipt, he looked her in the eyes, and with a tinge of bitterness on the tip of his tongue, he said, “Keep the change.”

~~~

Tav squirmed behind the register as Enver Gortash stared at her from beneath his tousled black hair, dark gaze emphasized further by the dark circles under his eyes. He looked like one of the shaggy raccoons that kept trying to get into the dumpster out back, as he stood stiffly by the counter and waited for his order. That thought might have made her laugh, if she weren't so mortified.

She did her best to remain professional, and kept punching away at the keypad as the next customer placed their order. Working at a fast food chain meant she had experienced her fair share of weirdos. But having to deal with this particular weirdo was making her heart race beneath the cheap cloth of her button up uniform. Tav chewed her lip.

Gortash had seemed to buy into her lie, at least.

And it had been a lie.

Because, while Tav had actually been in an accident two years back—which had led to her cutting herself off from her own family, starting therapy with Withers, and completely changing her worldview—her bad memory was not so bad as to forget her ex.

Her bloody ex. Gortash.

Her Gortash. Tav cursed her luck.

The Enver Gortash she remembered would never have popped into a fast food joint like this. He had been brilliant and arrogant and callous and cutthroat, and keen to show off with the wealth and influence he had built for himself. Cheap burgers and coffee were the sort of late night comfort foods she would have been the one to bring to their dates to mock him with. But never him. He would have taken her out to the fanciest restaurant with more stars to its name than one could see in the smoggy city skies. And he would have smirked at her from across the table and poured her wine older than both of them as they laughed and planned and performed their dance as Bane and Bhaal’s chosen ones. Yet, here he was, in the middle of Hellrider’s Kitchen, dressed in a gaudy leather jacket and a black button up shirt that had far too many buttons undone, standing so out of place against the brightly colored cheesy decor.

Gortash looked the same. Same carefully tousled hair, same five o clock shadow, same blue steel eyes so dark they were almost black. The clothes might have been a bit fancier. And the circles underneath his eyes seemed to be a bit darker than they had been before, with a few more creases joining them around the edges. But he was still the same.

Tav tried not to sweat from the heat of the grill and the intensity of his gaze. Her panicked lie had been a half truth; the initial shock of the accident had left her mind scrambled. Ever since, she always forgot what she needed when she went to the grocery store unless she brought a list. But the accident hadn’t been so bad as to completely erase the unofficial relationship she had been in with her father’s business partner’s (decently) handsome and (relatively) young assistant.

Instead, that accident had been a wake up call for Tav. In life or death experiences, some people claimed to see a white light, or a flashback of all their past deeds. What Tav had seen instead had been a reflection of herself, hollow and empty in the reflection of the doctor’s visor. And she looked utterly miserable, alone, and bitter. That was the first step. The first step, towards realizing that there was more to life than making money and amassing influence through the suffering of others. That the cutthroat, cruel world her father wanted her in wasn’t the one that she wanted. That she yearned for a relationship not built upon power plays and manipulation, but a genuine one, full of compassion and hope.

She knew that it started out as selfish. And yes, even two years later, she still knew she had a very long way to go to truly be a better person. But the more she strayed from her father and his company—and the more she spent time practicing empathy and compassion—the more she began to think that she could maybe, truly, someday, become worthy of being a better person. And that small kernel of hope kept her going.

With her new outlook, came new friends. And her new friends were an important, guiding influence on her, teaching her that people could actually care, without money or power or influence hanging over their heads like a guillotine, and that she could care in turn. They had been the ones to really show her how bad the environment at Bane, Bhaal, and Myrkul’s had been.

As for Gortash—well, he was so devoted to the company that surely he would have continued to be just as bad an influence on her if she’d stayed in touch. He was a prick and an arse. He got good people like Karlach fired and his morality was as loose as his half-laced shirt. He was a controlling, manipulative bastard who had only tolerated Tav in so much as she had been brutal and cruel herself. And he would have tried to drag her back down to the depths she was trying to escape. Or so she told herself.

Really, when she’d deleted his number and blocked him two years ago, she had figured he would have moved on and forgotten her in turn. That he would prove to be just as selfish and apathetic and incapable of love as she’d tried to convince herself that he was.

But now, Gortash’s words echoed in her ears, as she counted out change to pass to the customer in front of her.

‘I tolerated Orin, but I liked you.’ Why did he have to come back, after all this time, when she had worked so hard to build a new life for herself out of the shadows of depravity and the cycle of viciousness she had been entrenched in? Why did he have to speak to her with such fervor in his voice that made her question ever leaving him behind?

She felt shame and guilt stir up in her just as much as embarrassment. One look at him and she was backsliding into her deceitful ways. He made a hypocrite of her. She knew this. But she did not know what else he would make of her if he knew the truth.

“Ahem. Tav. I seem to have come off stronger than I intended.”

Tav blinked again, and realized that the line had cleared, and Gortash had taken the opportunity of the gap to approach her at the counter once more. “I do apologize for my enthusiasm. Orin said you’d left me, but I never forgot about you,” he said, in that low sultry voice of his that settled so familiarly in the depths of Tav’s chest like a fine sip of whiskey. “If the past is lost to you, let me clear up some mysteries, then. We share so much history.”

“Uh, no thanks,” she said as politely as she could.

He gave her a look that she couldn’t quite read. It might have been disappointment, or it might have been calculating, or it might have been something far away in between.

“Well, at least let me give you my number in case you change your mind,” Gortash said. And he pulled out a black wallet with a golden clasp. He plucked a sharply printed business card from the folds, and slid it across the counter towards her. Tav glanced down at it. Her heart continued to drum a rapid beat. “Look, I—” She was cut off, as her coworker came up next to her and plopped a tray on the counter. “Order for Gor-trash!”

“Gortash,” the man in question corrected, irritably. Tav picked up the cup of coffee and the paper bag and practically shoved it into his arms. “Here you go, have a blessed day. Bye!” Gortash’s eyes lingered on hers, and she couldn’t help but notice the heat of his hands—her own brushing against his as she let go of the paper bag. “I’m going to take my break. Cover me,” Tav said to her coworker. And Tav logged off of the register and quickly headed towards the breakroom. Tav retreated into the breakroom and collapsed into a cracked plastic seat next to the sad Charlie Brown-esque fake Christmas tree HR had set up. Beneath the glow of the cheap twinkling lights and the harsh filters of the overhead fluorescents, she buried her head in her arms. And proceeded to have a mild crisis.

Everything was okay, Tav reminded herself, as she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to reign in and calm the flustered thoughts that were multiplying and bouncing against the sides of her skull.

Tab bit her lip. She replayed the moment when his black ice gaze had turned towards her and thawed in recognition. His surprise had ripped through that confident, composed mask he always wore, and it would have mirrored her own if she hadn't recognized him first a second sooner and had had the briefest of moments to school her expression.

Gods, her stomach felt like it was trying to unknot itself. Her palms were sweaty, and she felt like her heartbeat was playing along to “The Little Drummer Boy.”

Parum-pa-pum-pum.

Someone tapped her on her shoulder, and Tav nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Sorry! Didn't mean to scare you.” Tav glanced up, and saw one of her coworkers—Lia—peering down at her. Lia’s long dark hair fell across half her face like a curtain as she tilted her head.

“It's okay,” Tav said, giving a weak smile. “Just jittery at the end of my shift.” “Ooof, I know how that goes. Especially running the register,” Lia said with a sympathetic look. She pressed something into Tav’s hand. “By the way, you left this at the counter.” “Oh. Thanks,” Tav said, automatically. She looked down at the matte black business card. “Are you okay?” Lia asked her. “That guy wasn’t being an arse, was he?” “...he kind of was. But I kind of was, too,” Tav admitted. “Well that sounds like something juicy,” Lia said, raising her brows. “But, I totally understand if you don’t want to share. Just know, I’m sure that whatever he did was waaaay worse than what you could ever do.” “Thanks,” Tav said, and she tried to give her a small smile. She wasn’t sure if she could quite agree with that last statement. “And you know I’m totally down to stalk that guy’s socials for you and drag him for all his embarrassing pics, right?”

Tav managed a shaky laugh. “Thank you, Lia. But it’s alright. Really. Really.” “Okay, then. I better get back out there.” Lia gave her one last look, before turning and leaving the breakroom. And Tav was left to contemplate the business card in her hand. She turned it over, and traced the embossed golden letters, almost wondering if they would rub off at her touch. Enver Gortash.

He didn’t mean anything to her. Not anymore. Not after how far she had come. No, she was in a better place now. She was here. And here, he was just an annoying customer, a blip during her shift. And nothing needed to change.

Tav paused. And shook her head, flicking the business card into the trash can. She whispered her thoughts out loud to herself, as if it were a spell that would stave off the unsettled feeling her in gut.

“...nothing needs to change.”

#fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #enver gortash #gortash fic #durgetash #gortash x durge #Love Comes With Extra Pickles #my writing

11 notes · View notes