#sou says good night all

[kimbapisnotsushi]

good night to frogs, people who don't like eggs, the surface tension of grapes, the planet saturn, bangkok, rigged claw machines, my work calendar, the dust bunnies beneath your bed, the red string of fate, electric guitar riffs, stickers that have yet to be used, tv static, lunar craters, birthday cards, the sound of wind chimes, shrimp-flavored chips, postcards from the middle of nowhere, arizona tea cans, glow-in-the-dark stars, gingham, clocks that read 3:51 A.M., sudoku puzzle books, and the mysterious lights that pass overhead while we all pretend to sleep

[hecksupremechips]

I’m not deep enough in the yttd fandom to really know if this is a controversial take to have but. I think soushin is interesting. I don’t think this in a “omg wow they’re soooo in love and I want them to be together” way, not at all lol. But I think to act like it’s impossible to see a romantic/sexual aspect of their relationship is really fucking stupid. I try to refrain from acting like there’s a solid truth to their relationship cuz the game isn’t finished yet so there’s always the likelihood that we’ll get more information later, but the thing that always gets me is when ai shin mentions that hiyori claimed to be an older student at his school but he later learned that wasn’t true. It sounds so eerily like a grooming story and the way we see human shin retreating into himself In reaction to that hits really hard, like he’s embarrassed it ever happened

Then there’s stuff like the detail that hiyori would always take pictures of shin without consent and would hang them up, or the fact that hiyori kept a personal shin ai for himself that he had control over, or the way that maple is supposed to parallel shin. It all just sounds like they had a relationship that blurred the lines a lot in a way that was very uncomfortable for shin. Moments like the shin ai sobbing and Hiyori saying “no don’t be like that show me your cool side shin!” and shin reacting to that, it’s like hiyori is trying to praise shin while hurting him. Seems way too much like a common occurrence

I think also (but maybe im just projecting) that shin is pretty queer coded in a lot of ways (hot springs scene, soft-natured personality that he tries to smother, his relationship with hiyori paralleling a romantic one, etc) and I think this plays into his relationship with hiyori a lot. Because of gender roles and toxic masculinity bullshit, i really doubt shins soft personality was allowed to fly under the radar for most people, so he was isolated a lot. Hiyori probably made him feel special at first with the way he seemed to like this about shin, but it becomes pretty clear that hiyori loves to fawn over shin and treat him like a cute baby and really only loves shins personality cuz he sees it as easy to take advantage of. I think it’s really easy to imagine a scenario where shin is a closeted teenager who finally has someone he feels he can confide in and hiyori blurs the lines between romantic and platonic a lot and shin latches onto this because he wants to feel like he can be loved by another boy and thinks this is his only shot. It’s way too common and all the pieces just fit right into place, you know? And I’m aware of the line where shin says hiyori is like an older brother to him but imo I think these two things can actually perfectly coexist cuz again, theres blurring of lines going on cuz this is an abusive relationship and feelings are being toyed with constantly

Basically all this to say, I very much think it’s likely that there was a romantic and sexual aspect to this relationship going on. I wouldn’t say they were labeling themselves as boyfriends or anything, more like it was a vague mess that hiyori refused to elaborate on. I don’t ship these two cuz I think it’s pretty clear shin wants out of this relationship, but I think inherently being mad someone wants to explore the idea of them having this kinda relationship is really ignorant and is only gonna result in only shallow ass takes about abusive relationships being allowed

[mellosdrawings]

When you need to declare your love to your wife but it is so strong you can't help but revert back to french.

You know the perk of being french ? I can write Rook rambling haha !

(Though I am incapable of writing poetry, so here is the poem I used and its approximate translation:

Je respire où tu palpites,

Tu sais ; à quoi bon, hélas !

Rester là si tu me quittes,

Et vivre si tu t'en vas ?

(I breathe where you throb, you know ;

What for, alas! stay here if you leave me, and live if you go away?)

A quoi bon vivre, étant l'ombre

De cet ange qui s'enfuit ?

A quoi bon, sous le ciel sombre,

N'être plus que de la nuit ?

(What good is living, being the shadow of this fleeing angel?

What for, under the dark sky, being from the night only?)

Je suis la fleur des murailles

Dont avril est le seul bien.

Il suffit que tu t'en ailles

Pour qu'il ne reste plus rien.

(I am the flower of your walls for which April is the only good.

You only need to leave for me to be left with nothing.)

Tu m'entoures d'Auréoles;

Te voir est mon seul souci.

Il suffit que tu t'envoles

Pour que je m'envole aussi.

(You surround me with Halos;

I care only about seeing you.

You need only to take flight for me to fly too.)

Si tu pars, mon front se penche ;

Mon âme au ciel, son berceau,

Fuira, dans ta main blanche

Tu tiens ce sauvage oiseau.

(Should you leave, my front/forehead shall lean ;

My soul in the sky, its cradle, will flee,

In your white hand you hold this wild bird.)

Que veux-tu que je devienne

Si je n'entends plus ton pas ?

Est-ce ta vie ou la mienne

Qui s'en va ? Je ne sais pas.

(What would I become, should I not hear your steps anymore?

Is it your life or mine that is fleeing ?

I cannot tell?)

Quand mon orage succombe,

J'en reprends dans ton coeur pur ;

Je suis comme la colombe

Qui vient boire au lac d'azur.

(When my thunder dies down, I take some from your pure heart ;

I am like the dove that just drank in the azur lake.)

L'amour fait comprendre à l'âme

L'univers, salubre et béni ;

Et cette petite flamme

Seule éclaire l'infini

(Love makes the soul understand the universe, healthful and blessed ;

And this lonely little flame shines upon the endless)

Sans toi, toute la nature

N'est plus qu'un cachot fermé,

Où je vais à l'aventure,

Pâle et n'étant plus aimé.

(Without you, all of nature is only a closed cell where I go on an adventure,

Pale and no longer beloved.)

Sans toi, tout s'effeuille et tombe ;

L'ombre emplit mon noir sourcil ;

Une fête est une tombe,

La patrie est un exil.

(Without you, everything falls apart ;

Shadows fill my dark eyebrow ;

A feast/party is a tomb,

The homeland is an exile.)

Je t'implore et réclame ;

Ne fuis pas loin de mes maux,

O fauvette de mon âme

Qui chantes dans mes rameaux !

(I beg and demand ;

Do not flee any longer from my pain,

O warbler of my soul who sings in my twigs!)

De quoi puis-je avoir envie,

De quoi puis-je avoir effroi,

Que ferai-je de la vie

Si tu n'es plus près de moi ?

(What could I want?

What could I be afraid of?

What would I do of life without you by my side?)

Tu portes dans la lumière,

Tu portes dans les buissons,

Sur une aile ma prière,

Et sur l'autre mes chansons.

(You carry in the light,

You carry in the bushes,

On a wing my prayers,

On the other my songs.)

Que dirai-je aux champs que voile

L'inconsolable douleur ?

Que ferai-je de l'étoile ?

Que ferai-je de la fleur ?

(What will I tell to the fields that hide my inconsolable pain?

What would I do of the star?

What would I do of the flower?)

Que dirai-je au bois morose

Qu'illuminait ta douceur ?

Que répondrai-je à la rose

Disant : " Où donc est ma soeur ?"

(What will I tell to the morose forest that illuminated your softness?

What will I answer at the rose asking "Where is my sister?")

J'en mourrai ; fuis, si tu l'oses.

A quoi bon, jours révolus !

Regarder toutes ces choses

Qu'elle ne regarde plus ?

(I would die ;

Flee if you dare.

What is the point, days gone! of looking at all those she no longer looks at?)

Que ferai-je de la lyre,

De la vertu, du destin ?

Hélas ! et, sans ton sourire,

Que ferai-je du matin ?

(What would I do of the lyre, of virtue, of destiny?

Alas! And, without your smile,

What would I do of the morning?)

Que ferai-je, seul, farouche,

Sans toi, du jour et des cieux,

De mes baisers sans ta bouche,

Et de mes pleurs sans tes yeux !

(What would I do, alone, wild, without you, of days and heavens,

Of my kisses without your lips,

And of my tears without your eyes!)

Il suffit que tu t'envoles pour que je m'envoles aussi - Victor Hugo

(You need only take flight for me to fly too))

[reidmania]

slow it down | s.reid

summary; when life feels like its moving too fast and you feel like you're falling behind, spencer is there to slow it down.

warnings; i kind of feel like this is occ.. fem reader, established relationships, feeling like your falling behind in life, overwhelmed, insecurity, comforting wise spencer, i lowkey feel like this is kinda cringe but IDK.. self reflection

an; um.. so i am so sorry for neglecting you guys lately.

You’re sitting on the edge of your bed, fingers tracing over a stack of old photos from years that somehow feel closer and farther away than they should. The soft morning light filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room, but you can’t seem to feel it. It’s like you’re living in fast-forward, like everyone around you has figured out the secret to living, and you’re just scrambling to catch up. There’s a constant hum in the back of your mind, a quiet sense of urgency that keeps telling you, You’re falling behind.

And then there’s Spencer. Reliable, steady, intelligent Spencer, with his endless curiosity and his warm, steady gaze. Sometimes, you think he sees the world at a slower pace. He notices the way the trees change color in the fall, the way the clouds drift lazily across the sky, the way your breathing hitches when you’re overwhelmed. You’re not sure how he does it — how he lives in a world where time is patient, gentle even.

“Hey,” his voice breaks the quiet as he steps into the room, soft but firm, pulling you back to reality. “I noticed you didn’t sleep much last night.”

You give a small shrug, brushing the hair out of your face. “Just… thinking. That’s all.”

He sits beside you, close but not overwhelming, his presence grounding. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You’re not sure where to begin. There’s so much tangled up inside — the worry about where you’re going, the guilt of not doing enough, the fear that everyone else is moving forward while you’re stuck in place. It’s all too big, too heavy, and it clings to you like a second skin.

“Sometimes,” you say, staring down at your hands, “it feels like I’m watching everyone else live their lives at this… impossible speed. Like they’re running ahead, and I’m trying so hard to keep up, but I just… can’t.”

He watches you with that familiar look of quiet understanding, as though he’s absorbing every word. “I know it feels like that. But you’re doing more than you think, even if it doesn’t feel that way. Life isn’t a race, no matter what it seems like.”

You smile a little, but it’s strained. “Easy for you to say. You’re Dr. Spencer Reid. You’ve got three Ph.D’s.” It was unfair, you knew life wasn’t easy on him. He didn’t mind, he didn’t take offence at your insecurity.

His laugh is soft, a bit self-conscious. “It’s not always about how much you’ve done, you know. It’s about… what’s meaningful to you. And the world can feel fast because it’s busy and loud, but that doesn’t mean it’s moving faster than you can handle.”

You let his words sink in, wanting to believe them. He’s always been so good at that — seeing things in a way you can’t, finding meaning in moments you’d overlook. You think back to all those quiet mornings with him, sipping coffee while he reads, or the way he’ll point out little details in the most ordinary things. He lives with intention, like every second holds something worth noticing. “Teach me how to do that,” you murmur, almost to yourself. “How to… slow down, like you do.”

He shifts a little closer, his arm draping over your shoulders. “We can start now, if you’d like.”

“Here?” you ask, a little surprised.

“Why not?” He gives a small shrug, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on your shoulder. “The world outside can wait a little. Right now, it’s just us.”

So, you close your eyes, focusing on the warmth of his hand, the even rhythm of his breathing beside you. He begins to talk, softly, almost to himself, about the small things that make up the moment — the softness of the sheets, the faint sound of birds outside, the warmth of the sunlight coming through the window. It’s strange, hearing him describe the world like this, like a piece of poetry instead of a rush of responsibilities. And slowly, something shifts within you. You’re not sure if it’s because of his voice or his hand on your shoulder, but the weight on your chest starts to ease.

“Sometimes,” he says, “I think we get caught up in thinking life has to be monumental, or it has to mean something big. But there’s value in the small moments too, even the ones where you feel like nothing is happening.”

You open your eyes and look at him. His gaze is soft, steady, like he’s known this all along but has been waiting for you to see it too. “You really believe that?”

“More than anything,” he nods, his hand slipping down to intertwine with yours. “And maybe if we slow down, even just a little, we can find that there’s more here than we thought.”

He suggests you both go for a walk. At first, you resist — it feels like there’s no time for that. But then you see the gentle insistence in his eyes, and you let yourself give in. Outside, the air is crisp, and the leaves are beginning to change, painting the trees in vibrant shades of red and gold. You wouldn’t have noticed it on your own, but Spencer points it out, marveling at the colors like it’s the first time he’s seen them.

The path winds through a quiet park, and he takes his time pointing out things you’d usually ignore: the sound of a squirrel rustling in the bushes, the faint smell of pine, the way the sunlight filters through the branches. You begin to feel your mind quiet, your worries slipping away as you take in each small moment.

“See?” he says, smiling as he catches you watching a butterfly flutter past. “The world doesn’t have to be rushing by. We just have to choose not to rush with it.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel yourself relax. You’re not falling behind. You’re not racing to catch up. You’re just here, in this moment, with Spencer beside you, and that’s enough.

After the walk, you both settle into a quiet cafe nearby. There’s no agenda, no rush, just the simple joy of being together. You sip your coffee slowly, tasting it in a way you usually don’t, letting each sip warm you from the inside. Across the table, Spencer is reading a book, but every now and then, he glances up, meeting your eyes with a quiet smile. It feels easy, natural, as though the world outside the cafe doesn’t even exist.

The afternoon stretches on, a lazy, unhurried thing, and you find yourself wishing that every day could be like this — free from the pressure to be something, to achieve something. Just… peaceful.

“I think I could get used to this,” you say, looking out the window, watching people stroll by without a care in the world.

“Then let’s make it a habit,” he replies softly, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand. “Slow days. Just us. Whenever you need it.”

“Really?” you ask, a little surprised. “Even with your job? With everything you have going on?”

He nods, his gaze steady. “Life doesn’t have to be all or nothing. I want to be there for you. To be here, with you. No matter what else is going on.”

For the first time, you feel a sense of calm settle over you, like maybe — just maybe — you don’t have to keep running to be enough. That there’s space in this world for you to slow down, to take things one step at a time. And knowing that Spencer is by your side makes it all feel possible, in a way it never has before.

You lean across the table, resting your head on his shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent. “Thank you, Spencer. For… reminding me.”

He smiles, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “Always. Just remember, you’re not alone in this. I’m here, and we’ll figure it out together. One slow day at a time.

As you sit there, nestled against him, you let yourself believe that it’s true — that life doesn’t have to be a race, that you’re allowed to live at your own pace, to notice the small things, to savor each moment as it comes.

For the first time in a long time, you feel yourself slow down, the endless rush in your mind finally quieting. And in that silence, you find something you didn’t even realize you were missing: a sense of peace, of belonging, of knowing that right here, in this moment, you are exactly where you’re meant to be.

[eternally-racing]

how do you like your eggs? | lando norris

pairing: lando x reader (w/ best friend Danny Ric) 

genre: fluff 

wc:1.2k

summary: Lando’s determined to show you how much you mean to him by cooking you breakfast, even if he is horrible in the kitchen.

— — — — 

“You’re being way too loud, mate, you’re going to wake her up.” 

There’s too much rummaging through cabinets as Daniel asks Lando if he can get his sifter out from the cabinets. It sure as hell would be a lot easier to find if Lando actually knew what a sifter was, but as a boy who’s gotten most of his meals delivered to him and has become a creature of habit for the select few that he does make on his own, it’s safe to say that he is an absolute menace in the kitchen. 

After your boyfriend Lando had last minute decided to go to Australia to visit Daniel, you received enough facetimes and text messages from him begging for you to come visit that you had finally caved to spontaneity and flew into Perth the night before. 

Lando was nothing but a gentleman, and he wanted to do something special to show his appreciation for you going out of your way to spend time with him. Every sacrifice that you make definitely does not go unnoticed, and in the little time that he has during the offseason Lando likes to make sure that you know how much he loves everything that you do for him. 

And somehow that led to his master plan of wanting to cook breakfast for you. He knew that he was no masterchef, but Lando had hoped that having his former teammate help him out in the kitchen would be enough. It started as a plan to make a full English breakfast. Then Lando realized that Daniel’s fridge looked like he hadn’t gone grocery shopping since the two of them were teammates, so the plan got switched to just eggs and homemade biscuits. And after two failed attempts at making dough for biscuits that had only led to a colossal mess on the kitchen countertops they finally settled for making just eggs. 

“There’s a really great breakfast cafe down the road, Lando. I’m sure Y/N would like that just as much as..” Daniel’s voice trails off as he looks at what he used to be able to recognize as his own kitchen “whatever this is that you’re doing.” 

Meanwhile, Lando is at eye level with his bowl of freshly cracked eggs as he is carrying out what he can only describe as a “rescue mission” to fish out the pieces of eggshell that have fallen into the bowl. 

“Shut up Daniel, it’s a labor of love, you wouldn’t get it.” He continues to pick out a concerning number of pieces of shell.

“More like a labor of salmonella” Daniel snickers as he leans against the counter. 

The Aussie is quick to jump out of the way when Lando throws a piece of shell at him and misses, only adding to the mess in the kitchen. Luckily, he’s saved by the bell when you finally stumble out of the bedroom, sleep still clouding your eyes. 

“Good morning sunshine!” Lando yells from the stove as he’s finally gotten into action cooking said eggs. 

With the promise that in 2 minutes there would be fresh eggs for breakfast, Lando guides you to sit at the table. You hadn’t realized until this moment that you’d never seen Lando cook at all, let alone cook for you. He was a great sous chef when he asked you to be, but you weren’t sure of his abilities when left to his own devices. 

“Breakfast is served!” Lando says as he lays the plate in front of you. You raise your eyebrows in surprise, biting your tongue to keep your initial reaction from slipping out. 

“They’re poached!” your boyfriend exclaims with a smile.

Lando looks so proud and there’s no way you can break his heart over what is certainly a non-edible, definitely not poached egg that he has placed in front of you. 

“Thank you, baby” you smile as you pinch his cheek.

You can see Daniel posed behind Lando wildly shaking his hands and mouthing “DO NOT EAT” as he watches you toy with the runny eggs in front of you. You would do anything for Lando, including eating an icky egg, so you pick up your fork and dig in.

It’s definitely still raw, which you expected from its appearance, but there’s subtle hints of vinegar and sugar and something spicy that feels especially vile on your tongue. Your best attempt at a poker face cracks near the end as you try to swallow, but you’re quick to try and cover it up. 

“Wow, you did something really special with these Lan” you say, choosing your words very carefully as you try to wash out your mouth with a non-suspicious amount of water. 

Lando offers to try them and you figure there’s no point in stopping them as he piles some egg onto a spoon. You swear it barely even touches his mouth before he spits it back out right onto the plate. 

“Oh my god - you swallowed that??” The British boy doesn’t even dare to put his tongue back into his mouth as he tries to brush the taste off his taste buds. You can’t help the giggle that bubbles up inside you as you and Daniel start to keel over in laughter. 

“Mate - you let me serve this to my girlfriend?? I could have killed her or something with this!” Lando turns to Daniel in his rage.

The Aussie is laughing and is trying to rationalize that the egg is probably not deadly as he continues to gasp for air. It’s Lando who makes the next move to grab the plate and dump it in its entirety in the garbage.

“That’s a porcelain plate, Lando!” you exclaim from where you’re sitting. 

“”Please, it’s probably a biohazard at this point. I  think I owe Daniel an entirely new kitchen at this point anyways, so he can just add this to my tab.” Lando jokes as he pulls you towards the bathroom, gesturing towards the mess on the counters as you both walk away.

“Lando, she’s so in love with you because you couldn’t pay me to eat that shit.” Daniel says as he watches the both of you share the bathroom trying to brush the vile taste off your tongues with your toothbrushes.

Lando keeps the toothbrush in his mouth as he goes to wrap his arms around your waist, something that has you shrugging away since you’re pretty sure he’s drooling on your shoulder, and you tell him exactly that. From the side Daniel can’t stop laughing as he stares at you two. 

The British boy stays attached to you as he leans over to spit out his toothpaste, mumbling something you can’t quite understand.

“ I sdflksnjo sdlkgsnd” 

You almost choke on your spit listening to Lando’s babbling as you hunch over to do the same in the sink. 

“I was trying to say that I’m so lucky to have you baby. I love you.” 

You can't help but smile against Lando’s lips as you pull him in for a kiss. There’s still a vague taste of vinegar and egg that you know will linger for a little too long, but more than anything, he tastes like love.

---

author's note: this was just something fun and sweet inspired by Lando's recent interview about his Australia trip! Thanks for all the love :) Until next time! - Em 🤍

[justporo]

Headcanons for the companions reuiniting after a few months

Ok, but imagine Astarion and Tav invite their friends over for a reunion during winter time!

Obviously it's Tav's idea and Astarion isn't into it at first but he thinks it's kinda cute how into it Tav is

Gale is enlisted as sous-chef, he doesn't have a choice

The wizard also spices up things decor wise with some magic, Shadowheart also helps make look everything incredible

Tav and Gale make all the dishes, heaps of them, loads - no one will go home without having gained at least three pounds of weight; Astarion picks out wine and drinks

And when everyone arrives it's just a whoooole big cheerful mess: hugs, smooches, screaming, excited hopping up and down (and obligatory snarls and hisses from some because it's just a lot of love going around)

The house is full of laughter and talk the whole night

Karlach hangs out under mistletoe for a suspicious amount of time to give little pecks to everyone excitedly

Halsin has brought individually whittled ducks for everyone - Lae'zel claims she hates hers but then she's seen carefully turning it around in her hands the whole night

Jaheira, Wyll and Astarion get into a fierce discussion of Baldurian politics over several bottles of wine - by the end they're in a screaming match (affectionately) and Jaheira ends it by dragging on pointy ears and horns using her mom voice on Wyll and Astarion

Shadowheart tells the others how she's overcome her former beliefs and how she made a new life for herself causing the whole party to fall silent for a moment, even some tears might be shed; "Have you all gotten soft in the last months? Ugh!" Shadowheart says and with that the spell is broken, although she still gets a lot of hugs and told how proud everyone is (she claims she hates it, but everyone sees the light blush and the telltale shining wet eyes)

Gale brought Tara and her and Scratch hang out in front of the fireplace, maybe even Boo

At one point Jaheira and Halsin join them in cat wildshape - then Boo has to watch himself while being playfully chased around by the cats and the tressym - Minsc meanwhile completely loses it while he chomps away on more food

Lae'zel shows off her knife skills by artfully seperating whatever meat dish is set in front of her from the bones

Later Halsin and everyone else who wants to join sneak out the backdoor to the small garden for a little smoking session - even Wyll joins and they all come back with some giddy chuckles

Maybe all of them play like charades at the end: Astarion is amazingly good at it (because let's face it he's so dramatic usually he's good at portraying things) - you and him are just a dreamteam, Karlach is just super excited, Lae'zel doesn't get it at first but then is overly competitive, Minsc doesn't fully understand what's going on but he's just vibing, Wyll overcomplicates everything while Shadowheart keeps rolling her eyes and sighing in annoyance, Halsin and Jaheira just keep watching while chatting and having more drinks, Gale screams the loudest with suggestions that are oddly specific and not even close to what's the solution

The little townhouse in Baldur's Gate is filled with love, light and laughter through the whole night - promises to repeat this have already been made

Tag list: @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess @azukiel @hereliesblackdragon

[frantic-fiction]

Reoccurring Nightmares

(Gif: margonite-seer)

Astarion x GN!Reader / Astarion x Good!Durge

Summary: A night reveals that maybe the past is not left behind, and maybe old urges have begun again. As people always say healing is never linear.

Triggers/Tags: Implied mentions of self harm. Violent topics. Angst Hurt/comfort.

Minor spoilers for Durges plot line nothing very specific but you have been warned.

Word Count: 2.2k

(Quick note I gave reader Tav's name so hope y'all don't mind)

Cold damp earth thunders under your feet as you run, each step echoes in the silent woods. Your chest heaves, each breath a meager attempt to fill lungs that can't seem to feel satisfied. 

Why are you out here? 

The forest is a maze, and you navigate it with urgency, propelled forward by the rhythmic pounding of your heart. It threatens to break free, like a wild creature desperate to escape its cage. You don’t stop, fueled by the momentum and the all-consuming fear clawing at your throat.

Why were you running?

This isn’t the first time your memory has betrayed you, leaving you disoriented in the unknown.

Ducking beneath a fallen tree, the rough bark scratches against your skin. You turn sharply and press on, the underbrush snapping beneath your hurried steps. The surroundings are a blur, darkness shrouding any discernible features. The moon, a mere sliver in the night sky, casts an eerie glow through the dense canopy.

A plan forms in the chaos of your thoughts. The distant sound of water becomes a lifeline; a river might offer refuge from a pursuer. You move toward the sou-

 Your foot snags a root, and you collide with a rock. Blood fills your mouth, the metallic taste jarring, familiar. In the darkness, your hand tightens around a shard of glass. The moonlight reflects off its jagged edges, casting faint ethereal patterns on the forest floor.

Frogs and crickets harmonize in the night, their symphony a stark contrast to the turmoil within. The beauty of the scene clashes with the disarray of your mind. A brief moment of clarity emerges, allowing you to catch your breath. 

What happened? 

You examine the shard of glass, uncurling your fingers for a better look. A deeper wound reveals itself, and the blood flows unabated. The taste and sight is both revolting and comforting, a paradoxical sensation that grounds you in the reality of pain.

Where did the glass come from? Memories fracture, and images of a shared life flood your mind. The house on the outskirts, memories of love and healing. Someone's absence looms, silver curls and sharp teeth; Astarion, a question unanswered. 

Knees pulled to your chest, you notice the blood-soaked clothes. Panic sets in; that part of you, the monster believed buried, threatens to resurface. Did his blood taint you again? Did you harm Astarion?

Jerking to the side, you vomit, the weight of imagined horrors overwhelming you. The riverbed offers a cold sanctuary, and you scrub the blood away. The water numbs your body, but you persist until your fingers ache. The raw emptiness grows, time stops, and the world holds its breath in shared grief. You can’t face your friends; the word "friend" is tainted by your actions. Astarion’s absence is a void you can’t bear.

Wasn’t this the fear? The fear that kept you awake, haunted by the possibility of losing control. The dark whispers that the urges would resurface. 

Your reflection in the river, blood-soaked and tormented, triggers waves of self-loathing. The glass shard gleams, a macabre symbol of your descent into the abyss.

Fingers graze the cold surface, and a distant voice interrupts your thoughts. 

“Tav!” The sound pierces through the chaos, freezing your movements. 

“TAV!” Astarion’s voice, a lifeline in the disarray. 

Frantically searching, he emerges from the trees, disheveled and relieved. He is by your side in a moment joining you halfway into the river. He cups your cheek, his touch offers a brief respite, a moment of grounding in the maelstrom. 

Words are cement in your mouth. You're mystified by the reality that is facing you. Astarion is here, in front of you. And, in fact, very much alive. You reach up with a shaky hand to barely caress his cheek, as if a more stern touch would shatter the fragile moment. He grabs your wrist and kisses your cold palm softly.

“You’re alive,” you choke, collapsing into his chest sobs rolls through your body.

He momentarily freezes in confusion at your words before refocusing at the current urgency of your state. Pressing you tighter against him, Astarion strokes your hair and gives you a gentle kiss to your hairline. Maybe he had just fed before finding you, or maybe it's a testament to how long you have suffered the freezing night, but he’s warm. You bury yourself deeper in his embrace, hiding your tear-streaked face in his neck.

“Of course, my love,” He softly says and holds you a moment longer, allowing you to feel the truth of something he’s not quite understanding but knows is important just the same. But little by little, he begins to pry you from his body.

“No,” you make a pathetic whine in protest, desperately trying to stay attached. Too afraid that once you let go, he’ll disappear and the truth of what you did will be brought back into the moonlight.

“Hush now, my sweet,” Astarion stands up suddenly and removes the heavy jacket you had given him. Kneeling back down, he drapes it over your shoulders.

“You have been in the middle of the woods in freezing weather for gods know how long. And you've had a bit of a swim.” His thumb brushes the line of your cheekbone. “Let’s get you home so I can warm you up, and if you are feeling okay tonight, we could discuss what my darling was doing alone out here.”

He doesn’t leave room to argue, and you have none to give. So he takes you in his arms and begins to walk. You’re too tired to speak, so you simply curl closer into him and resume your position, face tucked into the crook of his neck. His scent invades your nostrils, and finally, since waking up in the woods earlier this evening, you breathe a sigh of relief.

***

You don’t remember falling asleep, but you awake on the plush sofa in your living room. Astarion must have moved it because it is now as close to the fireplace as safety would allow. The only thing standing in its way was the intricately sculpted metal table Dammon had gifted you for a housewarming gift. 

What seemed to be the entire house's stock of blankets was now piled on top of you, effectively cocooning you in cotton and silks. You try to sit up, but find that no strength is left in your bones.

“Stari?” You croak, your voice hoarse from your sobs.

There is not an immediate response, just the crackling fire and the rustling of dinnerware from the kitchen. You don’t bother to call out again; you know he’ll be in to check on you soon. When it comes to you, Astarion’s mother hen tendencies rear their head with great urgency.

 While you wait, you stare transfixed into the fire, mesmerized by the crackling wood and swirling ash. The chaos of fire has always been interesting to you. In small quantities, fire can bring warmth to a home and light to darkness. But uncontrolled fire burns, burns everything in its path. No mercy, no complexities, just fire and fuel; anything in between is insignificant in the grand scheme. It's familiar, too familiar.

Maybe this topic was best left untouched; maybe you hated fire. After all, fire is made to burn.

“Oh good, I was just about to wake you,” Astarion sets a tray on the coffee table. “I made tea,”

He starts to unearth your body from your blanket tomb and helps you into a more seated position before moving to the armchair. You catch his wrist; his crimson eyes meet yours. You're not entirely sure what you want; you just can’t bear him being so far. Not after thinking he was lost to you forever.

“Hold me?” The words are barely above a whisper, hesitant as if Astarion has ever denied you anything. “Please,” you tack on for good measure, though you're not sure why.

“Of course, my sweet,”

Handing you your tea, Astarion motions you to lean forward so that he can slip in behind you. Sandwiched between his legs, he wraps an arm around your middle and eases you against his solid torso. 

He’s warm; you must have been right. During your trek in the woods, he must have stepped out to feed. Now that the winter is approaching, he’s been hunting larger game; he likes to be warm, says it’s not always fair when you're the only one bringing heat into the relationship. 

He silently urges you to drink your tea, and you do. It’s quiet; neither of you speaks; you simply drink your tea and Astarion comforts. Hands gently trail up and down your arms, in between peppering tender kisses on your neck and shoulders.

You know what he’s doing. You’ve done the same tactics on him plenty of times in the past. He’s waiting. Waiting for you to speak first. To share with him why you were in those woods. What horrors brought you there. It’s an unspoken rule between two very broken people. You offer each other comfort, the safety each has lacked in the past and wait. If or when the person wishes to speak, the other listens.

But how do you even begin to describe the night that has occurred? The terror, the guilt, the hatred. It all just boils in your chest like wet tar. You can’t even really explain what happened to yourself. Once the tea is finished, you pass the cup to Astarion, who in turn returns it to the tray.

With a deep breath, you say simply, “I thought it happened again,” he knows immediately what you're saying and holds you just a bit tighter. 

“I-I-I don’t know what happened, b-but I was just running. I was… Gods, Astarion, I was so scared.”

Pushing the blankets further away from you, you turn in his arms and wrap around his neck. His eyes reflect the same sadness and fear you are feeling. “I was covered in blood, and then…then all I could think about was you,”

Tears begin to roll one by one down your cheeks; he collect them with his thumbs. Tears of his begin to follow a similar path. “I thought it finally happened,” you're crying harder now, hiccuping between words. 

“I thought he finally made me kill you,” words began to fail you from there. You pathetically tried to say more but the only sounds that escape are choked hiccups and wet sobs. When you know you have no hope of continuing you simply hide your face in your hands, no longer wanting to face the world.

“We’re okay, little love. Everythings okay.” Astarion is rubbing soft circles into your back, repeating calming phrases until they stick. “I’m here, nothing can change that. You’re okay darling.” 

It takes a lot of lovely words and small touches before your breathing calms down and you seem to have run out of your tear supply for that night. But even then Astarion doesn’t let go. You two stay interlocked, warmed by the slowly dwindling fire. He clears up your scattered thoughts. 

Astarion's voice, tinged with concern and a hint of reassurance, breaks through the remnants of your panic. "It was probably just one of your nightmares," he offers, a familiar acknowledgment that nightmares are woven into the fabric of your existence. In the quiet aftermath of your ordeal, the weight of his words settles in the still air. 

As he gently extracts one of your hands from your tear-streaked face, the dim light catches the glint of a heavy bandage wrapped around your trembling fingers. The glass shard, a cruel messenger, the night will leave its mark. With a tender touch, Astarion guides your gaze to the bandage, and then, with a careful motion, he lifts the fabric of your pants to expose a larger wound on your thigh, neatly covered in thick gauze.

The size of the injury is alarming, and the realization dawns that stitches would have been a necessity. Astarion's eyes reflect a regret that mirrors your own. "I should have been there, I'm so very sorry, my love," he whispers, his voice carrying the weight of an unspoken vow to protect you from the horrors that lurk within your own mind.

As you open your mouth to argue or perhaps offer words of comfort, Astarion anticipates your protest. "Regardless of what you are going to say," he interrupts, his words cutting through the heavy air, "from now on, I will be feeding exclusively when you are awake." The admission reveals a vulnerability in his eyes—a fear that lingers from the night when the scent of your blood permeated the air, and you were nowhere to be found.

"There was nothing more frightening than coming home to the smell of your blood and you gone." His hand begin to play with a strand of your hair. "Not to mention the absolute nightmare of a talk I’m to receive once I call for Shadowheart come morning, because I’m still not convinced you didn’t contract hypothermia during your midnight swim.” 

A small smile plays on your lips, a silent acknowledgment of the impending lecture from Shadowheart, whose disapproval you can almost taste. Astarion seems to relish in your smile, and he cups your jaw, pressing his forehead to yours in an intimate gesture that transcends words.

"That is all behind us," he declares, a note of determination in his voice. "Our wounds are still fresh, but we are here, and we are healing. We'll get through this, we always have." His smirk carries a promise of resilience, and you nod in agreement, surrendering to the irresistible urge to find solace in the warmth of his lips pressed against yours.

Author's notes: Oh boy I haven't posted any of my writings since 2018 but damn BG3 has sparked something in me. Astarion is something special and I love him. If anyone has some ideas they would like to throw my way I would loved to see them.

Feedback is welcome, hate is not! Have a nice day, cheers.

[number1jeonginstan]

Sucking on Minhos fingers while he's got you in a headlock... Hehe

A/N: THIS WAS SUCH A GOOD REQUEST!!! At first, I didn't know what to write, so that's why I took so long to fulfill it. I usually try and imagine scenarios in my head and then play them out in my writing, and it finally hit me while I was re-watching Chainsaw Man today. I really hope I did you justice and you enjoy it because I think this might be my favorite fic to write to this day!!!

WC: 2.7k (1.6 is literally smut...)

Minors don't interact, 18+

Pairing: Roomate!Lee Know x afab!reader

Warnings: Lee Know calls the reader a slut, cum eating, mirror sex (just a bit), head lock, protected sex (for the first time ever), idk what else?

It was a normal night between you and your roommate Minho, he would spend every Friday cooking for the both of you guys while you caught up on assignments. It was a good arrangement because you hated cooking, and it was his favorite pastime. In return, you would wash all the dishes and make dessert for the both of you. Baking had always been your favorite, and you loved trying new recipes with him, and he did the same when it came to new dishes. 

This week, he wanted to try out a sous vide steak. “Can you pass me the butter please?” Minho said across the kitchen. “Yeah of course!” you said, walking across the kitchen to pass it to him. “Thank you!” he replied back, basting the steak that he had searing on the stove with the butter you just passed him. 

You went back to sitting on the barstool, continuing to work on the assignment you had due for your Journalism class at midnight. As you continued to work, Minho continued to cook. He was making a side of vegetables but needed your opinion on whether or not they were seasoned enough. 

“I need you to taste this,” he said, holding up a fork in front of you. You were so immersed in your assignment that you just opened your mouth, waiting for him to put it in your mouth. He did so, and before you could notice how he stared at the fork leaving your mouth you said “I think it needs more salt, just a pinch, but it’s good.” 

He just coughed and nodded, turning away, not letting you see how his ears turned a bit red at the tips. “Yeah, let me add some more salt and then we can sit down and eat.” 

“That works for me!” you replied, finishing up the assignment at hand and submitting it. You close your laptop, pick up the plates, and place them on the table in the middle of your apartment. “What kind of wine do you want to drink tonight?” you asked him, looking in the fridge. “Red would go best with today’s steak,” he replied cutting up the steak into pieces on the cutting board. 

“Alright got it” 

As you took the first bite, you moaned to him how good it was. “I think this is your best recipe yet,” you told him while taking a bite of the vegetables. You didn’t realize that your little moan caused him to cough up a bit of his wine.   

To distract himself from what just happened, he told you how Jisung had accidentally spilled coffee all over himself at work and he laughed so hard that he spilled some on himself too. You told him about your week too, how classes were kicking your ass too. 

“Oh, and this dude in my literature class asked me for his number.” You took another bite of the steak. He was fuming a bit, but not wanting to show it he casually asked “Did you give it to him?” 

“I didn’t want to be impolite, plus he seemed nice so I did. He invited me to get dinner with him tomorrow.” You said while taking a sip of your wine. 

“Did you say yes?” he asked, annoyed you were giving your number out to total strangers. 

“I told him I would most likely be able to, but if something came up I would have to cancel and he said that was totally fine, why?” you replied, a bit confused as to why he was so interested. 

“Oh, I was just wondering, it’s been a while since you’ve been on a date.” 

“Yeah, I know, that’s why I wanted to go out. I’m tired of being stuck at home constantly.” Before he could interject, you quickly spoke up again. “Not that I’m tired of hanging out with you, I love spending time with you. I just want to look pretty for someone, get all dressed up,” pointing down at yourself, “not just in sweats all the time.” 

“That makes sense,” Minho scoffed, and you could hear a bit of undertone in his voice. 

You decided to ignore it, collecting both of your dishes as you finished them. “Do you wanna play the new episode of Chainsaw Man while I bring the flan?” you asked 

“You made flan again?” he asked while walking over to the couch. “Yeah, I knew how much you liked it last time, plus my friend gave me this recipe to perfect it.” 

“Oh, that’s nice, thanks for thinking about me.” he was already sitting down so you couldn’t see the grin that was plastered on his face. “Hey, don’t be so egotistical, I liked it too,” you said while bringing over two bowls of it. 

You guys sat in silence, eating the flan while the episode played in the background. Minho would occasionally look at you, watching your little reactions to what was playing on the screen in front of the both of you.

“Damn, I wish I was Denji,” you said loud enough for Minho to hear. It was a scene of Himeno putting him in a headlock. “You want to be choked?” Minho asked, not sure if he understood you correctly. 

“I mean, it seems weird, but also, I really want to try it,” you shrugged to Minho. 

“If you want to try it, I can put you in a headlock” he replied back with no hesitation. “I mean, I don’t think it will choke you or anything, but I am pretty strong so if you want to…” 

Before he could even finish his sentence, you quickly replied with a “Yes!” 

“I mean only if you are comfortable with it, if you don’t want to I mean we don’t have to” you rambled on. 

“I don’t mind as long as you are comfortable with it, just tap my arm if it’s too much.” He said, pausing the show and patting the spot next to him. You crawled to him, sitting on your knees right next to him. What you didn’t realize was how flushed Minho had become, he could feel his pants tighten a bit at the thought of him in his arms. 

“Can I sit in your lap you can do it from behind?” you asked innocently, your doe eyes looking up at him. He swore he groaned out loud, but he stopped himself, composing himself and just nodding. 

You climbed into his lap, your back facing his chest. You felt his arm wrap around your throat, your bicep slowly squeezing it. “Tell me if it’s too much, okay kitten?” and you just whimpered in response. This is the first time he’s ever called you that and you can feel yourself getting wet in his lap. 

You began to squirm, causing him to groan behind you. “Fuck, don’t start something you can’t finish.” 

“What if I want to start something?” you tilt your head up, trying to get a good look at your roommate's face. 

You had never realized how beautiful he was, you knew he was attractive. It was evident, he was one of the best-looking men you had ever met, but his beauty astonished you in that moment.

Before you could even say something, he flipped you around. “Fuck kitten, you don’t know how long I’ve been wanting to do this. Seeing you in your tiny shorts and big t-shirts around the apartment. That one time you took my shirt and wore it around the house, I swear I was hard that entire day after seeing you.” 

You just giggled at him, “Oh baby, this is no laughing matter, maybe I should shut you up?” 

You just nodded up at him, as he slipped his fingers in your mouth. You began sucking on them, wrapping your tongue around both digits, wetting them with your saliva and he just groaned above you. “Fuck baby” he just groaned thinking about how well you would take his cock in your mouth. 

He slipped his digits out of your mouth, placing a kiss on your lips. One kiss became another and another, and then it turned into a heated make-out session. In the process, he had flipped you on top of him and you began grinding on his semi-hard cock. 

“Fuck baby you feel so good, but let’s get off the couch okay?” you just nodded at him, still feeling lightheaded from his mouth on yours. 

You both got up, him picking you up, tossing you onto his shoulder. Before you could protest, he began walking to his room. You began writhing on his shoulder, wanting to be put down. “Stop acting like a brat,” he said while smacking your ass. 

“Minho!” you shouted, eliciting a chuckle from him. “If you act good, I’ll take care of you, but if you act like a brat, I won’t let you cum.” You quickly shut up, allowing him to throw you on the bed. He hovered above you, placing kisses on your neck, and moving down to your thighs. 

He took off your sweatpants, leaving you only in your oversized shirt and panties. He began to lift your shirt only to see you not wearing a bra. “Had these out just for me, and I had no clue? What else are you hiding from me, baby?” He asked, sucking on one of your nipples causing you to moan. “You just wanted to act like a slut, hoping we did this, is that why?” 

“Yes Minho, just wanted you” you moaned again as he moved onto the other breast. He just groaned, you were good to him, too good. He moved down, kissing your stomach and then your thighs. You rubbed them together, wanting some sort of friction.  

“No, keep these open for me kitten, I want to see your sweet little cunt.” He said while pulling down your panties. “Fuck baby, this pussy is so wet, tell me who’s doing this to you.” 

“You are Minho, only you can do this to me.” you moaned as he liked a stripe against your pussy. His lips catch your clit, sucking on it causing your legs to shut. “Kitten, what did I just say?” 

“To keep my legs open for you.” You were hiding your face behind your hands, a bit ashamed of how wet you were for him, how much he turned you on. “So, let’s keep them open okay? You can be a good girl and do that for me can’t you?” 

You just nodded, opening your legs again. “Fuck, you taste better than any dessert you’ve ever made me.” He said while licking your pussy another time. “You are going to let me eat you for dessert whenever I need it aren’t you?” 

“Yes Minho, I’ll let you do anything to me” you moaned as he started putting his veiny fingers inside of you. He began fucking his fingers inside at a quick pace, still sucking on your clit and all you could do was moan. 

He hadn’t even put his cock in you and you could already feel yourself cumming. “Please Minho, too much, I’m gonna cum.”

“Then be a good kitten and cum on my fingers, then I’ll make you cum on my cock. You can take more than one round, can’t you baby?” 

“Yes, can be a good girl for Minho, please can I cum, please sir let me cum” you moaned as his fingers hit that particular spot in you causing you to go over the edge, your entire body shaking as you came over the edge, cumming on his fingers. 

“Minho, need your cock, please need it inside of me.” you pleaded and he was in awe. You had just cum, but you were still begging for his cock. He was going to have fun with you. 

“You just came and already need my cock? How much of a needy slut are you? You just want your hole filled at all times?” He scoffed at you. He was still fully dressed as you were fully naked underneath him. You pawed at his shirt and he just laughed. He took it off, along with his sweats. 

You could see how hard his dick was through his boxers, your eyes widening a bit, trying to hide your reaction by covering. He chuckled at your reaction, releasing his fat cock from his boxers, taking a condom out of his drawer, and tearing the foil with his mouth. 

“Yes, just a slut for you sir, I need you, need you in me.” You spread your cunt apart with your fingers, trying to show him where you needed him most and he just groaned. 

He slowly pushed his tip inside of you, knowing how eager you were. He was also eager, his dick hard as soon as you moaned his name the first time. “Fuck baby, this pussy is so tight, don’t know why I didn’t fuck it beforehand.”

He slowly pushed his dick inside of you, your cunt squeezing it tight, making it hard for him to fully still inside of you. “Baby I need you to relax so you can take my cock. You can be a good kitten for me and do that right?” 

You simply nodded, taking his fingers into your mouth once again, wrapping your lips around his digits, causing him to groan as he finally entered you fully. “Fuck baby, you feel even better than you taste.” You simply moaned, feeling so full as he was fully inside of you. 

“So good Minho, feel so full” you moaned, feeling so full of him you couldn’t help but clench around him. “Please move, I need you” You looked up at him, his fingers going back into your mouth and he couldn’t control himself. He began thrusting into you, causing you to moan around his fingers. 

“Fuck this pussy is so tight, gonna fuck you all around the apartment from now on. This pussy is mine and mine only, you got it?” You just nodded as he began thrusting into you faster. 

You were on the verge of cumming, but Minho pulled out before you could. Before you could protest, he flipped you around, your ass up and face at the end of his bed looking straight at the mirror in front of you. “I want you to see how pretty you look on my cock, how my cock is making you dumb, how good it is making you feel.” 

You felt yourself going dumb, the only thing on your mind was Minho and his cock. “Minho, fuck it feels so good.” you moaned, feeling him hit that spot inside of you. “Yeah, kitten? Look at who’s making you cum, look at who’s making you dumb on their cock.” 

“You are, you are making me feel this good” you moaned as his thrusts got harder. With one more thrust, you were cumming on his cock. 

“Fuck, this pussy is to die for” he groaned, continuing to thrust into you trying to get to his own high. After a few more thrusts, he could feel himself getting ready to cum. “Where do you want me baby?” 

“In my mouth,” you said with no hesitation. You wanted to taste him like he tasted out. “Fuck kitten, you are going to be the death of me” he took off the condom, wrapping his hand around his cock. With a tug of his cock, he came into your mouth. You swallowed all of it, showing him and he kissed your lips. 

You both fell back on his bed, him wrapping his arms around you as he covered you both with his blanket. Both of your clothes still splayed on the floor of his room. “That was… unexpected,” you said. 

“A good unexpected or bad?” he asked a bit scared of your response. “Definitely good,” you said while kissing his lips. He grinned, “You better cancel that date tomorrow because I’m the one taking you out tomorrow.” You just hummed, playing with his hair. 

Minho didn’t need to know that no one had actually asked for your number, you were just trying to make him make the first move. 

taglist: @sclassstay @minhosify

(my perm taglist is open, also sorry for forgetting to add my tag list, it just slipped my mind, so sorry)

[jesswritesthat]

Bakugou Katsuki: Killer Skills

Fandom: BNHA // MHA — [ Masterlist ]

Summary: 1.2k, angst, fluff

• Being an ex-assassin provides skill, but when your secret is shared it makes things complicated with an explosive pro.

Warnings: Mature language, pro-hero age, mentions of killing.

>>>>——————————>

Never had you expected to be the catalyst of one night drastically changing form, yet neither had you expected your life to be thrust into the light by explosives either.

Calmly you stood, arms folded and expectant brow raised at said explosive.

"Look I'm not asking for help shadow shit, just a sous chef. I'm getting the extras together and need a hand since they're all still fucking useless in the kitchen."

"Alright, what are we making Katsuki?" Still addressing him so informally left him diverting his gaze but he gave a detailed list of his menu with vicious confidence.

—

It wasn't until hours later when surrounded by former classmates of UA did you feel minor pressure, even though you were trained to fit into any situation, this was still unnerving despite Bakugou giving a shoddy introduction. So many heroes, so many former enemies...

Did they didn't even know who you were?

What you were?

"Wow Bakugou, you finally found someone who's as good with a knife as you are!" The commentary of a bright brunette ripped you from your depths, the woman bubbly and impressed by the sight of the two of you dicing vegetables.

"Still think it's weird round face?"

"Yeah, how'd you get so skilled (L/n)?" Your blade paused mid strike upon hearing her question, low and regretful reply breathed into the world.

"Having skill with knife is pivotal to an assassin, luckily such a talent can be applied to various situations."

Aside from to Katsuki, you think it's the first truth you've told.

The room fell silent, Uraraka stepping back ever so slightly nearer the comfort of Izuku and beside you there was a prevalently harsh whisper from Bakugou.

"Shit."

That's when you realised you'd screwed up, of course they didn't know, Dynamight probably hadn't a chance to tell them nor the priority to either.

"Assassin? (L/n)-san you...?" The gravity quirk user stuttered out, the heroes in the room suddenly more defensive and dawned upon you one by one.

"Not anymore but my hands aren't clean and they never will be. However I'm trying to be better, now that I'm free. I swear upon my life."

"You are The Shadow, right? I suspected as such after their mysterious prolonged absence." Izuku decided, just as Katsuki predicted he would, but never had you been disappointed by sheer terror and anger tainting once gleaming faces before. Until now.

"I was. Then like you said, I disappeared. I made my first choice in a long time and chose to kill myself so I wouldn't be forced to do anything else I didn't want to." With your harrowing explanation and final assassination poetically being that of your previous alias, the room fell tensely silent once more upon the digestion of such a tale.

"You're responsible for so many d—" They were cut off before they could finish (but you knew where it was going) by the deafening sound of a knife stabbing into your chopping board with knuckles white on its handle. You felt the dangerous presence towering behind you, enough to make anyone think twice about a comment so brash.

"Bakubro why aren't you saying anything?! You should be blowing up right now unless—" A flash of realisation as Kirishima settled upon his friends' protective frame. "—you knew."

"'Course I knew, you think I'm an idiot?!" The blonde aggressively barked back, you felt his riding temperature against your back as he leaned forward slightly.

"No but this is insane! Since when were you one for villain redemption?"

"Like you fuckers can talk about redemption, we've seen plenty of assholes do bad things and sometimes it ain't their choice. You still saved them didn't you?" A knowing look was directed at Deku, who already seemed to emphasise.

"Kacchans' right, we can't assume a situation based on actions. Only that if a lighter path is what (L/n)-san has chosen, then we should support it until given reason otherwise." Miraculously the words of this admired man seemed to resonate with them, yet Katsuki remained somewhat defensive and hadn't revoked himself entirely from your space quite yet.

"Besides, if (Y/n) wanted to kill any of you, you'd be dead already. Take that as a trusting start." He made a point of eating your food, almost as if making an example of his guests' unanimous wariness once stepping back to his station.

"Katsuki! Don't say that, it doesn't help my case."

"What?! It's not a fucking lie, you even gave me a hard time." He bit back defensively, glaring daggers that all most matched the sharpness of yours.

"Someone who made Bakugou sweat? I'd like to take a crack at sparring you sometime if you wouldn't mind." Kirishima seemed revitalised with newfound admiration that was mildly unnerving, maybe this new hero generation hadn't forgiven your crimes but they were willing to get to know you at the very least.

"Uh— I mean I'm trying to be better, if helping you improve accomplishes that then I'll participate." You bowed, Katsuki only snorting and providing a venue proposal.

"Could use my training room? It's been a while since I've seen shitty hair and Pikachu get their asses kicked."

———

So after turning the night upside down, Red Riot and Chargebolt became your opponents in an orchestrated game.

"Alright I have two powders, if you get marked you are dead as per my previous occupation. If you can hit me, you both win." Came your brief explanation, holding up a pair of red fingertips on your left hand which everyone agree and understood.

With that, the onlookers could only watch as you manoeuvred varying attacks, sidestepping, jumping, and swishing past jolts of electric whilst simultaneously avoiding the hardened combat from Eijirou.

Suddenly, after about 3 minutes, you came to a solid stop which allowed Kaminari to barrel into you rather unceremoniously a second later who dizzily voiced his victory.

"I got them!" A panting breath. "I win!"

A chorus of applause and laughter echoed in the room with comments spewing from observations.

"Kiri check your back man!"

"Denki... you've got a little something..." Jirou vaguely gestured to her forehead and lo and behold when mirroring her actions, his fingers came back dusted with scarlet powder.

"Also I should say that the second powder was UV sensitive, so if Katsuki kindly adjusts the lighting?"

Immediately there was gasps of astonishment, both bodies were decorated with reflective vibrant marks that almost made you feel sick of your own competence.

"Woah?! You coulda killed use twenty times over and we didn't even manage to zap you!"

"Told ya morons." Katsuki joined your side, a nudge to your arm to knock you from your worrying thoughts and a diverting suggestion to get you away from the situation. "Let's eat, we didn't go through all that shit to waste the food you damn extras!"

"Sweet, then you can tell us the story of how you both met over dinner!" Despite being beaten, Kaminari had newfound interest in your past life as did the rest of the heroes - you couldn't blame them, you were infamous for a reason.

The domino sound of agreement left you snapping to the host in mild panic upon the possibility of having to relinquish such a turbulent memory. You hadn’t even told him he’s the reason you quit killing and he hadn’t dared bring up that kiss you shared in case it meant nothing to you. A seemingly mutual whisper escaped both of your lips.

"Shit."

<——————————<<<<

[ Masterlist ]

[kimbapisnotsushi]

it's the fact that kageyama apologized to hinata for that very last toss during the interhigh match with seijoh. the fact that it wasn't the first last toss kageyama probably wanted to apologize for. the fact that whatever kageyama wanted to say both times was denied, rejected, cut off, shoved back down his throat without mercy, without kindness and consideration — they won't let him look back and linger, they won't let him regret, they won't let him bear the burden of being the one at fault if it means he thinks trusting them was a mistake.

and so kageyama swears to make a toss he won't have to say sorry for, he swears to make a toss fitting of his position as a setter, a toss that shows how much he's grown and how much he's learned and how much he trusts and loves his team, and then battle of the garbage heap happens and the lights are bright and sweat soaks his skin and each breath comes hard and fast and stabs his chest like a knife with every rise and fall but finally — finally, he thinks — the opening is right there, a sun breaking through the clouds, a moment of clarity he cannot possibly miss, so he raises his hands —

— and hinata jumps with a sonic boom that makes the ground shake, or maybe it's just kageyama's heart seeing a promise fulfilled, and kageyama, for all the things he had to carry and for all the things others carried for him, knows that he will never apologize for having faith ever again.

[gooondocks]

no one's ever had me (not like you) — evan buckley.

writing masterlist | askbox

─── summary: when buck meets his high school sweetheart at the ten-year reunion, he learns that their lives may be very different now, but the spark is still there.

─── pairing: evan buckley x gn!reader.

─── warnings & notes: fluffy fluff. no use of y/n, i'm british so probably inaccurate depiction of high school reunions. based on the song 'so high school' by taylor swift bc i heard it and couldn't stop thinking of this idea. crappy ending bc i suck at wrapping things up. enjoy!!!

─── word count: 2.1k.

     "DO YOU THINK ANYONE'S DONE US all a favour and spiked the punch yet?"

     When the email appeared in his inbox a few months ago — an e-vite, of all things, complete with the kind of graphic design prowess he hasn't seen since the early 2000s — Buck had been pretty intent on ignoring it.

     A hundred excuses had bubbled up in the back of his mind, because honestly, the thought of heading back to his hometown to attend a high school reunion made his skin itch. Trapping himself in a sweaty gymnasium, surrounded by dozens of almost-strangers engaged in a vanity contest of 'who's the most successful?' coupled with a shitty DJ blasting 2010's greatest hits?

     It's really not what he'd call a good time.

     Even if he could've talked himself into it, sharing a ZIP code with his parents for even a day or two was more than he was willing to tolerate. He'd left Hershey in his rearview almost a decade ago, and there's not a fragment of his whole being that regrets it for even a second.

     Except.

     Except the dates lined up with one of his rare weekends off work. Except when he looked up the flights online, just to see, he'd stumbled across a deal so cheap Buck honestly thought he was hallucinating for a moment.

     Except Evan Buckley believes in signs from the universe, and when Maddie gives him that look over lunch one day, even though Buck had absolutely not mentioned the reunion to anyone, it's the final nail in the coffin for him.

     He booked the tickets. He told the team he'd be out of town for the weekend, and bought a new shirt, and now he's standing in his old high school gymnasium. He wrinkles his nose at the smell, that sweat-and-hormones stink that never really goes away, and you're sidling up to him at the refreshments table, and the speakers are blaring an old Ke$ha song he hasn't heard in years.

     For a moment, he's seventeen again. The sound of your voice slips over his skin like a cool breeze in the desert and suddenly it could be the night of junior prom, and the pair of you have sequestered yourselves in a shadowy corner, laughing at the committee's subpar attempt at an 'Under the Sea' theme.

     Buck blinks, and he isn't seventeen, but he flashes you a wide smile anyway as you help yourself to a glass of bright red punch.

     "Hi."

     He says the word so quietly, he's surprised you even hear it. But there's a sparkle in your eye as you raise the cup to your lips, and he knows you heard him.

     You always could.

     The last day Buck ever saw you, he kissed you goodbye before you piled into your dad's old truck and drove out of sight, bound for college and big dreams and a future that didn't include him. Your lips had been damp with tears. On his loneliest nights, Buck swears he can still taste the salt on his tongue.

     It's been a decade, but you still look so similar to the wide-eyed kid he fell in love with. Your hair's a little longer, perhaps; there's a scar on your chin that wasn't there before, and the dimples around your smile have deepened, but that's all. You're still you. The thought makes his chest ache a little, but it's a good pain.

     He wonders if he's changed much. He wonders what you see when you look at him.

     "I suspect it was the first thing Marty Brandt did when he got here," Buck adds, louder this time, and you laugh, and he wonders how he went ten years without hearing that sound. "I didn't think you'd be here. Didn't see your name on the RSVP list."

     You shrug. "Jem bullied me into it. Emailed my boss to get the time off and everything."

     Even as you try to seem annoyed, a trickle of fondness finds its way into your voice. When Buck follows your gaze to the dance floor, it's hard to miss your childhood best friend throwing shapes to an old Maroon 5 song.

     "You two still talk?" He doesn't mean to sound surprised, except...

     Well. Staying in touch with high school pals hadn't been a priority when he skipped town. Hard to imagine a single one of his classmates he'd want to stay in touch with. Except you.

     A grin tugs at your mouth. "Worse. We work together." You tilt your head, still smiling fondly in Jem's direction. "Tried to shake her off, but she wouldn't let me."

     He knows a little about that. "Or was it the other way around?"

     "Wouldn't you like to know, Buckley?"

     He would, actually. He watches you grimace a little at the flavour of the punch when you take another sip, an adorable twist to your mouth that he once knew so well. A decade ago, the sight of your pout could've made him do anything.

     "Tastes like half a bottle of vodka," you tell him, and you take another sip even though he knows you never liked vodka. Remembers playing truth or dare at a party in junior year, and how you threw up in the bushes afterwards.

     Buck had held back your hair and tucked you against his side afterward, letting you snuggle into the warmth of him while you slept off the worst of your hangover.

     There's a distance between you now, but it's comfortable. Buck tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans and the pair of you migrate over to a shadowy corner of the gymnasium, away from the prying eyes of your former classmates.

     "So," Buck says, as the DJ switches to another song, "how have you been?"

     He can't help but wince half a second later. Seriously? How have you been? He's never been to a high school reunion before, but he's seen plenty of movies, and he's pretty sure he's hitting all the marks of being a fucking cliché.

     To your credit, you don't laugh at him. Cheeks flushed the prettiest shade of pink Buck has ever seen, you manage to bite back the giggle rising in your throat.

     Buck wants to sink through the floor.

     "I've been okay," you tell him, swirling your glass of punch absently. The corners of your eyes crinkle a little as you smile at him. "Life, y'know?"

     He does. He really fucking does. "Any partners? Kids, spouses, anyone I have to worry about punching me?"

     You only mentioned Jem earlier, so it doesn't seem like you brought a date, but he isn't sure he'd love it if he found his partner cosied up in a dark corner with their high school sweetheart.

     God, he hopes you didn't bring a date.

     There it is, a flash of— something, there and then gone in an instant. Buck hasn't thought about high school in years. Hasn't paid any mind to the friends he left behind. Once or twice, his thoughts have flitted to you, though. The one that got away. Where you are, if you were happy.

     When he landed in LA, when he finally settled into his place at the 118, he'd thought of you. He'd hoped you managed to find a place you belonged. A family that loved you like his did.

     He thought this would be awkward. Running into you again. Your name hadn't been on the RSVP list, and he'd been so relieved, because what if there was some uneasy tension between you? Buck isn't sure he'd have been able to cope with that.

     There aren't a lot of happy memories from his childhood. His adolescence left a lot to be desired, but— you. A bright spot in all that grey.

     An uncomfortable reunion might have ruined that. Those memories are cherished, for Buck; locked up tight in his battered heart.

     But it's not uncomfortable, or awkward, or uneasy. Ten years and ten seconds have slipped by like sand in an hourglass and he wonders if there's been a moment in the last decade where he felt this at ease.

     You sigh at his question, quiet and fond. "There was an engagement," you say after a moment, chewing on your lower lip, "and a break-up. Two years ago, now. Amicable, but..."

     "But it still feels like you lost something." Buck knows that feeling intimately. It's been a long time since Abby left him, and even though he's over her, the memory of it still stings sometimes.

     You nod. "Yeah. One minute you're going to marry someone, and then you're not. Doesn't really matter why not, in the end. Still hurt a little. Not anymore."

     "No?"

     You smile at him. "No."

     Buck isn't sure how much time passes, how long you both remain huddled in that dark corner as the world continues to move around you. The DJ keeps churning out a series of early-2000s hits that he's fairly sure is just one of those throwback Spotify playlists, and you both make jokes when the Class President gets on stage to give a cheesy speech, and he tells you all about the ill-advised escapades of his early-twenties.

     Crashing his bike, dropping out of college. He glosses over the unsavoury parts of his youth, but the way your eyes soften, he knows he isn't fooling you. He never could, not when it mattered. Stories about Peru have you in stitches, and a particularly messy tale about his time as a ranch hand makes you laugh so hard, half a glass of punch ends up your nose.

     He missed that. Making you laugh.

     Warmth unfurls in his chest when he looks at you. It's the kind of familiarity people associate with coming home, except it was dread he felt stepping off the plane, and uncomfortable memories prickled at him as he drove through the streets of his hometown.

     You? You've always been that for him. Warm. Safe. Home.

     "You've heard all about my wild twenties. What about you?" he wonders, as the pair of you drift back to the refreshments table, seeking snacks that don't taste like cardboard.

     (Buck manages to find a bowl of chips that aren't completely stale, so he'll call that a success.)

     "Oh, the usual," you shrug as you refill your glass. "Finished college, got a job and an apartment and a cat and a fiancé. Lost the fiancé, got another cat." You take a moment to flash him your lock screen, a picture of two calico cats curled up on your couch. "Think I  traded up there, huh? Anyway, got a new job and moved out West about a year ago."

     "Oh, really? Where'd you go?"

     "California, actually. I'm in the History department at Berkeley."

     He blinks at you once, twice. Something inside his chest goes zing. "I'm in LA!"

     "Well maybe I'll have to come down and play tourist for you sometime."

     There's a coy tilt to your mouth that he's seen before, and something pleasant skitters down his spine. Your cheeks turn even rosier, and Buck suspects the spiked punch is only partly responsible.

     "Maybe you will," he says.

     His number hasn't changed since he left Pennsylvania, and maybe that's another sign, too. The shitty music starts to wind down, and his old classmates start to stagger out into the parking lot, and when you kiss his cheek and promise to get in touch, he wonders if there's such a thing as second chances.

     It isn't the same. He isn't seventeen and you're different people now. This isn't making out under the bleachers at a football game or skipping class to take a ride on his motorcycle. You're adults now, all grown up with a whole host of other problems, and it isn't the same. It isn't.

     Except.

     The next day, Buck's phone buzzes right before he boards the flight to Los Angeles. The number isn't familiar, but when he opens the message, he cannot fight the grin that creeps onto his face.

     Hope you get home safe. I'd hate to have to find a new tour guide x

     It's not the same, because he isn't in high school anymore and neither are you. But as he switches his phone to flight mode and tucks it back into his pocket, a giddy feeling sweeping through his chest, he can't help thinking that maybe this could be better.

[dizzy-n-busy]

[can (and most likely will) contain SOME poly hcs!]

« Shaw Pack headcanons »

° • ° • ↓ • ° • °

Younger David and Darlin' had a 'platonic confession' - as Milo and Asher put it - with each other (they confessed that they were besties for the first time)

Younger Darlin' was hella touch starved and tried avoiding it at all costs bc it made them feel weird; Darlin' now is constantly being touched and completely immune to it

Angel and Asher are VERY touchy feely, love language of physical touch havin asses

David and Baaabe are the cooks of the pack - Baaabe also makes snacks for pack meetings bc David's too preoccupied (Milo and Sam are good sous-chefs !!)

Sweetheart loves buying things and going to expensive ass restaurants with the pack (they're restricted for special occasions bc the pack doesn't want them going broke)

Angel and Baaabe met each other in college but never found out each other's names till later

Everyone is immensely protective over Sam (esp during pack meetings)

Sam and Darlin' stay getting cuddled and clinged onto bc they think that they're outcasts

Milo learned how to stitch at a young age so he could personally tailor some of his clothes shorter; he was embarrassed to get them done professionally

Angel likes wearing short clothes/bottoms so when their shoes untie, the pack's literally dolphin diving tying it for them so they don't have to bend down

David gets called 'mama duck' and he literally hates it

Someone always records whenever they all hangout for memories (I'd say Baaabe, David or Sweetheart)

Darlin' and Sweetheart are menaces when it comes to pissy chrissy, they love intimidating him (Darlin' looms over him and Sweetheart jumpscares him with cloaking)

Milo has a daily skin care/shower routine which is oddly complex

Angel spams the gc with David smiling when they catch him in a photo or to lighten the mood - everyone loves it

Angel got Asher hooked on cheek kisses (or vice versa)

Movie nights or sleepovers/camping go crazy

The pack has, at some point in time, all fallen asleep on or next to Sam (he's too comforting for his own good)

It's always Milo vs Asher till you bring Darlin' into the picture (2 against 1 and they still lose lmao)

Baaabe literally obliterates everyone at arcade games

David has his last name tattooed on the back of his neck; he says how they'll be his demise /j

Sweetheart stress cleans (twinninem)

Baaabe gives fantastic pep talks

Darlin' takes Angel out whenever they struggle with sleeping and don't wanna bother David (Asher sometimes goes too)

Sweetheart is the go to for missing stuff, they always manage to find it somehow

Sam lets the pack play with his hair

Angel got David to match fits ONCE and they were literally vibrating in excitement

The amount of 'embarrassing' old pack photos and videos that David hides is FEDERAL

Darlin' gives really nice hugs

The werewolves all shift and form a cuddle party, it's very cute (many photos for evidence)

Angel likes riling Darlin' up when their shifted and gets chased like a bat outta hell - they have literally mounted the rest of the pack tryna get away

Sweetheart always gives the pack's shifted forms head kisses before and after rubbing their heads

David won't admit it but he loves hanging out with Sam on the sidelines while everyone else is playing around (shifted)

Darlin' got assorted matching piercing with the listener mates (angel bites for Angel, gages for Baaabe and either a tongue piercing or snake bites for Sweetheart)

Milo gets picked up a lot for some reason - it only slightly pisses him off

They were all matching for the Summit, I might draw it to show what I mean

Sweetheart and Milo LOVE making and holding eye contact, they like how it flusters ppl (they always win staring contests/j)

Angel's super into interior designing, they interpret it thru minecraft bc I said so

Group therapy goes crazy/lh

I have so many thoughts abt them, I might have ta make a pt2 💪💪

• ° • ° ↑ ° • ° •

[syrupfog]

Sanji who just wants a job as a sous chef but has yet to be hired, but has somehow managed to enter the world of being a private chef for extremely wealthy families. 

He hates them they remind him of childhood but he needs the cash. 

He starts working for Mihawk.

Mihawk who only eats odd, simple foods. Things that Sanji feels insulted to make. A LOT of toast with cream cheese and jam, honestly. 

Sanji’s bored out of his mind (he starts canning the fruit from Mihawk’s garden to pass the time)

Then one day, bursting through the front door come two people his own age, a woman with pink hair and a man with green, DEMANDING to know why Mihawk moved without TELLING THEM, HIS OWN CHILDREN

Sanji immediately pegs them for stuck up assholes. He’s grown to respect Mihawk, at least (he’s better than the Charlottes were). Spoiled rich adult kids who expect their lifestyles to be funded. Ugh. 

Mihawk blinks and says that he DID tell them.

There’s a lot more shouting as Sanji quietly pickles beets in the background. They come to some sort of truce around the idea that Zoro (the green haired one) lost his phone, and Perona (pink hair) blocked his number after Mihawk called at 2am about his yams.

They’re good yams, Sanji thinks. 

He also learns that they were on a “road trip of self discovery”. He’s not sure what that means. It sounds like rich kid speak for “spending spree”.

They integrate into the household though and, after being introduced to Sanji, Perona demands pink. Anything strawberry. 

Zoro says he’ll eat anything. Sanji doubts that. 

He tests it. 

He makes extravagant dishes. 

Zoro doesn’t seem to even notice, eating without complaint.

Honestly it’s good practice. He uses it as an excuse to get back into the hang of the fanciest things Zeff taught. 

But he still doesn’t like them. Rich assholes. Mihawk’s simple toasts get him a pass.

One thing about Zoro though is that he seems to spend all his time working out, so he comes looking for food at the ODDEST times. And SOMETIMES Sanji is ASLEEP. He’s got a room in the old servants’ quarters and Zoro will appear at any hour.

After the third time being awoken at 2am, Sanji snaps. 

“I’m preparing you a fucking shelf full of onigiri,” he says, pointing with a judgmental finger at Zoro’s chest. “That’s going to be your midnight snack from now on! Some of us need our beauty rest!”

Zoro blinks down at the finger. “Okay,” he says. “I mean. You clearly need it.” 

Sanji scoffs in outrage. He’s still half asleep. He aims a kick at Zoro’s head before he can process his one rule (“don’t hurt clients”). 

Zoro dodges. 

His face breaks out into a grin.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, Curls,” he says. 

Sanji stumbles. He regains his footing and stomps down the hall, face aflame. 

He makes thirty onigiri. 

Zoro eats seven. 

“There, that’ll last you three more nights,” Sanji says.

Zoro nods. “So what time do I wake you up to get you to fight me again?” 

Sanji splutters. “No!!” He shrieks. “It’s three in the morning! I know you’re a rich fuck with nothing to do but some of us have jobs! I’m on call 24/7 here!” 

…he regrets it as soon as he says it.

Expects to be fired on the spot. 

Zoro frowns. He crosses his arms. “Fine,” he says, tersely. “Go to bed.” 

Sanji… does. He avoids turning his back on Zoro as he leaves the room, a bad feeling churning in his gut.

When he makes breakfast the next morning, he’s expecting to be fired as soon as Mihawk arrives, but Mihawk mentions nothing. 

Neither do Perona or Zoro when they appear, hours later. 

Sanji feels like he’s walking on eggshells until Zoro appears in his kitchen in early afternoon.

“Hey,” says Zoro. “I talked to my dad.” 

Sanji hangs his head. “So I’m fired?” He asks, dread pooling in his stomach. 

“Fucking what? No, Jesus. I just said you should have a regular work shift. Only like, ten hours on call.” 

“So you docked my pay,” Sanji says flatly.

“Now you’re being an ass,” Zoro growls. “NO, you’re being paid the same, you’re just going to have time off when I can’t bug you. That cool?” 

Sanji frowns, suspicious. “What do you get out of it?” He asks. 

Crossing his arms, Zoro scoffs. “Not getting yelled at at 2am, mostly.”

“You could’ve just not woken me up,” Sanji says. 

“You make it real hard to be nice to you, Cook,” Zoro says, running a hand through his hair. “I know you don’t like me, but I was just trying to do something nice.” 

Sanji melts a little, but he’s not willing to give in entirely. “Well thanks,” he says. “For not firing me, too.” 

Zoro rolls his eyes. “We’ve all had shitty jobs where we want to yell at customers,” He says. 

“Now I KNOW you’re lying,” Sanji argues. “I know how rich you are. I know what Mihawk pays me.”

Zoro looks… funny at him. “Did he ever happen to mention that we’re adopted?” 

Sanji blinks. Thinks of Zeff. “Uh, no?” 

“Yeah,” Zoro says. “Fucking Daddy Warbucks situation. I was seventeen. Trust me, I know customer service. Had to work to eat.”

“Well that’s not fair,” Sanji says. “Now I feel like a fucking ass.” 

“You ARE a fucking ass,” Zoro says. “Want to fight when you’re off work? Officially your shift ends at 6 now.” 

“Dinner is for seven so that won’t work.” Sanji says. “Shut up I have a chef’s integrity.”

“You’re not turning down fighting me?” Zoro asks, sounding oddly hopeful. 

“You spend all day working out so it’ll be unfair,” Sanji says. “But sure, I’ll kick your ass. Winner chooses what filling goes in your onigiri.” 

“Spicy salmon,” Zoro says. 

“Pickled plums,” muses Sanji.

They do end up fighting after dinner, out in Mihawk’s fancy topiary garden (he maintains it himself). 

Bruised and panting, they end up making out behind the large rabbit-shaped tree. 

It becomes A Thing.

[bunnys-kisses]

bets made (and mistakes happened) - a restaurant au

john 'soap' mactavish

cw: restaurant!au, one night stand, smut/pwp, cocky!soap, bets/wagers, dirty talk enemies-to-lovers, (accidental) pregnancy, semi-long

bunny says: like this fic? leave a comment! really like this fic? suggest your own! reblogs are always welcomed!

you could stand toe to toe with whoever got in your way. you REFUSED to be talked down to like a dog. you were a good sous chef, you didn't need the guy who washed the dishes to tell you how to do your job! you could've KILLED john.

and he probably would've let you. he wanted to see those blunt nails of yours dig into his throat. he'd take it as a challenge and give you the same energy. he'd probably grin as you like a madman before he could finally sink his teeth into you. he had been wanting to for years.

so in order to keep some semblance of peace in the kitchen, chef price sent you two out in the back for a smoke. you sat on the milk crate near the door and john pulled out his pack of cigarettes.

"i like yer fire." he said.

"i wish you'd go to hell." you replied.

he chuckled and shook his head, "yer too sweet. i'm surprised you didn't poison me when you had to show tonight's dishes to the rest of staff."

"i didn't expect you to count as staff. it was meant for the other cooks."

he put his hands on his hips, apron on and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth he tilted his head to the side and chuckled, "i'm staff, bonnie. more of the backbone than you are."

you stood up, and got close to him. you were facing each other and painfully close. you plucked the cigarette out of his mouth before you took a inhale of it. he looked at you in shock as you placed it back in his mouth. you turned away from him and said, "how about this, soap. you come to my place, we see who's the better cook."

he stood up a little taller and asked, "what do i get when i win?"

you narrowed his eyes at his words, you amped up the stakes. you replied simply, "i'll let you sleep with me."

the cigarette almost fell out of his mouth from the shock. he soon took it out his mouth and exhaled, "nah, nah. really, what is it?" there was a smile on his face. he leaned in a little bit to you.

"i told you... you, me, sex. do i need to spell it out for you?"

he laughed, "oh yeah. that's a good prize, that sweet cunt." he closed the gap between you two and took your chin in his hand, he held his cigarette in the other, "deal. maybe i can finally put ya in yer place. talkin' big game for such a little girl." he shook his head. he pulled away to have another drag of his cigarette.

-

the first thing you noticed at the end of the week. john 'soap' mactavish didn't taste like an ashtray when he kissed you. currently it was friday night, the only night you two had off, and john had just won your little bet.

he had you up on the kitchen table with his hand spread out on your thigh, pushing up your dress. his lips were on yours and you tried your best to NOT melt into the kiss.

when he pulled away he pressed his forehead to you and said, "how was that?"

"it's a bet, it shouldn't matter how i feel." you replied as you kept your arms around him. his laugh pulled something in you when you were so close to him.

you expected him to make some pasta with packaged noodles and a jar of sauce. you had seen what lunches he brought. but instead in your tiny apartment, he made you a scotch pie with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth the entire time. even with the ash, it was still the best thing you had ever tasted.

he knew he won because you couldn't hide the expression on your face fast enough after the first bite. when he laughed,you hit him then went in for seconds. who would've thought the annoying dishwasher could cook this.

"how?" you asked.

he put a finger over his lips, "family secrets. only shared through marriage, doll."

after the meal, then he took his dessert. his winnings from your bet. and in all fairness, if/when he was going to fuck you, he'd rather he did with after you had a good meal. it was going to be quite the energy waster.

you broke the kiss and looked at him, those big blue eyes stared back at you. you held his face for a moment to stop him from leaning in again. you said, "i'm not fucking on a table i got from goodwill."

he chuckled, "of course, my majesty. would you like for me to fluff the pillows first." then made a noise when you squeezed his face.

"i'm saying because the fucking thing will break." then let go of him. he backed up enough for you to get off the furniture and head towards the bedroom.

he trailed behind you, his cock stood at full attention in his jeans as he get his first glimpse of your bedroom. while he noticed that there wasn't much life to the decor of the walls. he did notice that your bed was unmade and looked very comfy.

but what drew his attention was the sight of you undressing. he watched you zip down the button of the dress. you stepped out of it then quickly got your underwear off. he was barely out of his socks by the time you were naked. your curves glowed under the light of the city outside.

you sighed and approached him, "i guess i have to do everything, huh?"

he was brought back to reality and stepped back, "you don't have to do shit, love. i just need you to lie there and look pretty. if you really wanted to put on a show, make the girls bounce a little." he chuckled as he pulled his shirt over his head. he showed off his lean body and caught you staring a moment before he went to his jeans.

soon both of you were naked, and you led him onto your bed. you kicked the covers further down the mattress as you laid in bed with the other man. you kissed once more trying hard not to fall for him with each linger of his fingertips across your back.

he held you like a protective force, even if his words were often biting. he wanted you. in a carnal, lustful kind of way. the kind that sent shivers down your spine.

his hands roamed your backside, his cock twitched against your thigh as you continued to make out with him. finally that cocky mouth of his was quiet.

you pulled away soon after and placed both hands on his chest. he looked up at your curiously and you gazed down at him. those blue eyes were like dark like rocky seas as you rubbed your knee up against his cock. he hissed through his teeth.

"careful, doll." he said quietly.

you held his face once more and gave him one last kiss before you moved away and got into his lap. your ass rubbed against his cock. the sensation made him exhale deeply to try and hold back a moan.

he placed his tattooed hands on your hips. you always did find his tattoos quite appealing. you did have a dream once where he was shoving those digits inside of your pussy. at the time it made you want to put bleach in your eyes. but now... you were second guessing it.

"like this?" you asked.

"oh yeah. i love a good girl on top." he purred as the two of you began to move your bodies against one another. his eyes closed for a moment as he pressed his head into your pillow. he was drowning in the scent of the strawberry shampoo you used often. he could get whiffs of it at work when you walked by, but to be smothered in it made his cock hard.

you placed your hands on his chest and leaned forward so his cock was pushed inside of you at an angle. you panted which was accompanied by his own heavy breathing.

"feel real good. like a glove." he said, heavy on the accent, "like two pieces the same puzzle. you and i, doll, are meant to be."

"one night." you affirmed.

he chuckled as he dug his fingers further into your hips. he watched you take all of his cock and replied, "that's what they all day." before he started to meet your pace more aggressively.

the bed creaked from your movements. the heavy thrusting of sex in the cramped room of your one bedroom apartment. you funded this life through cooking and you got out cooked by a dishwasher.

you should hang the apron up already!

the thought made john smirked as he felt his cock deep inside of you. he wondered for a moment if you could still run a kitchen while caring for his brats. but that thought was pushed away from the intense rush of pleasure through his body. made his head feel full as he got closer to orgasm.

"shit, soap. ah." you moaned.

he gave your ass a slap and chuckled, the sweat dripped down his back, "you can't get enough of me. you just love it so much. you love me."

you groaned, "in your dreams." the sex was amazing. you could feel the sweat on your brow as you rutted against him. your nails dug into his pecks as you moved.

he hissed through his teeth and drove his cock deeper into you. he could feel his heart hammering in his chest. nothing like a feisty chef to get his blood pumping! with a spark on inspiration, he took you by the hips and rolled you onto your stomach.

he lifted your hips up with ease and pounded away at your cunt with vigor. the angle took the air out of your lungs, you could feel his ramming against sensitive areas. your legs were practically in the air!

the angle was amazing for both of you and soon you were gripping onto the mattress under your head.

"who would've thought scotch pie would've let me fuck ya." he laughed as he scratched at your hips due to the force he was holding you.

"shut up!" you whined as your back arched. with a few more stokes of his cock, you both came. your mind went blank. you came so hard that you honestly forgot that he wasn't wearing a condom and had dumped a bunch of his scottish seed into your aching cunt.

this wouldn't be a problem later, right?

-

a month later you're sitting on top of the toliet with a pregnancy test in hand. your hand over your mouth as you watched the test read positive.

for a second you tried to rationalize that it COULDN'T have been john who got you pregnant. not that blue-eyed, mohawk having, smug dishwasher! but you sure as hell weren't pregnant before your night together.

you pulled your hand away from your face and putt he test down on the counter. you cupped your middle and sighed. you had no choice but to tell john about it. he was going to find out eventually.

you sent him a text message, 'soap. need to talk. urgent." then put the phone down. instantly you were on the phone with him, when you heard his voice you broke down. the normally cocky john sounded sincere as he asked what was wrong. you composed yourself for a moment and wiped your eyes and said, "you are your stupid scottish cock got me pregnant."

there was silence on the other end for a moment. he then said, "anythin' ya need, doll. it's yours."

you swallowed and replied, "you and some more scotch pie." you felt your heart do a somersault.

"ay." he said, "already got the scottish in ya."

xoxo, bunny (might do a sequel, let me know!)

[buckets-and-trees]

Devour: FAT

Characters/Pairings: mostly-dark!mob!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Word Count: 2k Summary: True achievement in the restaurant industry requires a relentless drive. No compromises. You’ve risen through the ranks, and now hold the mantle of executive chef at Devour - a restaurant now owned by the infamous James Buchanan Barnes. He's just as relentless as you, and he's used to always getting exactly what he wants.

Content Warnings: smut (vaginal fingering), some strong language, mildly dark possessive behaviors

Additional Notes: Sequel to Salt (part one of the Devour series). Filling my tenth square for Bucky Barnes Bingo @buckybarnesbingo - U5 "Kink: Lingerie" and circling back to hit week 6 of Hot Bucky Summer for the prompt "How do you want me?"

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“What’s that look?” you narrowed your eyes as Stanley’s approached. As Devour’s Maître d’ Stanley was regularly in and out of the kitchen on any given night, but it was the air of intent that had you questioning him.

“Mr. Barnes is dining with us tonight. Just arrived.”

“Right, everyone, the big boss is dining tonight!” your sous chef Charlie called out to the rest of the kitchen.

There was an immediate flare of sound and activity over the announcement, and so you threw your pan down onto the counter.

“Everyone stop – right now. Stop.”

The whole staff turned their attention to you.

You didn’t raise you voice but made sure you spoke clearly. “I will say this one time: if you cook better tonight than you have every other night because Bucky Barnes is here, you better keep that fucking level every minute you stay in my kitchen from here on or else don’t come back tomorrow.” You let your eyes quickly rove over all of them.

You don’t doubt this staff, you’ve worked with them for years – inherited some of them from your predecessor and recruited some of them yourself – and helmed them without questioning their loyalty since taking over the past week. But you’ve made it clear with this statement, letting them know this is the final test of the transition in your eyes.

“Understood?”

“Yes, Chef,” is the assent from everyone.

“Back to it then.”

Stanley raised an eyebrow as everyone got back to work. “You good?”

You nodded. “It’s not his kitchen, it’s mine.”

To his credit, Stanley didn’t push you any further on the matter and took you at your word.

An hour later, the Maître d’ returned. “Mr. Barnes said, ‘my compliments to the chef,’ on his way out.”

You tilted your head to the side and frowned. “’My compliments to the chef?’ That’s it?”

Stanley waved his hand in a vague gesture that indicates that’s the extent of it.

“And he left?”

“In and out smoothly from our new owner is all I want to see,” Stanley said before returning to the front of the house.

Bastard.

You worked to ignore the disappointment that took over the anxious heat that had been simmering in your core knowing he’d finally come back. It had been exactly a week since your debut as the new Executive Chef, meaning it had also been a week since mob boss James Buchanan Barnes came in, dined, bought the place, tripled your salary, and took you apart in this empty kitchen.

You excused yourself, needing to take a walk out back to work off the pent-up energy. Once out in the cooler night air, your hand worked under the shoulder of your chef’s coat to fidget with the strap of your bra. Then you huffed at doing that because it’s now one more thing that reminded you of him.

It had also been a week with an early morning delivery every day of a simple white box wrapped in a silk ribbon, and a set of under garments resting in a bed of tissue paper and two cards – one indicating it’s La Perla lingerie (a quick Google search confirming it was some of the most expensive intimate wear in the world, an Italian line that used only the finest European silks and lace), the other with a hand-written –JBB on it to let you know exactly who it was from. It was more than a little bold to send you something like that, but when you touched the soft, luxurious material with your fingers, you sighed, thinking it would be a shame to waste something so fine. You had tried it on, just to see.

It was maddeningly also the perfect fit.

You rationalized that if he was going to send it, who were you to deny yourself something so nice just because it was a bit audacious? Let him waste his money sending you these gifts.

Today’s set was black silk and tulle. You hated how wonderful it was.

The ticket for his table that night had been dinner for two with a bottle of wine.

You hated that, too.

He returned two nights later. The order brought back by his waiter this time was to “surprise” him. Another table for two, another bottle of wine. You sent the evening’s special.

Fifteen minutes after the plates went out, so did you.

Hell if James Barnes thought he’d dine and disappear again. (It hadn’t been a dine and dash the last time – he dined for free now as the owner, but he the staff couldn’t help remarking on the more than generous tip he still left.)

Again, in one of the more private table alcoves, you knew you were approaching his table with a bit of steam pouring from your ears, but you were not going to be deterred and wanted to strike while your resolve was strong.

Steve was his dining companion tonight, and as he saw you coming, he shot you a very small smile, excused himself from the table, and gestured for you to take his spot across from the mob boss.

“Good evening,” James said, voice low, eyes hinting at a bit of mirth.

“You buy my restaurant, take me in the kitchen, drop off the grid for a week, return to dine with a woman and leave without even a word, then show up here again tonight, and think you can get off without seeing me this time?”

He smiled. “Do you want to know who she is?”

Your mouth snapped shut. You hadn’t wanted to divulge that you knew he’d been here dining only with that woman, whoever she was, or that you cared that he’d been dining with a woman. Except a little of you also did want him to know you didn’t want to be one of a string of conquests.  

He slid out of his side of the booth and came around and moved in next to you. “Interesting choice of words there, too: ‘get off.’”

You opened your mouth and closed it again. His eyes were dark with lust now, a smirk on his face, and the air felt suddenly thick around you.

“And she was my sister, by the way.”

“Oh.”

“But you should care. I like that.”

He moved even closer to you and placed his hand on your thigh, just above your knee. He brushed a finger along the side of your neck, and you couldn’t help but shiver.

“Now you said, it’s your restaurant.” His lips moved just to the shell of your ear. “Don’t forget it’s mine, Chef.” His tongue darted out to lick the curve there.

Half a whimper escaped your lips as your breath hitched.

He chuckled in your ear then pressed a kiss to your temple. He lifted his hand from your leg, and reached to the middle of the table where he dipped his finger into the dish of soft herbed French butter, then wiped it over your bottom lip. “This was delicious,” he started. You licked what he’d left on your lips, and you watched him lick the remainder of the butter off his own finger.

“But I bet you’ve got something even more delicious for me.”

You knew exactly what he was going to do, but maybe it was the intensity of his eyes locked with yours that made you remain still, practically holding your breath as his hand moved to the waistband of your pants and inside, going directly for the wetness he was creating between your legs. You shifted, body reacting to allow him more access even though your face burned with the heat of panic, not at all comfortable at the thought that anyone could see what was happening, but also desperate for him to give you the pleasure he was dangling in front of you.

“I remember the taste of your skin, and now I will get my taste of this.”

A full whimper fell from your lips this time, and you closed your eyes as his fingers circled your clit. His other hand came to rest at the nape of your neck as he planted his lips at your ear again.

“How do you want me? I bet you’ve been thinking about it.”

You gasped as he stroked up and down your labia and then slipped his fingers inside your cunt.

“Do you want me pushing these thighs open with my face buried between your legs, eating you out until you cry from it being too much for your over-sensitive clit? Splitting you open with my cock, you caged in beneath me while I fuck you into a mattress? Pressed up against a wall while I fuck you from behind? Have you thought about sitting in my lap and riding me?”

Your head fell forward, eyes closed, and you tried desperately to concentrate on your breathing and controlling the sounds you were trying to keep at by while he worked diligently to bring you towards ecstasy. Every word he said was making it all the more difficult, and you clutched at the edge of the table.

His other hand moved from caressing your neck to slip under the edge of your collar, pulling the shirt back enough for him to hook his fingers under the silky band of your bra. “Wearing what I got you.”

You reached up to grab his wrist and pull that hand away. He didn’t fight it, but he did grab your chin and tilt your face up to his for a fierce, hungry kiss. He bit at your lip, and his tongue coaxed and demanded entry to your mouth. He curled his fingers up against your pelvic wall, finding the sensitive spot there, and your lips immediately parted on a true keen over the sensation he stoked in your core. He swallowed up the noise in his mouth. His tongue stroked yours as expertly as his fingers stroked your heated channel, and within only a few more moments, your whole body seized up and then shuddered in the peak of the orgasm he demanded from you there at the table.

His kiss and his fingers both brought you down softly but quickly, and then he pulled you into his chest, tucking your head under his chin and rubbing small circles at the small of your back as your breathing returned to normal. When he removed his fingers from your cunt, he brought them to his lips, and made a low hum as he tasted your essence on his tongue.

“James,” you rasped.

“Delicious,” he whispered. “Mine.”

“Oh god.”

He snickered. “Nowhere close, you know that.”

You straightened your shirt and adjusted your trousers while he kept his broad torso sideways, and your glad he was so big he truly did afford you a modicum of privacy through the whole episode due to his size.

He pushed out of the booth, then took your hand and helped you out as well. He leaned in to kiss your cheek, but you put your fingers up to stop him. His brow furrowed.

“If I’m yours, I need more than this.”

He cocked his head just a fraction, his expression unreadable, but you saw a glimmer in his devastatingly blue eyes. “More it is, then.”

He pressed a kiss to the palm of your hand then sent you on your way. Steve passed you as he returned to the table and you to the kitchen, giving you a nod.

When you arrived home that night after your shift, something seemed different in your apartment, but you couldn’t put your finger on it immediately. You dropped your clothes into the laundry hamper, then jumped in the shower to wash the kitchen smell off you before bed. It was when you made your way to your closet, wrapped in a towel, that you noticed exactly what it was – you weren’t a slob, but everything was now extremely tidy.

Opening your drawer to get some panties, you audibly gasped.

A drawer cleared of all your old underwear, almost overflowing with new lingerie, and a card with the word ‘enjoy’ and his initials told you everything you needed to know.

He was an audacious bastard.

And when you looked at your phone as you crawled into bed, you had a goodnight text from an unknown number that undoubtedly had to be his. You frowned and did not respond.

Link to part three: ACID

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[dairy-farmer]

hi! i was going thru my notes and found this lil thing HAHAHA i vaguely remember writing this while going through your blog, but I don’t recall which string of posts inspired this burst. Sharing this here as a thank you for your wonderful blog and for all the equally wonderful anons ❤️🥰❤️🥰❤️

Before Tim leaves to search for Bruce, Dick somehow manages to knock him out and Tim loses his memories.

Dick keeps Tim locked up inside the manor while he goes out as Batman with Damian as Robin.

Damian doesn’t see anything wrong with what Dick was doing. He just thought Tim was deadweight to them.

Damian doesn’t really understand either why Dick tells everyone that Tim was off gallivanting elsewhere trying to find Bruce when he was definitely hiding Tim away in the manor.

Damian observes Dick’s frantic rush to build a completely lead-lined room once news of Superboy’s return slips past their ears.

Damian talks to Jon about Connor’s disbelief when Dick tells him that Tim went around the world to look for Bruce. “Kon said he couldn’t hear Tim’s heartbeat.” Jon tells Damian. “But Dick insisted that Tim was still alive.”

Three years after Bruce’s death, Dick asks Alfred to retire. The old, weary man reluctantly agrees with a promise to visit every other month or so.

Several years later, Damian knocks on Tim’s door.

“Damian!” Tim greets with a warm smile from his spot seated by the window. “How was school?”

Damian walks over, picking up a hairbrush along the way, and situates himself behind Tim. “I submitted the painting I showed you last week into an art competition.” He shares with Tim. He narrates the events of his day as he gently passes a brush over Tim’s now-waist length hair as per habit.

He never fails to marvel at the softness of Tim’s dark hair and how the man shivers when Damian’s hand accidentally brush his neck. The warm afternoon glow dancing on Tim’s face makes his hands itch to grab a paint rush and capture the moment forever, but he manages to resist with practiced ease. He has more than enough paintings of Tim and said man, while never complaining about being the subject of Damian’s numerous artworks and sculptures, was never really fond of staying still, trapped as he was in a single room.

As the sunset falls into night, Tim softly asks, “Will Dick come to visit me soon?”

As Damian had expected.

He sets down the hairbrush and clenches his fist behind Tim’s back. “I’m not sure.” He says as if reading from a script for the nth time. “He’s currently with the Tamaraenean woman so I wouldn’t know.”

Tim gives a noncommittal noise and gestures for Damian who grabs his waist and hand to help Tim stand up. In silence, Damian leads Tim towards the bed.

Tim lies down on the bed and whispers to Damian’s knuckles, “I hope he visits soon.”

Damian caresses the growing bump on Tim’s belly, emotions warring in him. “I‘ll see what I can do.”

!!!! thank you!!! i'm so happy you enjoy my work!! and i'm so happy you decided to share this!!!!

dick freaking out when tim tries to leave and just opting to kidnap him and lie to anyone who comes around is so good especially if he tries rationalizing it rather than admit he was wrong. but in his panic he hurts tim maybe worse than he intended so now there's no way he can let anyone know what he did sou he doubles down on everything. and damian is there and lucky for him he chooses to believe dick knows best and what he does really is for the best but then it's years later and tim is still this helpless, stupid little thing. he hadn't gone outside in years because dick thinks the best place for tim to be is inside especially since now that he's pregnant.

and damian, who has grown up with this, just...accepts it as it is even if some part of him has grown...uncomfortable at what's happening.

damian's league conditioning has slowly been taken apart and worn away with dick's help but part of damian still can't help but feel...something at dick having impregnated timothy yet he's still running around messing around with gordon, the alien, and other flings. timothy is about to be the mother of his child and it just...it feels deeply disrespectful especially since he and richard are timothy's WHOLE world. he interacts with no one else but them.

so damian starts taking up spending more time with tim, brushing his hair, bringing him his groceries, airing out his room for him when his belly gets too big.

damian is there when tim goes into labor.

he tries calling dick about it but gets sent to voicemail which means he must be...busy. dick's been a lot more busy lately- his interest in former lovers re sparked when they found out timothy was pregnant.

the more charitable part of damian says that the idea of parenthood just scared dick and that's why he was acting like this. but the less nice part of damian condemned him all the same.

timothy is in labor, about to give birth to his first child and dick. wasn't. there.

damian thinks he can handle it- getting towels, water, and medical supplies ready.

but as the hours pass tim grows..weaker. he's covered in sweat and practically white as a ghost.

tim hasn't seen a doctor in years. they'd been mostly depending on damian's medical and surgical knowledge to care for him but if damian had missed something about the pregnancy...

dick had never explicitly said tim wasn't allowed to leave but it was silently implied.

still, tim had never tried and damian had never encouraged him.

but then tim is struggling and so damian doesn't think twice about picking him up and passing through all the security measures guarding him.

damian leaves the lead lined and kryptonian soundproofed wing of the manor and makes his way to one of the cars.

half way to the hospital he hears a sonic boom and tightens his grip on the steering wheel.

he knows it must be timothy's clone friend. out of all the capes he'd been the hardest to convince to let timothy go.

but yet he doesn't descend and crash down in front of the car. but damian can tell they're being followed as he drives up to the loading bay of the hospital.

timothy's eyes are big and enchanted as he stares at their surroundings despite his labored breathing and damian is once again reminded timothy hasn't been outside in years.

its all a blur after that. damian sticks as close as he can to timothy, holding his weak hand even as doctors and nurses work around them.

distantly, damian notes his phone in his back pocket is vibrating with urgency.

grayson, if its him, will be furious.

damian can't quite bring himself to care.

grayson had nine months to show up and he didn't. he'd left the work to damian. so now damian was going to do what he thought was best for timothy.

even if it meant taking him outside.