#again this is like from a month ago that I never got to post

[viccyzsasz]

💋 “Can You Come Get Me… Please?”

Post-Breakup | Dean Winchester x You | Angst, Drunk Confession, Comfort, Lingering Love

summary: It ended months ago—with slammed doors and stubborn silence. But some hearts don’t let go, and tonight, yours dials his number again.

warnings: alcohol use, emotional vulnerability, hurt/comfort, soft reunion, kiss in the rain.

⸻

The last time you spoke to Dean Winchester, it ended in a slammed motel door and words you didn’t really mean. Something stupid. A petty fight blown out of proportion. A miscommunication you were both too stubborn to untangle. And just like that… it was over.

Months passed. The ache dulled but never disappeared. You got good at pretending. So did he.

But tonight? Tonight pretending wasn’t in the cards.

The club’s parking lot reeked of smoke and cheap decisions. You sat on the curb, makeup smudged, knees scraped, your phone trembling in your hand as you scrolled past every contact except the one you knew you’d eventually land on.

Dean.

Your thumb hovered. Then tapped.

It rang.

Once. Twice. Three times.

You nearly hung up.

Then—

“Yeah?” His voice came through low, tired. Groggy, maybe. You had definitely woken him up.

You swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of how drunk you sounded.

“I—I didn’t know who else to call,” you mumbled, blinking fast against the spin of the parking lot lights. “I got kicked out. From a club. They said I was too drunk—” you let out a breathy laugh that was more pitiful than amused. “I think they were right.”

A pause. Then sharper: “Where are you?”

You gave the name. The city. The cross street.

He cursed under his breath. “You’re an hour away. What the hell were you doing out there alone?”

“Trying to forget you,” you slurred before you could stop yourself. “Didn’t work.”

Silence. The kind that almost made you regret calling.

Then:

“Stay where you are. I’m coming.”

You blinked again. “You are?”

“Yeah,” he said, and you could practically hear him pulling on his jeans, grabbing his keys. “I’d come farther than that for you.”

Your throat burned hotter than the cheap vodka still in your system. “Dean—”

“Don’t talk. Just sit tight. I’m coming to get you.”

⸻

You were about to text him to tell him not to come. That you were fine. That it was a mistake.

But then—headlights.

The roar of a familiar engine.

Baby.

The Impala pulled up, black and sleek and painfully familiar, and for a second you forgot how to breathe. Dean stepped out. Rumpled grey tee, boots laced in a rush, jacket barely on. His hair was messy. He looked like he hadn’t slept.

But his eyes were focused. Sharp. On you.

He didn’t speak at first. Just stared, taking in the sight of you—mascara streaked, hair wild, legs scraped from tripping on the sidewalk.

You opened your mouth, half-drunk apology already forming.

But he was already there, crouching down in front of you.

“You okay?”

You nodded, too embarrassed to say anything else.

His jaw tensed. “You’re freezing.” He peeled off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders before gently helping you up. “Come on.”

The moment you sank into the passenger seat, it hit you like a punch—this used to feel like home.

The door shut. The engine rumbled back to life. And for the first fifteen minutes, neither of you spoke.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was loud—filled with every word left unsaid over the past few months.

You stared out the window, his jacket wrapped around you, throat raw.

Until finally, you broke.

“I’m sorry.”

He glanced at you. Just once.

“For calling?” he asked.

“For everything.”

Another pause. Then—“Yeah,” he muttered. “Me too.”

You turned your head toward him. “We were so stupid, Dean.”

“Yeah, we were.” He gripped the wheel tighter. “You know I almost called a hundred times.”

“Why didn’t you?”

He sighed through his nose. “Pride. Stubbornness. Thought maybe you moved on. Thought maybe I was the only one who still gave a damn.”

Your laugh cracked in your throat. “Does this look like moving on to you?”

He looked over again. Really looked.

Eyes softening.

“You’re drunk and bleeding in my front seat, wearing my jacket.”

You chuckled, wiping your eyes. “Sounds romantic when you say it like that.”

Dean didn’t laugh. He swallowed hard, knuckles white around the steering wheel again. “Don’t do that again. Don’t go out alone like that. Don’t put yourself in danger like I don’t care. Because I do. I never stopped.”

Your heart shattered in the best and worst way.

“You still love me?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“Yeah. God help me, yeah.”

The car slowed to a red light. The rain had started—light and soft at first, tapping against the windshield like it knew how fragile this moment was.

You turned toward him. “Dean?”

He looked over.

“Can I kiss you?”

He didn’t answer.

He just leaned across the seat and kissed you like he’d been waiting every night since the breakup to do it. Soft. Slow. Salty with tears and warm with everything you both buried.

When he pulled back, forehead resting against yours, he whispered,

“Let’s stop being stupid.”

And you nodded.

Because this time, neither of you planned on letting go.

⸻

[astridreturns]

Friends, this is Shipcestuous

Hi all,

MY BLOG WAS DELETED AGAIN!

I sent an email to Support, like I'm supposed to. That was over a week ago. No response yet. I never received any email telling me about a terms of service violation. I don't know what happened. I do use a VPN, which some people have wondered might be a trigger. Was it the VPN? Was I reported by an Anti? Was it just bad luck? I don't know.

They terminated my account but left my sub-blogs (like @shipcestuous-two) up. I DO NOT HAVE ACCESS TO MY SUB-BLOGS. If you've sent messages there, I can't view them or reply to them, and I can't make new posts or anything like that.

There are some horror stories on this subreddit:

People who never got their blogs back, people who got their blogs back after six months, etc.

I should have made this post earlier. But today was the day I lost most of my hope that it would be restored any time soon.

If anyone knows of any other way to communicate with Tumblr aside from the official support channel, please let me know. Some of the methods recommended in that subreddit seem to be outdated, unfortunately, like tweeting TumblrSupport.

I will check this blog periodically but will not be resuming posting activities and such here, at least I don't plan to for now. It's just to stay in communication. I'm so fed up with Tumblr right now, as you can imagine.

Happy shipping!

And Happy June 27th! I was going to make a Boy/June27 post today. This will have to be it.

@familyromantic

@intothecest

@shipcestuousliteroticaproject

@shipcestfan

@alintalzin

@litcest

[nagiboo]

“I want to talk to you.”

The words leave his mouth and it felt as if your illusion of a perfect world where only the two of you existed had crumbled with your heart.

“Sure. What’s wrong? You look serious, Sae.”

“This isn’t working.” Ah.

“Huh?” You were confused, as if just a day ago you guys weren’t curled up in a ball, watching your favourite movie with your favourite snacks.

“You’re a distraction.” He stated bluntly, his eyes were as dull and beautiful as ever. He looked like he truly didn’t care.

“You were good to have around at first, convenient even, but now, this has become too much of a burden to deal with.”

The words left his lips as if they were light and meant nothing at all, as if his sharp gaze that bore into your own didn’t shatter your heart to pieces.

“Are you serious?” You sat up from his white leather couch, in genuine disbelief as to how he could shrug you off so easily and quickly.

Sae said nothing, just stared at you. His eyes cold and lifeless.

“You’re unbelievable.” You said, getting up and grabbing your purse. Your voice was tight with utter disbelief and rising hurt.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. He said nothing. He stared at you as if you were some miscalculation in his perfect equation.

“So really, that’s it? After everything, I’m just a hassle? Some burden?”

Sae snickered. “Exactly that.” His voice was mocking, serious. He didn’t realise how hurtful he could be sometimes, and you highly doubt he intended to come off so blunt.

But the damage was done.

That was the last straw, the final nail in the coffin that sent your emotions toppling over, but only internally. You didn’t cry, nor did you beg.

“Then I hope your career is worth it.” Your voice was filled with finality, pushing past him.

The door clicked behind you, and Sae let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He was alone again.

Just like how he thought he had wanted it.

Except, the feeling inside of his chest never lifted.

He only got hollower.

His expression didn’t change, his composure didn’t crack, but his knuckles were stained white from how hard he was gripping onto his training bag.

Where was the relief he so desperately wanted? He wondered.

Being in a relationship was so troublesome, he replayed this conversation and how it would go a million times over in his head. So why did he feel so lonely?

He repeated affirmations to himself, saying that this was for the best. That you were a distraction. That he didn’t actually care for you.

Oh Sae, what a genius you are.

He praised himself in his head.

Sae had made a mistake, and he realised that months later when he had saw you with someone else posted up on your instagram.

Which he admittedly, pathetically, still stalked.

Someone who was just as average as you, lukewarm.

Not somebody who could give you grand gestures, or buy out restaurants for you.

Not someone who devoted all of his time to becoming and maintaining the title of best mid fielder.

Not someone who could get you anything with a flick of his wrist.

He was a normal human.

He didn’t buy you flowers

This man handpicked flowers for you, and you swooned as if it was the most romantic thing in the world.

And Sae couldn’t help but watch from his phone, the little stories you made together. Pictures of this man kissing what use to be his.

He remained expressionless.

But the grip he had on his training bag was unrelenting, honestly. He feels bad for how much he’s been abusing his poor bag. His fists threatening to bleed from how hard they were balled up.

His heart ached, which was weird. Because Sae was above emotions like this.

But, what could he do? He was the one who broke up with you.

So he gritted his teeth, and with legs that were suddenly heavier than any weighted plate, he walked off.

Stupid Sae. What an idiot you are.

made by nagiboo—do not translate my works !!

[not-delusional-at-all]

Just the Tip

MDNI 18+

Ghost x femreader

CW: religion, sex, manipulation, dubcon??? (Idk maybe)

Been sitting on this for a while, hope you guys like it. Sorry I haven't posted new content in a while. Life's been crazy.

You and Simon had been together for a while. Simon really likes you and you really like Simon. You two got along really well but there is one point of tension between the two of you.

You're a Christian and you hold your faith very close and dear to your heart. That in itself isn't the issue. The point of tension between you and Simon is that you want to wait until marriage to have sex.

Simon respects your wishes but it's hard for him. He's never had to hold back for so long in a relationship. It doesn't help when you'll make out with him and still grope him and grind on him. How is that not supposed to drive him crazy?

The second his fingers even think about dipping below your waistband, you hit him with "no Si, remember? Not 'til marriage"

He'll reluctantly move his fingers from the waistband of your pants and groan and tell you "you're killin' me love"

This has gone on for months. He can't take the teasing anymore. It's killing him to go home after hanging out with you and he has blue balls from hell.

One day, it finally dawned on him to ask to put just the tip in. If your hymen is still intact, you're still a virgin in the eyes of God, right?

"Love, please just let me put just the tip in" he practically begged. His cock was painfully erect and trying to break out of his jeans. He needed relief, desperately.

"I dunno, Simon... I made a promise to God..." You told him. He wrapped his arms around you and held you, trying to butter you up so you would give in.

"Just a little taste? It's just the tip, it won't break your hymen- therefore you'll still be a virgin" he assured you. You were still iffy. You didn't know if this was a legit loophole.

He took a step back- his hands still resting on your shoulders and he looked at you with a pleading look in his eyes. He was begging for you to allow this. He looked like a kid begging their parent for a toy they saw in the store.

He leaned down and whispered in your ear "It'll feel good love. Don't you want me to make you feel good?". His hot breath fanned your neck as he spoke. It sent shivers down your spine. Your walls were starting to crumble. Maybe he's right? Maybe God will allow this one thing to fly.

You sighed, indicating that you were giving in and waving the white flag. "Let's do it" you responded. His face broke out into a wide smile before kissing you. "You won't regret it, love" he told you.

You two quickly started kissing and groping each other again to get back to the same intensity you were just moments ago before he brought up just putting the tip in.

He wasted almost no time at all getting you naked. This was the first time he had ever seen you nude and he marveled at how beautiful your body was. He was ready to make you his in every way possible.

"S'beautiful" he murmured as he positioned himself between your legs. He lightly brushed his thumb up against your clit, causing you to squirm which earned a light laugh from him.

He played with your clit for a few moments, bringing you to the edge of orgasm. You were biting your lip and gripping your bed sheets for dear life.

"Cum f'me love. I need you nice and ready f'me" he told you, his voice low and raspy. You finally let go, you cried out his name as he continued to assault your clit. You were feeling bliss and overstimulation all at once.

Once your orgasm died down, he gave you a kiss before sitting up and undoing his pants. "You sure you wanna do this?" He asked. You nodded before he pulled his cock out, the head glistening with pre-cum.

He smirked and got back on top of you, he lined himself up with your entrance. As promised, he put the tip in. It was taking all of his willpower not to go any further.

Just that little bit he felt of you was like heaven and he so badly wanted to go in fully.

"Y'feel divine, love" he murmured as he thrusted the tip in and out. You bit your lip, enjoying the feeling. You wanted more.

"more" you breathed out. "You sure, love?" He asked. You nodded frantically and his smirk widened to a full out grin. You didn't need to tell him twice.

He slowly pushed further into you, taking it slow so he wouldn't hurt you. He finally bottomed out and let out a groan. It was like your pussy was made specifically for him. So tight and warm wrapped around his cock.

He started to move after a moment, once he knew you were adjusted to him. He started off gentle but slowly started to go a little harder.

He knew he was getting close. He can usually last longer but fuck... You felt so good, like you were milking him for every last drop he has without even trying.

He reached down to play with your clit. He wanted to pull one more orgasm from you before he came.

It didn't take long for you to reach your orgasm. Hearing you cry out "Si..." as your walls clenched around his cock was music to his ears. He couldn't hold back anymore.

"'M gonna cum" he breathed out before pulling out and cumming all over your chest and stomach.

He's definitely gonna go get a ring before you can feel guilty about sinning and you're gonna have his last name by the end of the week. And there's nothing you can say to change his mind.

[lucentloo]

The Letter

Summary: James is given a letter you wrote to him before you passed.

Past James Potter x Female!reader

wc: 1204

Content Warnings: Angst, ANGST, there is no happiness in this, I apologize in advance, reader is dead, this acually goes against what I said I would write about but I couldn't help myself, James and reader used to be in a relationship, Jily now though, they have Harry already, Dumbledoore is there for a few seconds, wolfstar implied, that's really all I can give without giving it away but as always if you find something I missed don't hesitate to tell me!

A/N: Hey guys! long time no see huh? (I posted my last fic like three hours ago). ANYWAY I decided to take a little turn away from what I usually write and try out some angst, this probably isn't going to be common and I might actually never do this again but I thought I'd give it a whirl for my TENTH FIC! Boom guys I got to ten lets all clap, okay but fr now I hope you guys enjoy it!! And I'll see you next time!! (Also I'm thinking of adding pictures to my fics, do you guys think it's a good idea?)

James has never been as quiet in his life as he has now. 

Dumbledore sat in his living room while Lily kept Harry occupied in his room, giving James the privacy Dumbledore had requested. However, after hearing what Dumbledore had just said, he wished more than anything that Lily had never left. In fact, he wished that Dumbledore had never come in the first place. 

“James, I know how difficult this is for you to hear, but no one else was willing to confront you,” Dumbledore said, lowering his head. “You meant a great deal to her, and I know she was very important to you as well.”

James furrows his eyebrows as he stares at Dumbledore. “Who? As far as I know, everyone I need is with me now,” he says, gesturing upstairs where Lily and Harry are. But all Dumbledore does is shake his head.

“I’m sorry, dear boy,” Dumbledore whispers as he hands James a letter. “She wanted you to have this. She knew she wouldn’t be here for much longer.” After James takes the letter, Dumbledore stands and gives him one last sorrowful glance before apparating out of the apartment.

James lingers in thought, the joyful laughter of his wife and sons drifting from upstairs. Despite their happiness, a heavy weight settles in his gut. Why would someone send him a letter? Curiosity overpowers the urge to discard it, and with trembling fingers, he opens the envelope. 

As he reads the first line, time seems to freeze.

Hey, Sunshine.

The familiar greeting floods him with emotions; you were the only one who ever called him that. His heart races, memories rushing back, leaving him in disbelief and longing after so many years.

I know you’re probably in shock, or something like that. We haven’t talked in a quite a bit, huh? I hope you’re doing well. I heard you have a kid! I think his name was Harold? Harry? One of those.

James huffs a small laugh at the last line. You never did have the best memory.

Anyway, the reason I’m writing this letter is because I know I probably won’t make it to tomorrow. Voldemorts been on my trail for months now, and it’s only about time before we cross paths. And if someone managed to find you and give you this letter, it means we did.

James takes a deep breath. His eyes fill with tears as he grips the paper tightly. This has to be a joke or a prank, right? You wouldn’t be foolish enough to get caught, would you?

These last few months have been hard without you. I know we haven’t spoken since our fight in Seventh year, but now more than ever do I wish I could have one of your hugs. I’ve barely been able to sleep without waking up to a twig snapping or someone's voice close to my tent. Your arms could always help me rest.

James’s breath grows shaky, and his denial is overthrown by his grief.

I’m sorry to bombard you with all of this. I know you’ve moved on and started a new life with Lily, like you always wanted. And I am so very happy that you were able to do that. I know a family was always one of your dreams. You remember that night, on the astronomy tower, when we talked about our future?

How could James forget? That night was one of the happiest moments he shared with you. You stayed up all night, talking and cuddling under a single blanket. James had sworn at the time that he had never been happier.

We talked for hours until the sun came up, and all you talked about was our family. I remember every detail. You wanted two daughters and one son. A dog and a cat for both Sirius and Remus. You wanted to have a little garden full of my favourite flowers, and we would have waffles for breakfast every morning. Our daughters' names would be Annie and Molly. Our son's name would’ve been Harry. Is that what you ended up naming your son?

James couldn’t hold back the tears rolling down his face. He realized that, unintentionally, he had named his son after the name you two had dreamed of when you were kids. As he looked at the letter, he noticed the tear stains and understood that you were likely crying as you wrote it, too.

I miss those times when it was just us. When you would pass me notes in class, or teach me how to ride your broom. When you would sneak me food for when I was sick, or hold my hand before an exam because you knew it made me nervous. I miss the words you would say at night, when it was quiet and Sirius and Remus had snuck off together and Peter was out doing Lord knows what. So it was just us. And you’d hold me close, and whisper in my ear, “I’ll never leave you, you’re always safe with me.” Merlin, could I use that right now? I miss you, unfunny jokes, and the way you would stumble into the door when you weren’t looking. I miss you, James.

James let’s out a whole sob at the last line. He misses you too. More than you will ever know.

I’m not supposed to. We said some really hurtful things the last time we talked. You were paranoid, and so was I. Just kids freshly graduating and already being drafted into the war. We didn’t know what we were going to do, so we did what we both do best. Push each other away. Except this time we wouldn’t see each other in class the next day or at Dinner and have time to talk. We both went our separate ways. 

James has to pause his reading for a moment; otherwise, he feels like he might forget to breathe altogether. The giggles of his son break the silence, and he can’t help but wonder if he would sound like them if he were yours, or if he would have your laugh instead. That thought makes his chest ache.

I’m sorry. I should stop this letter now rather than never finish in the first place. I do hope you never get this letter and we can maybe meet up again when the wars over. We could be friends and I can meet your son and we could talk everything out. But if you do get this letter, I just want you to know that I tried my best and I’ll be waiting for you on the other side.

Your Love.

James doesn’t know what to do or how to behave. He never imagined he would face something like this in his life. You were always a constant presence for him, providing warmth he could lean on when he felt cold. You supported him throughout his time at Hogwarts. His friends even knew about you and how much he loved you.

He never thought there would be a world without you. Even after the fight at King's Cross, he always assumed he would see you again. But now you are gone—truly, actually gone.

[thebroccolination]

LI’L MARKETING GENIUS

Okay so—I love everything about this, so lemme go through it piece by piece, ready?

Yesterday, Kit and Singto were spotted by fans eating at a restaurant together (with GMMTV staff, who also posted photos), and one fan said Kit was leaning on Singto’s shoulder for photos. Just now, Kit posted those same photos to his Instagram page.

There’s a lot of fun to unpack in this, because I appreciate the marketing angles here.

First off, Kerrist is Kit’s personal merch brand, and he was wearing the black and white versions yesterday in different social media posts:

[posted by @.bunnybig]

[posted on kit’s tiktok]

I figured he’d have something new out around the time of the series finale, so he’s probably going to start taking pre-orders soon. That means it’s a good time to soft-launch it in social media posts like these.

The other thing I like about this is that it suggests Kit and Singto are very, very intentional about everything they do during the promotional period. If you were around during Singto’s freelance era, you may remember that we almost never saw Kit or Singto together, and they didn’t share photos of their time together themselves. Even though they were still close, even though they spent time together, I think there are only two or three publicly available photos that even exist of them together while they were working separately.

So I think whenever they’re “caught” out together like this now, it’s 110% intentional. In a Japanese magazine interview a few months ago, they were asked what each other’s favorite places in each other’s houses are, and they both had ready answers (Kit said Singto’s stairwell for the acoustics, and Singto was like, “So that’s why you take your guitar in there all the time,” and Singto said Kit’s couch). There are plenty of stories about them hanging out from their friends, but they don’t really get “caught” by fans all that often. Probably because they’re mainly hanging out in private spaces where fans don’t have access. (Which is what I would do too tbh.)

Anyway, I love this because I don’t think anyone knew that Kit was going to post the photos of him leaning on Singto that fans saw being taken. This got a lot of buzz among fans overnight, and now today he’s casually dropped the photos—to advertise his upcoming merch.

What I like about all of this—and why I’m posting about it—is that Kit and Singto have effectively curtained off their private relationship while seamlessly promoting their brand based on genuine mutual affection for each other. They’re not (only) working together because their brand is profitable; their brand is profitable because people can see they’re sincere in their closeness, which results in that rare thing: brand longevity. (PeBaCa as a whole are truly impressive for that.)

And most importantly: they know how to protect that closeness.

When I first saw fans posting photos and videos of Krist and Singto out at a different restaurant recently, I was uncomfortable with it. And while I still think fans need to stop doing that in general because it is rude and invasive to encroach on an actor’s private time when they aren’t working, I realized that they’re aware it’s going to happen and they’re using it to their advantage. They’ve been in the industry for over a decade, so they’re perfectly capable of avoiding being seen if they want to. Again, they should all be able to live their lives without being followed or filmed without their consent, but I’m glad they seem to understand exactly how to strategically use the situation to their benefit.

After all, why not take an unfortunate inevitability and turn it into promotion?

So buy Kit’s merch! It’s always really cute and good quality. I have a cardigan waiting for me at a friend’s house the next time I visit Thailand. :>

[tiki-was-here]

Jack Hanma x GN Restaurant Owner Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

I’ve had this written for atleast a month now and I don’t know why I’m so afraid to post it. Apparently I couldn’t help but put little comments throughout this but I’m not even gonna bother editing them out it’s not that bad.

Closing time was usually quiet. Just the low buzz of the old refrigerator, the gentle clink of glass as you cleared the last couple of cups, and the sound of your own footsteps echoing faintly off the tile floor. You’d locked the front door twenty minutes ago  and sent the last of the staff home. Not that there were many of them—just your part-time cook and the college kid who ran deliveries during the afternoon rush. 

The day had been slow, as they often were, and filled with the same faces you saw every day. Tired businessmen, some gang members, and people who were generally just down on their luck. You were used to listening to them complain about their day and pouring extra rice into bowls for men who couldn’t quite meet their tab. They paid eventually…most of the time. And if they didn’t, the shotgun under the register had a persuasive way of ending discussions.

You were halfway through scrubbing down the counter when the front door creaked open behind you.

 The sound made your heart kick once against your ribs. You were sure you’d locked it. The deadbolt wasn’t exactly new, but it had never failed you before. Your hand moved instinctively toward the counter, but when you turned around and got a proper look at what stepped through the door, you knew that no gun would be able to help you.

A man—no, something beyond that—ducked through the doorframe like it was built for children. He was huge, easily over seven feet tall, and so broad across the chest that he barely fit through the entrance (awooga). The dim yellow lights caught on the streaks of blood down his arms and chest, still fresh. You blinked once, unsure whether to call the police or an ambulance. But he didn’t say anything, just walked in like he had every right to be there, his heavy boots thudding against the tile with each step until he dropped himself into one of the corner booths. The table creaked violently under his weight, and the seat cushions visibly sank.

You cleared your throat as you stepped a little closer.

“We’re closed,” you said meekly, voice as steady as it could be given your current situation. “Kitchen’s already shut down.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t even look at the menu still propped up on the table, just glanced up at you with those sharp eyes and said, “Food,” he said, his voice low and deep. “Whatever’s left.” (grrrrrrrrr i love his voice)

You frowned, glancing toward the back. There was some soup from earlier. Not much else unless you were willing to reheat a few ribs or fry up some rice from the cooler.

 “You planning to pay for it?” you asked, trying to force your voice to sound light and casual. It wasn’t really a joke though. 

He looked at you again, as if weighing your words, then gave a small nod. “I will.” You weren’t sure if that meant now or some undisclosed amount of time after, but the intent was clear enough.

You stepped out from behind the counter, flipping the lock back and swinging the door shut again behind him, this time more firmly.

“Alright,” you said, moving towards the back.

“But you’ll have to wait a while. I sent the staff home hours ago. Soup of the day’s still hot, if you don’t mind starting with that.” He didn’t respond. Just settled back further into the booth, making the leather creak, and stared ahead with the sort of stillness that made you uneasy.

========

Back in the kitchen, the hiss of the burner and the clatter of a ladle helped shake off some of the tension. You poured a bowl of the leftover soup—thick with onions and mushrooms—and let it simmer on the prep counter while you pulled together what ingredients you had left. Ribs, rice and eggs. Enough to fill a few plates since a man of his stature surely couldn't be satisfied with just one plate. Said man occupied your thoughts as you stirred the pot.

 He hadn’t even winced at the blood streaking down his torso. Most men would be clutching their sides, wheezing from a broken rib, or begging you to call someone.

By the time you’d finished plating, the kitchen smelled warm and sharp with spice, and you carried the heavy tray back into the dining room with a little more caution than usual.

As you approached, you stopped short and sighed, setting the tray down on a nearby table.

“Okay, look, I can’t just serve you while you’re bleeding out on my booth. I’m proud of this place, shitty as it is, and I don’t need some giant dying on my upholstery. Nobody’s haunting my restaurant if I can help it.”

His mouth twitched slightly at that—either the beginning of a smile or the beginning of a grimace—but he didn’t argue. Instead, he exhaled slowly through his nose and gave a small grunt. “Fine.” Then, without ceremony, he began peeling off his shirt. (AWOOGA)

The fabric was stiff with dried blood and stuck in places. He pulled it over his head in one slow motion, revealing the kind of body you usually only saw on the front of weightlifting magazines—if those magazines had sections for people who looked like they’d fought a tiger and won (get it get it). Scars crossed his chest and arms in jagged patterns. Some old, others fresher. There were surgical lines too, precise cuts that spoke of medical work. Whoever he was, this man had been through more than one war.

Deep slashes and punctures  had long since healed into thick, discolored tissue. Muscles wrapped his frame like armor, layered and veined, tight across bone and scar alike. The fresh gash along his side was shallow, but still bleeding enough to require attention. You grabbed the small med kit you kept beneath the counter and pulled up a chair beside him.

He didn’t flinch when you dabbed the wound with alcohol, attempting to clean the gash before you began threading a needle. His skin was tough like leather so you had to push harder than you expected. Your stitches weren’t perfect, but you’d done worse on worse.

The silence stretched between you as he tore through the bowl of soup, then moved on to the ribs. You tried making small talk, asking him what the hell had happened or even for just his name , but his answers were clipped.

Still, you could tell that he wasn’t being rude. He was just the type that didn’t talk unless he had to.

You finished the stitches, taped them down, and stepped back. “You’re good. Probably gonna scar, but looks like that’s not a new thing for you.” you joked

He finished eating just as you finished sewing,  fork clinking softly against the plate as he pushed it aside. You wiped your hands clean, feeling the dull ache of concentration settling in your shoulders.

Before you could even say anything, he stood up, almost too quickly for someone that large, and reached into his back pocket. A thick wad of bills hit the table, and then he gave you the briefest nod. “Thanks.” That was it. Then he turned and walked out, his footsteps slow, fading into the night.

You watched him go, still holding the needle in your hand. “You’re welcome,” you muttered, shaking your head.The money was more than enough to cover the food and the patch job, but he could’ve said more than just thanks.

Still, business was business. You cleaned up the booth, threw out the bloodied napkins, and finished closing shop for real this time. 

========

 You didn’t expect to see him again. Men like that didn’t usually linger anywhere long. 

But a week later, just as you were debating whether to close up early, the door creaked open again.

He walked in without a word, heading straight to the same booth as if it belonged to him now.  

You raised your eyebrows and walked over. “Didn’t expect you back so soon,” you said. “You sure you’re not just here for the free first-aid?”

His mouth twitched again, closer to a smile than you'd gotten the last time. “Same order.”

You gave a small sigh, shaking your head. “Right. One deluxe mystery meal coming up.” You headed into the kitchen, once again pulling together what you had left.

This time, it went quicker. Instead of chicken and mushroom soup you served up bowls of Tonjiru with some curry and rice.

When you brought it out, he nodded again and got to work eating. You sat nearby, not talking much this time, just letting the silence sit between you. He didn’t seem bothered by your presence.

When he finished, he stood up again, money already in hand. But before he left, he turned at the door. “Soup tomorrow?”

You paused, drying your hands on a towel. “Miso”

He nodded once, then left.

[anintroverteddarling]

bonus:

[poepill]

happy belated valentines day quodo upon thee! originally posted on ao3 for the quodo minifest, this was my valentines for @chacusha, who organized the event! i had a ton of fun drawing them and im definitely looking forward to next year <333

+ bonus art based on the comic by Kate Beaton, Javert is in Slash Fiction:

[meziniart]

Come on baby, light my fire

[eddiemunsonsmum]

Just saw this comment on a story posted a month ago.

*cries in Eddie Munson Solo Series no one wanted to read, interact with or request for*

No shade to the person that commented this on their own fic if you recognize it. It's not their fault. I'm not mad at them. More crying in the tags.

[todayisafridaynight]

Religiously i think about one of my twitter mutuals pointing out how aoki's design is subtly asymmetrical while ichiban is more symmetrical

when i think of it, masato's design is fairly symmetrical as well isnt it.....

[lesenbyan]

on god if I don't get disability I'm beyond fucked

[kitchensinksurrealism]

I like how my marvin the martian tag used to be just that, but then the hyperfixation came back after 12 years and now his tag is just marvin bc I guess we're on a first name basis now?

[youremyonlyhope]

.

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

Anybody else have an instance where their shoulder was bent weird while doing something and it felt like it was out of place but you could still use it and popped it right back but now it does that same thing every once in awhile and you’re starting to wonder if you dislocated it and healed it wrong?