#t: familiar flavors

[thestoriesincoffeestains]

"Too cozy?" she asked, eyes wide. Did such a thing exist? "And what would be the detriment of us getting too cozy?" she asked. "Being too relaxed? Too happy?"

Santiago smiled and gladly pulled her close against his side. The man kissed her temple and closed his eyes, "Mm carefully, we might end up too cozy." A nap with Dinah would be heaven, anything with her would be, but he was in no rush to put on any clothes.

[leonsgfpost]

note: Hi! I've been a little inactive, right? I've been busy, but there's always time to write something about Leon haha💕

tags: riding, unprotected sex, creampie, Leon damnation (or any older!Leon) x fem! reader.

Thinking about lazy sex with Leon.

You're on top of him, your face hidden in his neck and your hands rested on his shoulders releasing little moans into his skin. His hands held your hips, helping your movements slowly.

Leon's eyes remained narrowed and his brows furrowed in pleasure at the feel of your wet walls sliding over and over him. You two hadn't even finished removing your clothes, because his pants were down his thighs and your underwear to one side.

"Come on, pretty girl... You-ah feel so good." He murmured against your shoulder, inhaling your scent and leaving occasional kisses on your soft skin.

"Are you tired-?" he asked, a low, husky laugh escaping his lips. He looked up at you through his lashes with eyes heavy with pleasure and sleep, bringing his lips to one of your breasts moving your strappy t-shirt up, ruffling it there. He began sucking on your nipple gently, watching your reaction before he began sucking harder. He caught the tender flesh between his teeth, tugging gently. When he hears your little "huh-huh," he smiled releasing your breast with an obscenely loud 'pop.' He padded his feet on the bed and held your hips tightly, beginning to lift you up and down his cock as if you were a sex doll.

"There you go. Feels good-?" he asked again, because it was hard to control his tongue when you were clenching so tightly around him and clouding his drunken brain with the wet noise of your pussy. Low moans escaped his lips, starting to move his hips upward so he could ram you and hit that spongy spot inside you that his dripping tip was obsessed with.

Little moans from you and breathless gasps from him quickly filled the dark room lit by the red numbers marking 02:42 A.M on the little clock next to you. It wasn't often Leon would wake up so needy, but it had been days since he'd laid hands on you and his cock was already screaming for release.

"Damn. Damnit." Little curses and breathless grunts came from Leon's lips that were always flavored with the taste of your liquor. His teeth dug into your shoulder futilely, trying to silence his pathetic moans. His cock began to jerk inside you, for it no longer had the same resistance it had years before. But it didn't matter, because his calloused fingers were always there to give attention to your cute little clit. Your walls tightened around it, starting to feel that familiar sensation in your lower belly. And Leon's careless lunges only turned you on more, because you knew you were the only one who could make a man like him go all messy and dumb for your pussy.

And it's almost funny the pathetic, broken moan he lets out when your walls finally squeeze him, letting your juices splash down his thighs and abdomen creating wet sounds. Your body immediately relaxed, letting Leon continue to mindlessly fuck your brains out. And in one particular lunge, he thrusts his hips up and yours down, letting his cum explode inside you.

You heard his voice saying something, asking something. But your brain was melted, shaking on his chest trying to cope with the sensations of your orgasm and Leon's cum beginning to seep through your folds.

"Are you still with me, honey? Huh-?" he murmured, giving you that typical smile of his. And you opened your eyelids heavy with pleasure, trying to focus your gaze. You let out a little moan, realizing that Leon was settling you face down on the sheets.

"One more time. Please." He asked, settling in behind you. He pressed his chest against your back, his fingers moving to finally slide your ruined underwear down your thighs.

Because lazy sex with Leon always ended in him fucking your brains out until you fell asleep again.

hey! did you like it? please let me know it 🎀

(💌) bye, bye !

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

📊 How to Use Tropes Without Turning Your Story into a YA Checklist

You can tell when a book was written by vibes and TVTropes alone.

It’s got: ☑️ the reluctant chosen one ☑️ the love triangle ☑️ the mysterious brooding boy™ ☑️ the sassy best friend ☑️ the dead parents ☑️ the villain with daddy issues ☑️ the scene where someone says “you don’t know what I’m capable of” and walks away dramatically

And like… that’s fine.

Tropes are tools. But here’s the thing: they are starting points, not story goals.

If your plot reads like it was drafted by a checklist in a Pinterest caption, it might be time to recalibrate. Here's how to actually use tropes without turning your book into a YA Mad Libs generator:

─────── ✦ ───────

🧩 Tropes Are Patterns--Not Presets

A trope is a pattern, not a requirement. It’s not a law. It’s not a plug-and-play feature. And it’s definitely not your plot.

The “enemies-to-lovers” arc? That’s a container. What you put inside it, that’s where the originality lives.

The goal isn’t to avoid tropes. It’s to do something interesting with them.

→ Why are they enemies? → What does the “love” cost them? → What happens if they fail to become lovers?

Tropes don’t carry the story. The conflict does.

─────── ✦ ───────

⚔️ Complicate the Familiar

Here’s a trick: if a trope feels too easy, break it in half.

Examples: → “Reluctant chosen one” → okay, but what if they wanted it, and then hated it once they got it? → “The mentor dies” → cool, but what if the mentor fakes their death to manipulate the protagonist? → “Sassy best friend” → no. Make them real. Give them pain. Give them depth. No more walking punchlines.

Tropes are scaffolding, not shortcuts. Add weight. Add doubt. Add betrayal.

─────── ✦ ───────

🕳️ Interrogate Why You’re Using It

Ask yourself: → Do I love this trope or do I feel like I have to include it? → Am I doing this because I’ve seen it done… or because it serves my story? → Is this trope the only interesting thing about this scene?

If your answer is “because that’s what YA stories do,” delete it. Go deeper.

─────── ✦ ───────

💔 Tropes Aren’t Substitutes for Character Arcs

You can’t use “grumpy x sunshine” and call it development. Tropes are flavors, not meals.

Give us: → Choices with consequences. → Conflicting values. → Character growth that costs something.

Otherwise? Your grumpy guy is just a Pinterest moodboard with a pulse.

─────── ✦ ───────

🧨 Use Reader Expectations Against Them

You want to use a trope and not make it predictable? Weaponize it.

Example: → Start with a love triangle. Let the MC fall hard. Then have both love interests realize they’re in love with each other. → Use the “chosen one” trope… but make it about dismantling that myth entirely. → Introduce the “villain redemption arc” and let them choose to stay bad because it makes more sense for them.

Set up the pattern. Then snap it in half. That’s how you surprise a jaded reader.

─────── ✦ ───────

Final thoughts from your local trope goblin:

→ Tropes aren’t the problem. It’s treating them like a checklist instead of a narrative engine. → A good trope doesn’t make your story good. How you twist it does. → If a story reads like it was built from Tumblr quotes and nothing else—it’s gonna flop.

So go ahead. Use the trope. Then ruin it. Make it weird. Make it hurt. Make it yours.

—rin t. // story mechanic. trope thief. YA bingo card burner. // thewriteadviceforwriters

Sometimes the problem isn’t your plot. It’s your first 5 pages. Fix it here → 🖤 Free eBook: 5 Opening Pages Mistakes to Stop Making:

🕯️ download the pack & write something cursed:

[missdynamighttt]

okay not an ask but ive been dying to see some filo reader x katsuki 🙏🙏 katsuki would be so mesmerized he would learn to cook every dish there is and ask if it tastes like home UGH MY BABY

i know its NOT an ask but ><

katsuki wasn’t one to ask for help, but for you? he’d do anything.

you had been feeling a little down lately, and he knew that one of the things that always made you feel better was your favorite filipino dish. the only problem? he had no damn clue how to make it.

which is how he found himself pacing in the kitchen, his phone pressed to his ear as it rang.

"hello? sino 'to? (who's this?)" your mom’s voice came through, warm and familiar.

"hey, tita (auntie)," katsuki greeted, a little awkwardly but determined to speak at least a little bit of tagalog. "it's katsuki. i, uh… need your help with something... po."

"oh?" she sounded amused. "what is it, 'nak? (child?)"

he cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. "i wanna cook her favorite dish for her po, but... i dunno how. thought you could, y’know… teach me."

there was a pause, and then—laughter. "ay, ang sweet mo naman! (oh, you're so sweet!)"

he huffed, his cheeks warming. "tch. just help me out po, tita... please?"

your mom giggled but started giving him the instructions, step by step. katsuki listened intently, taking notes like it was the most important mission of his life. when he messed something up, your mom scolded him like he was her own son.

"no, no, not like that! ay nako (oh my gosh), katsuki, don’t burn it!"

"i’m not burning it!" he retorted, quickly adjusting the heat.

by the end of the call, he had the dish almost perfect—maybe not as good as your mom’s, but damn close.

"thank you po, tita," he muttered, a little embarrassed but genuinely grateful.

"of course, anak," she said fondly. "you take care of my baby, okay?"

he smiled softly. "always."

katsuki wasn’t the type to get nervous. he could take down villains, handle the most intense hero work, and push himself past his limits without hesitation.

but right now?

he had set everything up carefully—your favorite dish, cooked to the best of his ability, plated nicely in front of you. he sat across from you, arms crossed, but you could see the way his fingers tapped restlessly against his bicep.

"i know you’ve been feelin’ kinda down lately," he muttered, not quite meeting your eyes. "figured... maybe this would help."

you blinked at him, surprised, before looking down at the plate. your heart swelled. he did all of this for you?

"katsu..." you whispered, touched beyond words.

"just eat it already," he grumbled, trying to sound impatient, but you could see the way his jaw was tight, the slight furrow of his brows. he cared—he really cared.

so you took a bite.

the moment the flavors hit your tongue, a wave of emotions crashed over you. it wasn’t exactly like your mom’s, but it was damn close. the effort, the heart, the love behind it made it even better.

"this is amazing, kats," you said, looking up at him with genuine admiration. "how the hell did you pull this off? did you use a youtube tutorial? google recipes?"

katsuki scoffed, leaning back in his chair with a smug look. "tch. you think i’d trust some half-assed internet recipe?"

you raised an eyebrow. "then how—"

he huffed, looking away, suddenly seeming a little flustered. "called your mom," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "she walked me through it."

your eyes widened. "you called my mom?"

"yeah, yeah, don’t make a big deal out of it," he grumbled, avoiding your gaze. "figured if i was gonna do it, i’d do it right. so i asked the expert."

you stared at him for a moment, your heart swelling with warmth. "katsuki... that’s so—"

"shut up," he cut in quickly, face slightly pink. "just eat, dammit."

but you couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face. he had gone out of his way to talk to your mom, to learn something that would comfort you. it wasn’t just about the food—it was about you.

you took another bite, savoring the taste and the love behind it.

"i love you, y’know that?" you said, smiling at him.

katsuki clicked his tongue, trying to act unaffected, but the way his ears burned gave him away. "yeah, yeah… i love you too. just finish your damn food."

but when you looked down at your plate again, you felt his hand reach for yours under the table, giving it a small, firm squeeze. and that, more than anything, told you exactly how much he cared.

katsuki watched you like a hawk, leaning in just slightly. "does it… y’know… does it taste like home?"

your chest tightened, warmth blooming in your heart.

"it does," you murmured, squeezing his hand back. "it tastes like home because you feel like home, katsuki."

he stiffened for a second, almost not sure how to process your words.

"tch. sappy little shit," he muttered, but you could hear the smile in his voice, feel the way his grip tightened like he never wanted to let go.

"you're my home too, sweets."

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

[florencemtrash]

Club Rats and Cigarettes: Part II

Azriel x Modern Reader

Summary: When Azriel stumbles into a new world with his brothers, the last thing he expects to find is a mate. But she has a hell of a way of making a first impression, and Azriel can't help but fall in love with someone who feels familiar in a strange world.

Warnings: Violence, mentions of drug use

Masterlist of Masterlists

Author's note: Y'all... I'm just trying to get back into writing after disappearing off the face of the earth... so here's part II! Y/n's cat is about to play a huge role in all of this

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Y/n had gone to bed hoping she’d been drugged at the club (that was the first and only time she would ever think such a thing). That alone might explain how she’d been persuaded to bring three grown men home, decorated with enough weapons to arm a small battalion. But perhaps it had all been some acid-laced dream and she would step outside her bedroom to the sight of an empty living room and a very disgruntled Jefferson at her heels. 

But alas, she had gone to bed sober, and woke up to two Illyrians passed out on the floor and one Shadowsinger thumbing through her bookshelf.

“What is this?” Cassian squatted in front of the microwave, nose pressed up against glass as his breakfast spun in lazy circles. Steam shot out from beneath saran wrap and he watched mesmerized as tingles of electricity sang through the air and set the hair on his neck alight. He could taste the energy on his tongue, along with leftover chicken tikka masala from the one Indian restaurant fifteen minutes away. 

Y/n shot him an odd glance from the kitchen table, pouring herself a cup of coffee with a sigh. It was becoming easier and easier to believe that they were from another world as they fawned over her kitchen appliances, beaten and used as they were. Just this morning, Rhys had taken an hour-long shower, content to stand beneath the assault of boiling hot water until his skin was red and spotted from heat. “I need this in the River House,” he’d declared with an air that spoke of royalty, standing in the hallway with nothing but a towel wrapped low around his waist. Y/n’s face had burned brighter than the sun and Azriel had growled so low Jefferson scowled and scampered away.

“It’s a microwave,” Y/n explained, rubbing at her temples.  

“What does it do?” Cassian opened the small door and hissed when the dish burned his fingertips. A common mistake — though he wouldn’t know that. 

“Heats up food. Pops popcorn. Blows up if you put metal in it.” 

Azriel grabbed his brother’s wrist before he could get any ideas about tossing a spoon into the microwave. “That was not an invitation to try,” Azriel hissed in warning. He was embarrassed enough about his conduct the night before. The last thing he needed was for one of his brothers to blow up his mate’s home. 

Cassian hummed in curiosity, shoving a spoonful of leftover takeout into his mouth and groaning at the taste. He sank into a plastic IKEA chair beside Y/n with a strangled sound of contentment. Nothing in Prythian tasted like this, and unlike the Human Lands, the food here had flavor to it, albeit of an artificial variety. 

Azriel was quick to fill up his plate. He didn’t want Y/n to stand up and offer him anything. Gods, he’d have a heart attack if she offered him so much as a teaspoon of sugar. He even managed to heat it up all by himself, fumbling with the buttons before finally setting the timer for 2 minutes, as she continued to eye him warily over her cup. 

He’d given her a sheath to accompany the knife he’d gifted her and she wore it now slung across her hip. It did not suit the sweatpants and old college t-shirt she wore, but she couldn’t deny she felt better with it close by. Soon he’d have to teach her how to use it properly. 

“If you really want to conduct that experiment, I could probably find a half-usable microwave down at the landfill for you to blow up.” 

Cassian’s eyes lit up with eagerness and Azriel scowled at him once more. Rhysand stalked into the kitchen, hair still dripping onto last night’s clothes. Violet eyes recklessly appraised her house, but if he was judging her 70s floral wallpaper dull with discoloration and time, he was doing a damn good job of hiding it. With a lazy flick of his wrists the stovetop burners lit up with a click and a flare of fire. First he applied his magic too strongly and the hiss of gas tinged the air. But after a strong-worded reprimand from Azriel, he tempered his control over the new, unfamiliar magic. 

Rhysand touched the flame without fear, capturing a flicker in his palms before letting it fizzle out. It was a strange magic the humans used. It touched everything without them even realizing that’s what it was. Y/n had used it to start her car the night before, and had used it this morning to brew her coffee and answer the flurry of messages that appeared on the little black box she carried everywhere. Rhysand couldn’t help but reflect on the strange world they’d arrived in once again. 

Azriel ate standing and Y/n sensed he was not one for relaxation. Constantly vigilant, the twisting of his shadows betrayed what his rock-still body did not. He was searching with his golden eyes, and Y/n found he was the one her eyes stuck to like a mouse on a glue trap. 

His nails were cut short and clean, but his hands were cracked, dry, and horribly scarred — his one and only glaring imperfection. He leaned casually against the wall, content to hide in the shadows of the fridge, but his jaw was clenched. He seemed like he was doing everything he could not to meet her gaze, but everytime she moved, his eyes followed her. Hands twitching by his side or against his breakfast plate as she twisted in her seat or poured another cup. 

“So,” she began carefully. The pouring of coffee splintered throughout the room. “What the fuck am I meant to do with you now?”

Rhysand chuckled, as if he too recognized the absurdity of the situation as he took the remaining chair at the table beside Jefferson and Cassian. Two Illyrians, a half-breed, a human, and her hideous feline companion. If only Feyre could see them now… 

The fat cat hissed, maw split open in a dark scowl. He leapt off his seat cushion, settling precariously in Y/n’s lap as he eyed his three victims. Just one taste. He reminded himself. And I will know their devices. It was the gift that had been bestowed upon him by Master. 

Normally, Jefferson the Cat would find an hour or two to disappear into the night and answer to Them, but the arrival of such dangerous guests had stolen that opportunity from him. He longed to slink into the darkness, to chase after the tendrils of power that lingered in the woods and to reveal all that he knew, for he was a good spy. But he was a better protector and could not bear to leave his Y/n in such horrific company. 

The three brothers looked at one another cautiously and Jefferson could only reflect on how they were so similar in their colorings, yet so different. 

“We don’t… we don’t have a plan.” Cassian admitted, finally giving his spoon a rest and rubbing the back of his neck. “We were hoping you might think of something.”

“Me?” 

“Elain told us there would be a Maker of some kind waiting here for us. Someone who could expect our arrival and arm us with what we need to defeat Koschei.”

Y/n scoffed. “That’s so fucking vague.” 

Rhysand smirked. “When considering interdimensional travel, what more could you expect?”

“So what’s stopping you from using your magic to find the Maker.” She wiggled her fingers in the air and Rhysand tried not to be offended. “Surely a High Lord or whatever you are is powerful enough to find him.” 

Rhysand’s expression soured. “The magic of this world is different from ours in a way that’s… interfering with our usual abilities.”

“Like?”

“Like how I can’t read your mind.” 

Y/n immediately reared back from Rhysand’s violet gaze, finding a patch of silver fur on Jefferson’s coat to distract herself with. “Well excuse me for finding that a relief.” Jefferson hummed in agreement, pushing his head into her open palm. “So your magic’s on the fritz and you’re stuck in an unfamiliar world with nothing but the name of “the Maker” to guide you home.”

“Do you know anything about him?” Rhysand leaned forward expectantly. 

Y/n remained unsmiling. “No. Sorry to disappoint. The uh… Maker is not someone I know personally.” 

He combed through his hair and somehow the strands fell perfectly back into place. It was annoying how handsome he was, like he belonged on the cover of an Abercrombie and Fitch catalogue. Y/n blinked, suddenly glad that he couldn’t hear her thoughts. He seemed like the kind whose arrogance would scarf up a comment like that. 

“Anyone else you could direct us to? Lords, Ladies, Kings, and Queens, or—”

“Life doesn’t work that way here. We’ve all but done away with royalty.” 

“Then someone else. Whoever governs this place.” 

Y/n snorted. She gathered Jefferson in her arms and disappeared to her bedroom, reemerging with a slender tablet in her hands that she opened like a book. The screen glowed ominously before transforming into a host of words jumbled together. Azriel got a glimpse of the word “Google” before she was slamming her fingers on the keys faster than he could register. 

She showed them the man who governed this place — America, she called it — and all three frowned deeply. 

“I see.” Rhysand grumbled. 

Their disappointment did not go away when she showed them Congress. It got worse when she actually got around to explaining everything. 

“No gods?” Azriel asked. He leaned over her shoulder, one arm planted on the table so she could have turned around and kissed his stretched neck if she wanted to. 

“I mean… yes and no? We have gods, but it’s not exactly like we can speed dial them.” 

“What does—” He shook his head, “Nevermind.” 

Jefferson flicked his tail. Master was a god. Is a god. He put all his weight on his front paw, sinking it deep into Y/n’s stomach until she was grimacing in pain and lifting him into her arms. 

Jefferson eyed the curve of Azriel’s neck, claws inching forward out of his velvety paw when the doorbell rang. Then rang again.

Y/n swore, shuffling the Illyrians into the kitchen and out of sight of the front door before opening the peep hole.

Azriel snuck up behind her quiet as night, and slid a knife into her palm. “Just in case,” he murmured.

She startled at the heavy weight of the blade and looked at him incredulously, fighting to suppress a smile. “I’m not about to murder a Mormon. Now hide.” 

What’s a Mormon? Cassian mouthed. He held a broadsword in a loose grip, bouncing on his feet as he prepared for what may come. An uninvited guest was a threat, and Cassian was all too familiar with the kinds of dangers that liked to visit the homes of young women.

Azriel shrugged, joining his brothers around the corner and out of sight. 

“Hello!” A cheery, male voice called from just out of sight. Azriel couldn’t help but seethe. His hands twitched around the handle of his knife as the soapy, clean smell of the stranger invaded Y/n’s home. 

A thin, lanky frame stood straight as a needle in the doorway, crisp clean shirt and black tie decorating an otherwise bland and pale figure. Sandy blonde hair was brushed back from a freckled brow and framed a long face with a brilliantly white and straight smile. Azriel had never seen a human with teeth so uniform. 

“How are you doing today?” The male touched his hand to his chest, clutching a leather-bound book in the other, “I’m Brother—” 

“Hey,” Y/n dropped her voice low and sweet, “I have company over and can’t listen right now. Come again later?”

“Oh, I’m sorry I—” 

“Yes, yes, apology accepted.” She could hear the fake politeness in her own voice — plastic and lifeless. But she had more pressing concerns at the moment.  

She gently ushered the man down the walkway, watching carefully as he made his way down the street to the neighbor’s place before shutting the door with a definitive thud and declaring, “I need another coffee.” 

Azriel sprang forward, “Allow me.” There was an extra touch of eagerness to his voice. He snagged the empty coffee cup from the table before she could protest and poured her a cup adding in sugar and cream exactly to her liking. He even stirred his spoon the way she liked — three times counter clockwise, once clockwise, before tapping the lip of the mug twice. He’d been paying careful attention to her all morning, and it paid off when she took her first sip and realized, with shock, that it was perfect. 

“Thank you,” she murmured, closing her eyes and sighing. 

He tipped his head forward in the ghost of a bow, eyes catching on the swish of tail and acid-yellow silts narrowing in contempt at him as Jefferson wrapped around Y/n’s legs. Then the cat pounced. 

Jefferson leapt into Azriel’s arms with a howl, swiping at the Illyrian’s face and neck with vengeance. There was a flash of claws and a thin line of blood appeared on Azriel’s cheek. 

“JEFFERSON!” Y/n shouted. Azriel calmly held onto the cat’s thick torso, holding out the spitting creature at arms length as it writhed and screamed. “I’m so, so sorry.” Apologies continued to spill from your mouth as you hauled Jefferson away. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” 

The cat only hissed with his eyes locked firmly on the Shadowsinger. 

Azriel swore there was satisfaction in the cat’s gaze as Jefferson brought one paw up to his mouth and licked the drop of blood from his claws. 

Immediately the cat’s slitted eyes blew open until they were nearly black. 

Oh… Master would not like this. Beyond the Master, he did not like this. 

The cat began to whine, clawing at Y/n’s clothes like he was convinced she would abandon him. You cannot have her, Shadowsinger! He thought with venom. You cannot take her away! He meowed desperately, crawling into Y/n’s shirt through the neck hole. 

Rhysand cocked his head to the side, reaching out with his magic at the cat that was acting very un-cat-like. There was something there, some magic, clinging to the creature like a piece of armor. Rhysand could feel it wrapping around the beast, coiling and uncoiling and burning with light. Breathing.

“Y/n?” The High Lord asked carefully. The young woman was too busy soothing the beast to hear him the first time around. “Y/n.”  

“What?” 

“Where did you get that cat?” 

“Really, Rhys? That’s what you’re focused on right now?” Cassian scoffed, crossing his arms.

 “Please answer the question, darling.” 

Azriel and Y/n both frowned at the use of that pet name. 

“I got him the way most people get cats.” She shrugged, “I found him in the backyard.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah. I found him a week after my previous cat died. Jefferson was scratching at the window frame for hours until I finally woke up and let him inside. He’s been with me ever since.”  

“Interesting.” Rhysand poked at where Jefferson bulged under her shirt. If he didn’t know any better he would say Jefferson was protecting Y/n with his body, covering her heart with his own. “Could I see the cat please?” 

Reluctantly, Jefferson let Y/n pull him out of her shirt and present him to the High Lord of the Night Court. Rhysand held him loosely in the crook of his arm and pulled out a knife, pricking the tip of his pointer finger before presenting it to the cat. 

“No claws necessary.” He said as the cat took a tentative lick, then bit down for good measure. 

Y/n watched all of this with a mixture of fascination and detached horror as Cassian did the same. Jefferson licked his lips, regarding them with less suspicion and more disdain. He would need to go see Master. Now. He was in desperate need of revelation if he was to care for Y/n. But this time, he could rest easier knowing Y/n was in good hands. Although he only possessed the brain of a feline, incapable of grasping the enormity of a mating bond, he knew that so long as Y/n was with the Shadowsinger, she would be safe. At the very least she would not be the first to die. 

Jefferson jumped down Cassian’s arms with a firm kick to the warrior’s chest, slunk towards the front door and with startling dexterity, unlocked, then opened the door all on his own. 

“Jefferson…” 

The cat turned, tail high in the air like an antennae and meowed his goodbyes, blinking slowly at his charge. 

Fear not. He purred, although he knew Y/n was not so enlightened as to understand him. I will not leave you to these plebeians for long. 

He took off for the woods, his form warping and changing as he went. He seemed to grow, then shrink. His fur turning black, then gold, then back to silver. But before Y/n could fully comprehend what she was happening to her fucking cat, he melted into a beam of sunlight and flickered out of existence. 

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[lightsoutmatthews]

jo you have been cooking with these fics girl i literally can’t get enough!!!! can i request auston x reader are having their first baby together and how auston is supportive during labor even tho reader is so scared? thanks :)

This one got long, but I felt so inspired I just had to write it all out

Warning!!! Literal description of giving birth, labor and all, mentions of needles and hospitals

Our Little Miracle – Auston Matthews

It was the middle of July in Toronto, technically the off-season, but Auston had decided in the light of things you would pass on spending it in Arizona this year.

You both agreed no travel, no vacation, no weekend getaways.

You were due any day now, and Auston wanted to be nowhere but here, with you.

The condo was clean, cleaner than it had probably ever been. Auston had let it be deep-cleaned last week, before he tried to install a car seat with YouTube instructions and a ton of muttered swearing under his breath. Turns out, Lamborghinis and Porsches weren’t really made for this.

The nursery was finished. Soft greys and whites, colorful splashes on the wall, a mobile that still needed batteries. Auston painted the walls himself, twice actually, because you changed your mind after seeing the first color in daylight. Then hired a friend to make it more colorful. You didn’t want to be one of those beige parents.

You were 39 weeks and three days. Every part of your body felt heavy. Walking had become waddling. Sleeping had become a challenge and the nesting instinct? Out of control. You reorganized the baby´s dresser drawers three times that day alone.

Auston walked in from the living room, holding two popsicles. “Pick a flavor,” he said, holding them out like a magician. “Cherry or mystery.”

You gave him a tired smile, taking the cherry. “Thanks.”

“Did you sleep at all?”

“An hour maybe,” you admitted, plopping onto the couch. “The baby was doing full-on somersaults again. I swear they´re going to be a goalie with how much they kick.”

Auston laughed and sat beside you. “Then we´re doomed.”

The two of you sat in silence for a bit, the fan buzzing quietly in the background, your belly rising and falling beneath your stretched shirt.

Auston reached out and gently placed his hand there, feeling for a movement. “Hard to believe we´re here,” he mumbled.

You looked at him. “I know.”

There was still part of you that couldn’t quite believe it. You had the baby shower, the doctor´s appointments, the ultrasounds, but the idea of actually delivering a human being into the world felt too big to wrap your head around.

“Are you nervous?” you asked, your voice soft.

Auston blinked, the nodded. “Terrified.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

He gave you a look. “Of course. Are you kidding? I´ve been googling “what not to say during labor” for weeks. Pretty sure I already broke three rules just today.”

You laughed for real this time, then winced slightly when your stomach tightened in a now familiar way.

“Was that another one?” he asked, instantly alert. “Yeah,” you breathed. “But it faded. Just Braxton Hicks.”

Still, he didn’t take his eyes off you. Ever since your last appointment, where the OB said the baby had dropped and your cervix was softening, Auston had been on full alert.

At first it was sweet, adorable even. Now? A little suffocating.

“Babe, I love you,” you said, looking over at him. “but if you don’t stop asking me if I´m sure it´s not labor, I´m going to induce myself just to get some quiet.”

He grinned sheepishly. “Can´t help it. Every time you blink, I think it´s go-time.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder, letting the moment settle. You weren’t ready but you were. Both things were true.

----------

That night Auston made dinner – sort of.

He reheated frozen pasta and poured you a ginger ale in your favorite glass.

You sat at the table slowly, one hand always cradling your belly, feeling heavy and tired but weirdly content.

“You know,” Auston said between bites. “I was thinking of something.”

“Oh boy.”

He ignored that. “What if the baby looks nothing like either of us?”

You tilted your head. “What do you mean?”

“Like, what if they come out with red hair and green eyes and we´re both just standing there like who are you?”

You smirked. “Freddie would love that.” You laughed, referring to your close friend and know redhead Frederik Andersen.

“Bet he would,” Auston laughed.

“Well, we´ll cross that bridge if our baby is a ginger. I´ll buy SPF 100.”

He chuckled, but then his smile softened. “I don’t really care who they look like. As long as they´re okay.”

There it was again. The fear underneath all the joking. Auston was calm on the surface, but you had seen it in his eyes these past few weeks.

You were both first-time parents. No amount of planning could prepare you for the unknown.

That night, you climbed into bed carefully and stretched out with a long groan. Auston brushed your hair back as you sighed into your pillow.

“You okay?” he whispered.

“Yeah. Just tired and kind of scared.”

“Me too,” he admitted, lying down behind you. His hand resting on your side. “But you´re doing so good, babe. We got this.”

You didn’t know if that was true but hearing him say it made you feel a little better.

2:12 am

You shot awake with a sharp intake of breath. A tight pain, low, deep, and way more intense than any of the Braxton Hicks you had before, wrapped around your abdomen.

You sat up slowly, confused and breathless. Then you felt it.

A warm tickle, then a gush.

You pushed off the covers, heart pounding. It soaked through your underwear and started pooling under you. There was no denying it now.

You turned and smacked Auston´s arm hard. “Auston! Wake up, my water just broke.”

His eyes flew open. “Wait, what?”

“My water broke.”

He blinked, scrambling upright. “Are you serious?”

You nodded, frozen.

He flung the blankets back, took one look, and his eyes went wide. “Holy sh- I mean okay! Okay. We got this. Stay calm.”

“I am calm,” you said, panicked.

Auston jumped out of bed, already dialing the hospital on his phone. “I´m calling now. Don’t move. I´ll get the bag.”

“I have to move, Auston. It´s dripping on the bed.”

“Okay, but slowly.”

You started breathing heavier as another contraction slammed into you, sharper than the last. Auston paused mid step.

“That one hurt?” he asked, eyes locked on yours.

You nodded, already tearing up.

He dropped the phone on the bed and came to your side immediately, crouching down. “Hey, you´re okay. We´re going to the hospital now. We´re good. I got you.”

You grabbed his hand and squeezed hard. “I´m scared.”

“I know. Me too,” he said honestly, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “But we´ve waited months for this. We´re finally going to meet them.”

You nodded slowly. “Let´s go meet our baby.”

-----------

The ride to the hospital was somehow both fast and endless.

Auston drove carefully, but you could feel the energy pulsing off him like static. Nervous, focused, rattled beneath the surface.

Every few minutes he glanced at you and asked “Okay?” and you would give him a tight nod or a pained “yeah,” even though each contraction had your breath hitching in your throat.

The car smelled like lemon hand sanitizer and air conditioning. Your hospital bag was in the back seat, bouncing lightly against the headrest, and your water bottle had already rolled somewhere out of reach.

You were trying to time your contractions in your head but kept losing track.

Auston parked in the underground garage, and before you could even unbuckle, he was already outside, opening your door, his hand there to steady you. “Let´s go slow, okay?”

You nodded, gripping his arm tightly as another wave of pressure surged through you.

3:10 am

The admitting nurse greeted you with a smile that made you want to cry. “How far apart are the contractions?”

“About every four minutes,” Auston answered quickly, standing at your side with one hand resting protectively on your lower back.

You were clenching your teeth, trying to breathe through another one, fingers digging into the railing of the wheelchair they had brough you. “They´re…getting worse.”

---------

You were brought into a private room where they hooked you up to a monitor, checked your vitals and examined you.

“You´re at five centimeters,” the nurse said. “You´re in active labor.”

That made your stomach turn.

Auston crouched down beside you. “Halfway there,” he muttered softly. “You´re doing so good.”

You looked at him with damp eyes. “This is really happening, huh?”

He gave a tiny, nervous laugh. “Yeah. I think we´re doing this.”

4:20 am

You were moved into a delivery suite. Bigger, quieter, filled with soft beeping from machines and a couch in the corner that Auston would absolutely not be using.

He refused to sit. Instead, he helped you change into the hospital gown, held your hand as the nurse inserted your IV and asked the same question over and over: “Do you need anything?”

“I need this baby out of me,” you muttered through gritted teeth.

“Working on that,” he said, brushing your hair back. “I can´t speed it up, but I can hold your hand through it. Deal?”

You nodded as another contraction rolled in, this one stronger, pulling a sharp breath from you.

Auston instantly shifted beside the bed, gripping your hand, his free palm rubbing slow circles over your back.

“You´re doing great,” he murmured. “Just breathe.”

“I am breathing,” you hissed.

“I know. You´re doing it perfectly.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Stop being so calm.”

He smiled. “If I panic, you will kill me.”

5:15 am

By hour two in the labor room, you were done. The pain had moved from manageable to all-consuming. Your back was on fire, your legs shook between contractions and no breathing technique was doing the trick anymore.

You looked at the nurse between gritted teeth. “I want the epidural. Please.”

Auston didn’t even blink. “Okay. Let´s do it.”

He helped you sit up as the anesthesiologist came in.

You buried your face into his chest as the doctor prepped your back. Your arms trembled, part fear, part exhaustion and you hated the sound of plastic wrappers and alcohol swabs behind you.

“You´re okay,” Auston whispered into your hair. “I´m right here. Just breathe. You´re doing so well.”

The needle pricked and you flinched, but he never let go of you. When it was over, the relief – oh, the relief – washed over you like a warm bath.

You collapsed against the pillows, nearly crying from the absence of pain. “Better?” Auston asked, brushing your cheek.

You nodded, breathless. “So much better. Thank God.”

He kissed your forehead. “You´re amazing.”

“Don’t make me cry,” you mumbled. “I´ll get dehydrated.”

7:45 am

Time started to blur. Nurses came and went. The monitors beeped quietly. The sun was starting to rise outside, casting a soft yellow light into the room.

You were lying comfortably now, epidural taking the edge off everything, but the fear was building in your chest again. The realness of it all.

You looked over at Auston, who was sitting at your bedside, scrolling on his phone updating everyone on what was happening with one hand and holding yours with the other one. He looked up the moment he felt your grip tighten.

“What´s wrong?”

You swallowed hard. “What if I can´t do this?”

He set the phone down immediately. “You are doing it.”

“No, I mean…what if something goes wrong? What if the baby is not okay? What if I can´t push? What if they have to do a C-section? What if-“

Auston stood and leaned over the bed, cupping your face gently. “Stop,” he said softly but firm. “Listen to me.”

You blinked away tears.

“You´ve done everything right,” he said. “You´ve cared this baby for nine months. You´ve eaten all the weird snacks. You´ve dealt with all the back pain and the nausea, and the kicks to the ribs. And now you´re here. Doing the hardest part.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I´m so scared, Aus.”

“I know,” he said. “Me too.”

His honesty broke something in you. You reached for him and he kissed your knuckles, resting you’re his forehead against yours.

“I don’t know what´s going to happen next,” he continued. “But I know I´ll be right here next to you when it does. Always.”

You closed your eyes. “Thank you.”

He pulled back and smiled. “Also, I just talked to the nurse, she said you´re almost 9 centimeters.”

Your heart jumped. “What?!”

“She also said the baby´s head is low. Probably soon.”

8:50 am

The doctor entered the room after one more check. “You´re at ten centimeters. Let´s give it a few more minutes for the baby to descend a bit more, and then we´ll start pushing.”

You stared at her like she had just said something in a language you didn’t understand. “That´s it? We just start?”

Auston stood beside you again, rubbing your arm. “We start.”

Panic swelled again in your chest. Auston noticed immediately.

He moved in closer and kissed the side of your head.

“Listen,” he said gently. “You don’t have to be brave right now. You just have to be you and I´ll be right here.”

You but your lip, eyes swimming. “What if I mess up?”

“There´s no messing up,” he whispered. “You´ve already done the impossible. This? This is just the last stretch.”

You leaned into him, closing your eyes as a few tears finally slipped out.

He didn’t wipe them away. He just held your hand tighter.

“Alright,” the nurse said calmly, rolling a small cart into the room. “We´re going to start with some practice pushes first, okay?”

You nodded stiffly, hands gripping the sides of the bed.

Auston was right next to you, standing tall, a towel slung over his shoulder for no reason other than to look useful, eyes locked on yours like he was ready to go to war for you.

He had put a hat on to keep his hair out of his face, looking half-tired, half-terrified but steady.

“I´m not ready,” you whispered to him, your throat tight.

“I know,” he whispered back. “But you don’t have to be perfect right now.”

9:05 am

The doctor got into position, gloves on, coaching you through each step. “Take a deep breath in,” the nurse instructed, her tone form but encouraging. “And push, hard, for ten seconds.”

You did. You bore down and pushed with everything you had, squeezing Auston´s hand like a lifeline.

He counted quietly, voice in your ear. By seven your arms were shaking. “Ten. Breathe.”

You collapsed against the pillows, chest heaving. “Holy shit.”

“You´re doing amazing,” Auston mumbled, brushing a damp strand of hair from your forehead.

“No, I´m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

You glared weakly. “If you say that again, I will punch you.”

He grinned. “Totally fair. You´re still doing amazing, though.”

--------

The next hour passed in a haze. You pushed through waves of exhaustion. You cried through some of them. sometimes from fear, sometimes from frustration, sometimes just because you felt like your body was doing something bigger than it was ever meant to do.

You swore. You groaned. At one point, you shouted “I CAN´T” in the middle of a contraction and Auston was there immediately, gripping both your hands in his.

“Yes you can,” he said. “You are. Just one more. Come on, babe. You´ve got this.”

Your face crumpled as you looked at him. “What if I break?”

“You won´t,” he promised. “But if you do, I´ll hold you together.”

That made you cry again, but you nodded. And pushed.

10:20 am

“You´re almost there,” the doctor said. “I can see the head."

Auston´s eyes went wide. “You can?!”

“Do you want to see?” the nurse offered.

He looked at your first. You hesitated…then nodded.

He stood, peeked around the doctor, then immediately sat back down, eyes glassy, like he couldn’t quite believe what he just saw.

“She´s right,” he whispered. “They´re right there. We´re so close.”

That gave you a second wind. You clutched his hand again, chin down, and gave it everything you had.

“Push-“

You did. Everything blurred. The room dimmed and brightened at once.

“Deep breath…one more…”

You roared with effort. You felt the shift. The pressure. The release.

“Shoulders – okay, here we go…”

And then a cry.

A sharp, perfect wail.

It was like the world stopped for a second.

The doctor lifted the baby, holding them up in the light. “It´s a…” the nurse started.

“No!” you and Auston both cut in at the same time. “We wanted to look first.”

Laughter rippled through the room. The doctor gently placed the baby on your chest.

You looked down.

Tiny, red, crying. Arms flailing. So real.

And unmistakably….

“A girl,” Auston whispered, voice cracking. “We have a little girl.”

“Congratulations Mrs. and Mr. Matthews,” the doctor smiled.

You stared in awe, your arms instinctively wrapping around the tiny, slippery bundle now resting against your chest. Her face was scrunched, her fists curled.

“She´s perfect.”

10:35 am

The nurses worked quietly around you, cleaning her, checking her vitals, wiping you down.

You didn’t even notice the rest of it. All you could do was stare at her, at the warm weight of her tiny body against yours, at the way her cry faded the moment your hand cupped the back of her head.

Auston stood frozen beside you for a long moment, eyes locked on your daughter. “She´s so small,” he whispered. “Oh my god. She´s tiny.”

“She´s perfect,” you whispered.

His voice broke. “Yeah.”

You looked up, there were tears picking at the corner of his eyes.

“Babe,” you said softly.

He gave you a watery smile and crouched beside the bed, brushing his thumb over the baby´s back.

“I didn’t know I could love someone this fast,” he murmured. “It´s like… I don’t even know her yes, and I´d already die for her.”

You smiled through your own tears. “Same.”

He kissed your temple, then your shoulder, then your daughter´s tiny forehead.

“She looks like you,” he laughed.

“She has your mouth.”

“She has your nose.”

You paused. “Do you think she´ll have your shot.”

He laughed quietly. “God, I hope not. She´d break all my records.”

You joined in with laughter. “As if you would be mad about that.”

11:15 am

Eventually, the room was cleaned. The doctor left. The nurses dimmed the lights, and it was just the three of you.

Auston sitting shirtless in the reclined with your daughter curled against his chest, swaddled like a burrito, eyes closed.

“She fell asleep on me,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion.

You smiled from the bed, still exhausted, still sore, still floating somewhere outside yourself. “She knows who her dad is.”

He looked down at her with a mix of reverence and disbelief. “I can´t believe she was inside you. Like…that´s who we were talking to all those months.”

“She heard your Leafs rants,” you giggled. “She´s probably already a fan.”

He gave a tired chuckle. “I will buy her all the merch in the world. She´ll look so adorable in a tiny Matthews jersey.”

The room was quiet except for the gently hum of the AC and your daughter´s faint breathing.

“She´s real,” Auston repeated, like he had to say it out loud to make it true.

“She´s ours,” you added softly.

He looked at you, eyes filled with awe. “You were incredible.”

You snorted. “I was a mess.”

“Exactly,” he said. “You were scared, and you still did it like a pro. I´ve never been so proud of you.”

Your eyes stung again.

He got up carefully, walking to the side of your bed. “Want do hold her again?”

You nodded.

He placed her in your arms gently, adjusting the blankets. Her lips smacked slightly in her sleep. You stared down at her for a long moment.

“Hey,” you whispered to her. “I´m your mom.”

Then you looked at Auston. “And that massive guy over there is your dad. He´s kind of obsessed with your already.”

“She´s going to be so spoiled,” he warned. “Not just by us but Uncle Mitchy and Uncle Willy are already debating who gets to bring her a present first.”

“She deserves to be.”

[lazy-ahh]

FROM RIVALS TO REVELRY

pairing phainon x gender neutral reader

phainon and you are all sunshine—except when you're together. then, it's all bickering, teasing, and playful challenges. but somewhere between the rivalry and the reluctant smiles, something shifts. phainon falls first, loud and obvious; you're slower, softer, but just as hopeless. two idiots, one love—neither of you knows how to act normal about it.

phainon doesn’t understand why you get under his skin so easily.

you’re both the type to light up a room—all wide grins and easy laughter, the kind of warmth that makes strangers feel like friends. yet the second your eyes meet, something crackles between you, sharp and restless. you’ll toss out a joke that’s just a little too pointed, or flash that infuriatingly innocent smile after trouncing him in some stupid bet, and suddenly he’s torn between wanting to ruffle your hair and shove you off a balcony.

it’s not even the teasing that gets him—it’s the way you mean every word, yet still manage to sound so damn gentle about it, like you’re handing him a flower instead of a challenge. he doesn’t remember when this started, only that now, every time you’re near, his pulse kicks up like he’s mid-battle—equal parts irritation and something far more dangerous.

"you're such a pain," he huffs, crossing his arms tight over his chest like he's physically holding back the urge to flick your forehead. you just grin wider, all sunshine and mischief, the kind of expression that should come with warning signs—too bright, too warm, too damn hard to look away from. there's a smudge of dirt on your cheek from whatever chaos you'd been cooking up before finding him, but you don't seem to notice or care.

"says the guy who trips over his own feet," you shoot back, laughter bubbling in your voice like it's the easiest thing in the world. your head tilts just slightly, that infuriatingly gentle challenge in your eyes, like you're not mocking him so much as inviting him to play along. it makes his fingers twitch—half to strangle you, half to pull you closer—and he swears through gritted teeth that he'll wipe that smirk off your face one day.

except... he doesn't.

somewhere between your hundredth mock battle and the time you shared a sticky-sweet dessert (after bickering for ten minutes over which flavor to pick), the sharpness between you melts like sugar in sunlight. your teasing jabs still land, but now they come wrapped in something softer—a nudge of your elbow against his ribs, the way you'll dramatically clutch your chest when he fires back like it's the most devastating insult.

his chest does this stupid, fluttery thing when you laugh now, all bright and unguarded, your nose scrunching up in that way he's memorized without meaning to.

he doesn't realize he's scanning every crowded hallway for your familiar silhouette until it's already a habit. doesn't notice how his shoulders relax when he spots your hair or the familiar colours of your usual attire among crowds of people, or how the air feels thinner on days you're not around to fill the silence with your rambling stories and terrible jokes.

it's infuriating. (and maybe, just maybe, a little bit wonderful.)

phainon has never been one to deny his feelings, though. so when it hits him—that he's hopelessly, stupidly in love with you, his rival-turned-something-else, the only person who matches his stubbornness while somehow staying so damn soft—he doesn't hesitate. doesn't even blink.

he drapes himself over your shoulders while you're mid-sentence explaining some wild plan, grinning when you flail and nearly drop your weapon. "warn a person next time!" you yelp, but there's no real heat in it—just that flustered pink creeping up your neck he's grown addicted to.

he steals the last bite of your sandwich just to hear your indignant gasp, then presses a honey-drizzled pastry into your hands as "payment," laughing when you immediately get sticky fingerprints on your sleeves.

and when he tugs you into a spin under the stars, you trip over absolutely nothing (of course you do), sending you both crashing into a pile of laugh-drunk limbs. "you're a menace," you groan, but you're still clinging to his arm, your laughter bubbling up like sunlight given sound.

he brushes a flower petal from your hair—when did that even get there?—and thinks, wildly, that he'd let you set his whole world off-balance if it meant keeping this.

you don't push him away. (you never really could.)

in fact, you melt into his touch like sunlight through leaves, pressing back when he nudges you, firing off half-baked comebacks that make him snort into his drink. when he loops an arm around your waist to drag you somewhere ridiculous—another impromptu race, a detour to pet every stray cat on the street—you go without protest, laughing as you stumble along beside him like this is exactly where you belong. but when he cups your face, thumbs brushing flour from your cheek (when did you even get flour there?), and whispers "god, i love you," your whole face scrunches up in adorable confusion.

"huh?" you say, eyes wide and blinking like he just spoke in riddles. your fingers curl absently in his shirt, clinging even as your brain short-circuits—so painfully earnest it makes his chest ache.

phainon just sighs, all the fondness in the world pooling in his ribs as he presses a kiss to your flour-dusted forehead. "never mind," he murmurs against your skin, smiling when you instinctively tilt into the contact despite your bafflement. "i'll wait for you to catch up."

and he will. patiently, relentlessly, until the day you gasp and tackle-hug him shouting "oh! i love you too!" (probably mid-battle, definitely at maximum volume.) because even if you're both idiots—one loudly smitten, the other obliviously devoted—you're his idiot. always.

hello again!! it's only been about nine days since my last upload, but somehow it's felt much longer... lately, i've found myself craving phainon's particular kind of sunshine, even on days when my mind feels strangely blank, like a notebook with all its pages still waiting to be filled. (was that poetic or was that poetic??) so here's this little piece, soft and small at just 928 words. (is this a one-shot? a drabble? after nearly a decade of writing—since i was just scribbling stories in year 4—you'd think i'd know the difference by now...) regardless, i hope it brings you even a fraction of the warmth phainon always brings me. thank you, as always, for reading <3

[strawberrypoundtown]

Jesse's Girl

Jesse Vi x Fem!Reader

Your boyfriend gets his first rut with you the day after you two have sex for the first time. He wakes up the next day and finds you in his kitchen, wearing one of his t-shirts and a little apron while making breakfast for the two of you. However, he doesn't want eggs and bacon for breakfast...

Contains: pregnancy risk, oral sex, breeding kink, cum inflation, knotting, overstimulation, gagging (weed?)

The night before had been a beautiful night for the two of you. Your first time together. Jesse wanted you guys to take things slow at first, so you did. You had no problem with it and had agreed it was a good idea, especially considering you didn't want to have your face plastered everywhere online. You wanted him to be sure about his feelings for you before things got too serious. He was known for being quiet a playboy, so this was new for him.

Now 6 months later, you two were regularly hanging out and had a lot of steamy make-out sessions... okay maybe a couple hand jobs or fingerings, but nothing too crazy! You both agreed it was time to take it to the next level, so he went all out for you as a surprise for your 6 month anniversary. Rose petals, candles, a homecooked dinner, wine/weed, flavored condoms, he really went all out. He even sang you his newest love song that he wrote just for the two of you. It's your new favorite song.

Now you were standing in the kitchen, humming while swaying to the beat of the song as you cooked up breakfast for the two of you. It was the least you could do after he gave you such an amazing night together. You were getting wet just thinking about how he made you feel last night. The way he ate you out and fingered you until you were squirming and grinding against his face was still fresh in your mind. You had to beg for him to fuck you after 3 orgasms and since you were nice an lubed up, he had happily complied. He came so much he had completely filled the tight cherry flavored condom he had put on. You wished it was inside you instead, but you weren't on birth control and knew it wouldn't be good for his reputation. You could dream tho.

The heavenly scent of freshly cooked bacon filled the penthouse, causing your boyfriend to slowly start to wake up. He lazily reaches for you in bed, but pouts when he couldn't feel you next to him. He blinked slowly as he propped himself up and sniffed the air. His pout was quickly replaced by a sleepy smile as he slowly got out of bed. He thought you were so sweet. Sneaking out of bed to make him breakfast for when he woke up. It smelt like he had good timing.

He yawned as he walked towards the bedroom door after slipping on some boxers, leaning against it as he took another deep inhale through his nose so he could smell your cooking. However, this time he didn't just get the smell of bacon... there was something else... something familiar... something that made him feel hot...

As he made his way down the hallway, he kept sniffing the air, unable to get enough of the delightful scent that kept getting stronger with each step. He noticed himself struggling to keep himself together as he got to the kitchen, seeing your beautiful frame by the stove pulling out the last of the bacon out of the frying pan and putting it to the side as you turned around, a huge smile on your face. He looked you up and down and saw that all you were wearing was one of his silly t-shirts and an apron that cinched your waist in the most delicious way. The scent was coming from you... and he felt rut just hit him like a freight train.

"Hey baby, I was about to make you some eggs. How do you like them?" You said cheerfully, just happy that your handsome boyfriend was awake. You turned back towards the stove without really looking at his hungry expression, humming the tune of his song while swaying your hips. His eyes narrowed as he approached you, growling under his breath. When you were within arms reach, he grabs your hips and pulls you back into his bulge.

"I love them scrambled... I hope you do too..." He moans in your ear as he snakes one arm around your waist as he turns off the stove with the other before snaking that one around your waist as well. He kisses your neck while he grinds his hard-on against your soft ass, letting out soft growls at the same time.

"W-what's going on with you?" You manage to stutter out before he licks the side of your neck, earning a moan from you. He holds your face with one hand as he turns your head, planting a sloppy kiss on your lips. You gently start to grind back against him while you feel the back of the shirt you're wearing start to ride up.

"Fuuuuck, don't do that, pretty lady. I already can't control myself as it is..." He growls in your ear, sending shivers down your spine as you notice his arms around your are growing and getting really, really hairy. Oh God. You'd never seen him transformed in person before. You had seen pictures of him on stage during his 'Full Moon' concerts, but it was nothing compared to having him transform with you in his arms, his hulking, fury body surrounding you as you melted into his warm fur.

Almost as if Jesse read your mind, he grabbed you by the waist and brought you back to the bedroom. He tossed you on the large bed without warning and ripped off his boxers that were basically ruined anyways. Now you could see his massive knotted cock, twitching as it was already starting to leak pre-cum.

You pout when he moves back,but as he stands up you'releft in aw. No wonder he had 10' tall ceilings. When he's transformed he's over 7'. His long, thick black fur covers his muscular frame, beautiful like his usual long braid. His golden brown eyes stared down at you and almost seemed to glow.

He gives you a devious and hungry grin as you turn around to face him. He reaches around you and places a hand on the small of your back as he uses his other hand to rub your poor needy pussy, lightly teasing your entrance with his claws as his fingers rubbed against your sensitive clit. You moan out as you start up at him, getting even more wet just looking at him. Your eyes traveled down his body and landed on the boxers that were barely holding onto his waist now, his bulge straining against the thin fabric. He smelt so good. You wanted him to fuck you so badly.

'Holy fuck.' You subconsciously bite your lip, unable to stop yourself from staring as he crawls onto the bed, holding himself over you. As you get a look at his furry face up close, he looked a lot less intimidating and a lot more desperate. He pants in your face as his tongue hangs out, dripping drool onto his shirt that's covering your chest

"Take it off or I rip it off." He growls lowly, his eyebrows twisting in irritation that clothes exist, before his eyes soften with need. "I need you." He whispers as you snapped out of your daze and quickly removed the apron and the shirt, throwing it off to be found at a later date. He groans as he watched your every move with a hungry look, his dick twitching and leaking precum all over the bed. You looked so sexy squirming under him and taking your clothes off.

"Take me then, big boy." You purred once you were naked, your face red as you stared up at him and spread your legs.

That's it. You've done it now.

He growls as he suddenly shoves his tongue down your throat. You gag in response before moaning softly. His tongue leaves your lips as soon as it entered, leaving you breathless as his tongue begins to travel down your body. He laps at your skin, groaning and whimpering as he can still taste your sweat from when you two had sex last night. Your taste was addicting to him.

He travels from your neck, to your chest, before landing on one of your nipples. He licks and nibbles to his hearts content, reveling in your moans while one of his hands reach down to rub your clit. He presses one of his fingers down on your clit and gently rubs it, smiling as he watches you buck against him. He switches to your other nipple and gives it the same treatment as he rubs your clit in circles, teasing it with his claws before pulling his hand away. He starts to run his tongue down your body again, moving directly to your pussy as he grinds his cock against the bed.

You shiver between moans, the cold air on your wet nipples coupled with Jesse's warm tongue sending goosebumps throughout your body. You watch as his tongue reaches your pussy, lapping at your clit like a madman. You moan softly, biting down on your bottom lip to try and stiffle your moans.

He gives you a bit of a glare as he moves his tongue down to your pussy entrance, teasing you for just a moment before pushing his tongue inside. He starts off moving his tongue slowly, but quickly builds up the pace as he watches your every move. You looked so hot squirming because of him, your face twisting in pleasure as he made you feel better than anyone else has before. He wanted to treat you right. His mate. His aching cock rubbed against the bed, earning deep guttural groaning from him as he ate you out like it was his last meal on death row. If you suffocated him with your thighs at that moment, he would die a happy man.

You were lost in your own little world, however, unable to concentrate on anything other than the knot building in your stomach. His tongue kept hitting your g-spot, punishing it with it's pace as his nose rubbed against your clit. Your moans filled the room, getting louder as you got closer and closer to cumming. He grips your hips with his strong, clawed hands to keep you in place, leaving scratches behind.

You finally let out a loud moan that was nearly a scream, your pussy clamping down on his tongue. Your eyes rolled back in pleasure as he didn't stop, forcing you to ride out your orgasm first before pulling away. His mouth dripped with a combination of your juices and his spit. He crawls over you, jerking his aching cock as his pre-cum drips onto your pussy.

"Fuck you taste so good. I'd keep going, but I really need you right now... please... only you can help me..." He pleads, panting desperately as he rubs the tip of his cock against your sensitive clit, waiting for your response before diving into you. You moan as you stare up at him, panting yourself as you nod with a tired smile.

"Please use me." You say breathlessly. His eyes go wide before narrowing, growling as he grins and lines up his cock with your pussy. As you get a good look at him, the main part of his dick should just barely fit without any issues. However, you're unsure how that massive knot is gonna fit, but you can't wait to find out.

He slowly eases his cock inside you, making the both of you moan. His eyes close for a moment before opening again. As you look up at him, you notice his eyes look different, like an animal took over. Your body shook in anticipation as your pussy stretched around his cock.

Once you feel his knot press against your entrance, it was like all your boyfriend wanted was to pound you into the mattress. He wasted no time in pummeling his dick into your poor, sensitive hole. You weren't complaining, though. In fact, your hand reached down and started to rub your clit as his balls slapped your ass with every thrust.

He replaced your hand on your clit with his, making you moan louder as his cock aimed for your g-spot st the same time. You panted as you moaned, bucking yourself into him as the other hand held your hips in place for him. Your moans were beautiful, like music to his ears. He made you feel like that, and he wants you to let out your beautiful symphony all for him.

"I-I'm gonna c-cum." You manage to squeak out as he ran his tongue over your body before stopping at your neck. You just tasted so good. Your body trembled as each thrust threatened to send you over the edge, especially when you felt his knot trying to push inside of you as well.

"Fuck yeah baby... I'm close too... I want you to cum on my knot... please..." He moans in your ear, lapping at your neck as his thrusts speed up before suddenly crashing his hips into yours. He bites your neck without thinking, marking you as his mate. His knot suddenly slides in with a slick pop feeling and the added pressure sends you over the edge, tears filling your eyes as your back arches and cum fills your pussy. You let out a screaming moan as your sensitive pussy convulsed around his cock like you were trying to milk it. Both of your bodies tense and twitch as he gently grinds his hips against yours, letting you both ride out your orgasms. You feel his hot cum filling you completely, his knot stopping any of it from dripping out.

He only stops grinding against you to change positions. He holds you close as he moves to lay back on his bed with you still on his dick due to his knot. You enjoy the warmth of his fur against your body for a moment before you feel him start to grind up against you pussy again. He holds your chin and makes you look up at him as he looks at you with need and adoration.

"Hey baby, don't think we're done yet. I need my mate to help me with my rut. You can do that, can't you? Fuck, you feel so fucking good..." He praises while reaching down to rub your sensitive clit again, earning a pathetic little moan from you. Seeing you with his mark on your neck was driving him crazy.

"You're the only one that can help me babe. You took me so good. Please help me... I'll make you feel even better... just don't make me stop..." He pleads as he keeps grinding his swollen knot inside you, every curve of his cock hitting everything inside you perfectly.

How could you so no to an offer like that?

[loveinhawkins]

outside the cruelty of locker rooms

ao3 Written for @steddiemicrofic May 2025 prompt, “delay,” 408 words. Rated G, Missing Scene, pre season 3/season 3, Scoops Ahoy. cw: implied/referenced homophobia

“Hey, Harrington! You dropped something.”

My dignity? Steve thinks, followed more passionately by The hat? Please say it’s the hat, God, I wanna burn that thing.

But turns out it’s just part of the cardboard display that had been dumped outside of the mall—presumably for him to collect, but no-one’s told him or Robin anything, honestly, who the hell even runs this place?

He doubles back, close to the spot where the bus drops people off. Eddie Munson’s on the sidewalk, holding up a speech bubble with the Scoops Ahoy anchor on it: flavors limited—try now, don’t delay!

“Thanks,” Steve says distractedly. He tries to slot the speech bubble back into the display—it’s meant to be coming out the mouth of some Popeye knockoff—but when the words land upside down, he decides he’s not paid enough to care.

“So, did they pass a law,” Eddie says amusedly, “that, like, requires you to be in shorts all the time?”

All things considered, it’s really tame; Steve’s taken much harsher jabs, especially from those in his year, lining up to the ice cream parlor like it’s a zoo attraction, which, Jesus, get a life.

“Dude, get me a free sample,” Mark Lewinsky had demanded, like he hadn’t just been ridiculing Steve to his friends at the entrance.

“Sure,” Steve said flatly. I’ll even throw in a punch to the face, too.

He sets the display aside to tug at his sailor collar. “Nah, I designed this. And since when do I wear shorts all the time, Munson?”

“Uh, every single gym class? It was a year round event, man.”

Eddie looks embarrassed even before he’s finished speaking, like he already regrets saying it. He’s also wearing shorts—it’s too hot to be wearing anything else—and a t-shirt, faded with age. The clothes are vaguely familiar, and when Eddie leans against the brick wall, arms folded, covering up bare skin—self-defence disguised as nonchalance—it recalls gym in another way, the self-consciousness that only breeds within the cruelty of locker rooms.

God, it’s bullshit. Fuck anyone, Steve thinks with a sudden fervour, who made you feel like—

“The shorts are better than this damn hat, dude. It’s killing my best feature.”

Eddie snorts. “Nice to see your modesty is alive and well.”

Point to Munson, Steve concedes, but as Eddie’s arms relax just a little, can’t help thinking, Point to me, like he’s just won a game he didn’t really know he was playing.

[internetdaddy98]

The Endgame - Final Chapter

Previous | [Series Masterlist]

Pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!SeniorResident!Reader Summary: You and Robby return home after Thanksgiving with your family, finding comfort in each other's presence. Word Count: 1.1 K

The apartment was quiet when they arrived back from Thanksgiving with Sheridan’s family. The usual hum of the city outside and the soft ticking of the clock in the corner of the living room made the space feel like a peaceful retreat, away from the hectic pace of their everyday lives. It was just the two of them now, Y/N and Robby, and the comfort of her apartment seemed to embrace them, as if the walls had always been meant for these quiet, shared moments.

You had already kicked off your shoes by the door, your coat tossed over the back of a chair. Robby hung his up and followed you into the kitchen. You had a soft smile on your lips as you moved around, untying your scarf and letting your wavy hair fall freely. The scent of cinnamon and roasting vegetables still lingered in the air, reminding you of the warmth you had just left behind with her family.

“Home,” You said, glancing over your shoulder at him, your voice light and content. There was something about the way you said it, like the word had taken on a new meaning for you both. Home wasn’t just your apartment anymore. It was wherever you found each other.

Robby leaned against the counter, watching you with a quiet affection. "You sure you want me here? I can always come back tomorrow."

You rolled your eyes, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Stop. You’re not leaving. We have a whole weekend to ourselves.” You pulled open the fridge, scanning its contents. “What do you want for dinner?”

It was a familiar question, but this time, the sense of possibility in the air was different. It wasn’t just a casual question anymore; it was a gesture that symbolized something much deeper. A domestic rhythm that hadn’t existed before. It was yours.

“How about we cook something together?” Robby suggested, stepping closer to you.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Cook? You sure you can handle it?”

Robby chuckled. “I’ve been handling trauma cases for decades. I think I can handle a kitchen.” He winked, reaching for a knife from the block. "What are we making?"

“Chicken Parmesan?” you proposed, already pulling ingredients from the fridge. “We can make it from scratch. You can be in charge of the sauce.”

Robby grinned, stepping to the counter beside you. “Deal.” He rolled up his sleeves, his eyes softening with a touch of something that felt new for him. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

And just like in the ER, you fell into a rhythm. You would chop, and Robby would sauté. There was an easy, practiced flow to your movements, an unspoken communication between you, honed from months of working side by side. You moved around each other like a well-oiled machine, finishing each other’s sentences, anticipating each other’s needs. It was the same teamwork you shared in the emergency room, but now, it was in the kitchen.

“You’re not burning the garlic, are you?” you asked, glancing at him with a teasing smile.

“No, no. I’ve got this,” Robby replied, focusing on the pan in front of him. “I’m not that bad, you know.”

You chuckled softly, wiping your hands on a towel. “We’ll see. If the sauce tastes bad, you’re sleeping on the couch.”

Robby shot you a look of mock outrage. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” you said playfully, tapping him with the towel.

You shared a laugh, the kind of laughter that felt like a promise, light, easy, and filled with warmth.

As you moved through the evening, your tasks shifted. Robby set the table, then poured two glasses of wine. You stirred the sauce, checking the flavors one last time before plating the meal. You sat down at the table, your hands brushing as you passed each other food. The atmosphere between you was comfortable, easy. It wasn’t about grand gestures or flashy declarations; it was the simple act of being together. Of sharing a meal you’d made together, in the quiet of your apartment, with only the sound of soft music in the background.

You sipped your wine, glancing at Robby with a thoughtful expression. You seemed to be weighing something in your mind, your gaze lingering on him as if you were about to say something important.

Robby, sensing the shift, put down his glass and gave you a soft, patient smile. “What is it?”

You took a deep breath, a small but significant pause before speaking. “I want you to move in with me.”

Robby’s heart skipped a beat. The words were simple, but the weight they carried was heavier than anything he’d felt in a while. He set his glass down carefully, his eyes locking with yours. “Y/N...” His voice faltered, but it was only for a second. He tried to steady himself. “Are you sure? I mean..”

“I’m sure.” You interrupted, your voice steady and sincere. You leaned forward, your elbows resting on the table as you studied him. “I want to wake up with you every day. I don’t want to keep doing this... back-and-forth thing. I want us to live together. For real. For good.”

Robby was quiet for a long moment, processing your words. The idea of being with you every day, of coming home to you, felt like a dream he never thought he could have. But now, with everything you’d been through, everything you’d built, it felt like the most natural next step.

He let out a slow breath, his hand reaching across the table to take yours. “You make it sound so easy.”

Your smile was warm, genuine, full of affection. “It is easy. It just feels... right. Doesn’t it?”

He nodded, squeezing your hand. “Yeah. It feels right.”

You sat there for a while, just holding hands and basking in the shared quiet. It was the kind of peace that only came after years of chaos, the kind that had been hard won. And now, in this kitchen, with the promise of a future together, it felt like everything was finally falling into place.

Robby leaned back in his chair, his eyes soft with affection as he watched you. He felt an overwhelming sense of contentment, something he’d never thought he would find after all these years of holding onto his walls. But now, with you beside him, he knew for certain that all those walls had been worth breaking down.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy,” he said softly, his voice filled with a quiet awe.

You smiled, her eyes bright with understanding. “Me neither.”

And for the first time in a long time, Robby allowed himself to believe in something real. Something lasting.

You finished your dinner in comfortable silence, the kind that only two people who truly understood each other could share. And as the evening wore on, you found yourselves curled up on the couch together, the weight of the world outside forgotten. You were together. And that was enough. ——————————————————————————————— I'm sorry it took so long to get this out!!! I have become a frequent flyer at my local ER T_T @rosiepoise88 @nosebeers @andabuttonnose @luvr4miya @cannonindeez @hagarsays @captainoates @lemonlime09 @delicateflorencia @iceb1ink1uck @moonshooter @qardasngan @penbridgertonn @foreverchangingfandoms @msdariaknight @kmc1989 @trustme3-13 @ilikestuffs-stuff @letstryagaintomorrow @steviebbboi @jazzimac1967 @foolishseven @catmomstyles3 @oklahomapeach

[cringe--is--dead]

𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕪 𝔻𝕠 𝕎𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕐𝕠𝕦’𝕣𝕖 𝕊𝕚𝕔𝕜

Incl. Umemiya, Hiragi, Tsubakino, Choji, Togame

Umemiya

Having grown up in a group home, Umemiya knows how to be the best care giver ever

That being said: he’s also insanely clingy and affectionate on his worst days

He’s attentive to a T

With Kotoha’s help he’s bringing you homemade soup, full of fresh veggies from his garden

He’s making you tea and keeping water bottles near by whenever you even mention wanting a drink

Sends his four kings out to watch over while he’s with you because he refuses to leave your side until your healthy— doesn’t matter if it’s a cold or the flu

Still cuddles with you, despite you telling him he’ll get sick— he tells you his love and affection will make you feel better

Whenever your fever spikes he’s quickly getting a wet cloth, laying it on your forehead and humming a wordless tune or telling you stories softly

He’s there to wake you up whenever you have fever induced nightmares, and holds your hair back if you rush to the bathroom to be sick

If you even feel the tiniest bit insecure because you feel gross and greasy he shuts that down: by telling you:

“In sickness and in health!” “That’s— those are wedding vows?” “Ha, yeah! But think of them as…pre-engagement, pre-wedding vows now! Hey— your face is all red, did your fever spike again?”

If you’re far enough into your relationship he’ll help you bathe: his hands are gentle as he washes your hair, no wandering touches as he helps you clean your body

He’s so soft you nearly fall asleep in the water, lulled into a serene peace by his soft voice and gentle touches

He combs your hair once it’s dry enough, braiding it to keep it out of your face and wrapping you your freshly washed sheets you have no idea when he had time to clean

Overall; 11/10 to take care of you when you’re sick

Even if he does end up getting sick himself after

Hiragi

You probably got sick after he warned you to bring your coat with you or not to stay up too late let’s be real

Dad sighs and twitching eyes

But he’s buying all the best meds and electrolyte drinks

I personally believe this man knows how to cook so he’s making you homemade soup, congee and other things his mom used to make him when he was sick

Brings a type of lemon “candy” that helps with your throat, knows they work because he keeps them on him in case Kaji needs them

He stays with you, but he gives you space

1. Because he needs to make sure he doesn’t get sick— he has to take care of you firstly, and secondly he cannot let Umemeiya free of him for too long

2. Because he knows you’ll want space occasionally; to sleep, to rest, to regenerate your social battery

While you nap he’s cleaning around; washing and folding clothes, doing dishes, organizing your mail— he’s completely husband material

When you want him near he’ll have you lay your head on his lap, and he’ll run his fingers through your hair and read to you— literally any book you choose he’ll read without hesitation

He’ll be so attentive and supportive when you’re sick, and he makes sure to continue to give you vitamins even after to help you avoid being sick again

But even when you are he’ll be there again

15/10 he’s just so HUSBAND MATERIAL

Tsubakino

LOOK

if there’s one thing anyone knows about me it’s I am a Tsubaki stan first and a human second

that being said

I imagine him taking care of you being sick is, while sweet, also a bit panicky

I imagine he has this weirdly insane immune system so he’s hardly ever gotten sick, and he’s also an only child so this isn’t super familiar territory

but he tries

does so much research he might go a bit overboard

“My darling! I got cough medicine, fever reducers, cooling masks, some cough drops Hiragi suggested! I got some water bottles and Suo-chan suggested different teas— I wasn’t sure which one would be best so I got all six! Nirei-chan said to get electrolytes so I got different flavors of those! And Kotoha-chan made soup! And congee! And I can order more, in fact I have a few different soups on the way!”

he just hates seeing you feel so bad

he’s a ball of nerves around you, always checking in on you and asking what you want, what you need, what you’d like

you can’t even be annoyed he’s so sweet

he helps you bathe, much like Umemiya, he’s sweet and attentive

he brings over his own stuff too; bathbombs, shower steamers, hair masks, face masks

he can’t make the illness disappear but you’ll at least feel clean and good on the outside

he takes his time with your hair and face, and he’s basically your personal masseuse in the bath

you’re never felt so relaxed despite being as sick as a dog

even though you’re sick he’s still quick to press kisses to your cheeks and forehead, face red from fever, embarrassment, and lipstick stains now

paints your nails while you rest with a cold press on your head, tells you about the latest debacle between Umemeiya and Hiragi and Sugishita and Sakura

by a miracle he doesn’t get sick

and he stores all the leftover meds and electrolytes (there’s a lot) between your place and his so he’s prepared next time

overall: 1000000/10

realistically: 10/10 (but always 100000/10 in my eyes)

Choji

oh boy

o h b o y

let it be known you try to hide the fact you’re sick from him for as long as possible

read: you fail

he’s showing up at like 7am, waking you up and charging in

did he bring anything?

of course

he’s brought snacks

not healthy ones

you’re not hungry because you’re nauseous, so he just stores them in your fridge and comes to cuddle you

he’ll wait on your every command don’t get me wrong

want water? he’s grabbing you a glass

need to go to the bathroom? he’s helping you up and walking you there, waiting outside the door and helping you back

bored? he’ll tell you all the thoughts in his head! and there’s a lot!

hungry? he’s grabbing those snacks for you!

he’s attentive and sweet, but he definitely is spoiled by Togame so much he’s not entirely sure how to take care of a sick person

but he’s strong so he’ll just beat your illness for you!

he’ll hold you while you rest, turn your fan on when you say you’re hot, turn it off when you’re cold

he tries to braid your hair while you rest, it’s messy but he tried

he ends up getting sick before you’re even better yourself

now Togame is tasked with coming to your place and taking care of both of you

overall: 7/10

he tries he really does

but he charges in with no instructions and just love

which is great but doesn’t treat the flu

Togame

he probably has taken care of an ill choji (^) so he knows what he’s doing

the patience of a saint holy—

he comes to see you when you’re asleep, and he’s silent as he unpacks stuff from the nearby convention store

you wake up startled at him just chilling, probably drinking a ramune and reading something

he keeps his voice soft as he asks if you’re hungry or thirsty

helps you sit up as he hands you a water bottle, and if your hands are too shaky he’d holding it for you to drink out of

he won’t even let you open your mouth to apologize before he’s giving you that stupidly soft smile and telling you he’s happy to take care of you

he keeps the curtains shut so the light in your room is dim, and he brings in candles with your favorite scent so the lights don’t hurt your eyes and the scent helps you feel calmer

not much of a cook himself when it comes to specific food to help you, but he grabbed take out on the way and heats up the perfect portions whenever you’re hungry

not too much so you leave food on the plate but not too little so you’re still hungry after

the man that he is

can definitely see him massaging your hands, your arms and your shoulders cause you’re tense from feeling ill

keeps a bucket or a bag nearby in case you get sick and can’t make it to the toilet

does a little braid to keep your hair out of your face, jokes about how he learned how to braid his hair so he’d he perfect at it for you

tries to brew you tea, and either burns it or under-steeps it

you both opt for just water for the time being

doesn’t get sick, but definitely sleeps for an entire day after you’re healthy

you both do actually— a long sleep cuddled up together

overall; 13/15 i think i made myself fall more in love with him

[sexylexy12]

Atsushi Murasakibara:

Fate~

You were just trying to buy some chocolate. That’s all. Just a peaceful afternoon, a craving, and the sweet satisfaction of grabbing the last bar of your favorite kind.

Until you turned around—and ran straight into a wall.

Not an actual wall. A man. A towering one, with shaggy purple hair and sleepy violet eyes staring down at you with mild irritation.

“Hand the chocolate over. It’s mine,” he said, voice slow and lazy like he couldn’t care less—but his eyes said otherwise.

You blinked up at him, baffled. “Uh… nuh uh. I grabbed it first.”

He leaned down slightly, shadowing over you, eyes narrowing as he stared you down. “I saw it first. Give it to me.”

Your gaze dropped to the mountain of snacks in his arms. “Boy, my hand was on it first. Besides, you already have enough junk to fuel a small army.”

He looked down at his snack hoard, then back at you, unimpressed. “These aren’t the same. I want that chocolate too.”

You scoffed. “I had it first, dude.”

He sighed, crossing his arms, his broad frame blocking your way to the counter. “That doesn’t matter. Just give it to me. I’m not asking nicely anymore.”

Cue your exit.

You slipped around him and made a dash for the register, slapping your money down before he could pull any fast moves. Triumph tasted just as sweet as the chocolate bar now safely tucked in your bag.

As you left, you caught the tall guy muttering behind you, a scowl tugging at his lips.

“So annoying… I’ll just get more chocolate somewhere else.”

⸻

Later, he strolled into another store, his long legs eating up the distance. His eyes lit up when he spotted the same brand of chocolate, and just like before, his fingers curled around the last bar on the shelf.

A smirk played on his lips.

He didn’t know your name. But he’d remember that face.

⸻

The next day, you reached for a bag of chips—and just as your fingers grazed the bag, a familiar hand snatched it first.

You blinked. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Murasakibara was already chewing something, that same satisfied smirk on his face. “Look who it is again. You really like to make this difficult, don’t you?”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever.” You grabbed a different flavor and walked off.

He watched you go, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re not even gonna try and fight for it? You’re no fun…”

“Not worth the hassle. You’re like a giant.”

He chuckled darkly, following you without hesitation. “And you’re like a tiny little pest. But persistent—I’ll give you that.”

You grabbed two of your favorite chocolates from yesterday, just to be safe.

“Being sneaky now?” he asked, eyes narrowing. “Two of those won’t save you from me.”

“Whatever.”

He lunged and snatched one from your hand.

“Hey!” you protested, tugging it back.

He didn’t budge. “Too slow. Mine now.” He unwrapped it casually, took a bite, and gave you a smug look.

“Tch. Whatever.” You paid for your snacks and headed out.

Of course, he followed, leisurely keeping pace. “You’re really stubborn. I guess I’ll see you again tomorrow.”

“Hmm. Maybe.”

He leaned against the doorframe, blocking your path again with a smirk. “Oh, I know I will. You’re like a magnet for trouble. And I keep getting stuck to you.”

You rolled your eyes.

He grinned wider. “What’s wrong? Getting tired of our little snack battles already?”

⸻

The next day, you intentionally went to a different store.

Peace at last.

Or not.

As you walked home, you bumped into someone tall, broad, and very purple-haired.

Really?

“I went out of my way to avoid you!” you huffed, stepping back.

Murasakibara blinked lazily. “Oh? So you’re my neighbor too now? This is getting ridiculous.”

You groaned, turning away, only to hear his footsteps trailing you.

“Hey! Stop following me!”

“I’m not. I live this way too.”

“Are you kidding me… we better not live right next to each other.”

He pointed. “Too late. That house, right there.”

You muttered something unintelligible.

“Looks like we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other,” he teased. “You can’t escape me that easily.”

You huffed.

He started up his porch, then paused, looking back. “Want to come over for dinner? My mom makes the best snacks.”

“I am not gonna blatantly hang out with you, dude.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. But I’ll be waiting for our next chocolate encounter.”

⸻

The first day of school was the last straw.

You saw him walk past your house—in your school’s uniform.

“No. Way.”

He caught you staring through the window and waved with that same smug smile.

“Bye, Mom!” you yelled, running out the door. “NO WAY YOU GO TO THE SAME SCHOOL.”

He stopped to let you catch up, amused. “Surprise. I’m in Class 3-B.”

“Wha—how do you even know what class I’m in?!”

“I checked the roster this morning when you were rushing to get ready. Not very careful, are you?”

You groaned, thoroughly done with this cursed coincidence.

“Don’t worry,” he added, smirking. “I won’t tell anyone… for now.”

“Whatever.”

“You really need to come up with a different response than ‘whatever’.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

You glared at him, storming into class—only for him to slide into the desk right behind you.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Looks like we’re desk neighbors,” he said cheerfully, stretching his long legs under your chair. “This is gonna be fun.”

You stepped on his foot.

“Ow. That hurt.” He grinned. “Still not moving.”

“I hate you.”

He leaned forward, resting his chin on your desk. “You’re just mad because I’m taller. And better at everything.”

⸻

After school, you headed to the gym. New job: basketball club manager. You were hoping to escape him, at least here.

Of course, he was there—stretching lazily near the wall.

You froze. “Seriously?”

He looked up and grinned. “Oh? Looking for someone to manage? I’m available.”

You groaned. “I cannot escape you.”

“Nope,” he said, walking over, easily towering above you. “I’m like your shadow now. Always following.”

He poked your forehead. “Don’t be so grumpy. We’ll make a great team… whether you like it or not.”

“Whatever.”

He snorted. “Let’s practice. You’ll have to deal with me on the court too.”

“I don’t play.”

He blinked. “No? Then why are you here?”

“I’m the manager, dummy.”

“Oh.” He looked at you with new interest. “That explains the boring uniform.”

“Tch. Whatever.”

“I’m the center, by the way. You’ll be taking care of me during games.”

“Of course you are.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make it easy for you. Just feed me snacks when I need ‘em.”

You rolled your eyes. “You can’t even eat on the court.”

“But the cravings…” he pouted. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“You’re so dramatic. And I don’t understand because I’m not fat like you.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, but he smirked. “Height needs calories. I’m not fat—I’m perfectly proportioned.”

He leaned closer. “Keep calling me fat… just means there’s more of me to love.”

“You’re obsessed with me and I don’t even know your name.”

He raised a brow. “Murasakibara Atsushi. And I’m not obsessed—I just find you interesting.”

“Whatever.”

⸻

Later, you were struggling with a tray of water cups.

Murasakibara appeared beside you, smirking. “Need help?”

“No.”

Too late. He took half with one hand, ruffled your hair with the other.

“You’re so stubborn. It’s adorable.”

“Leave me alone.”

He chuckled as you elbowed his side—barely moving him.

“You’re like a little kitten trying to fight a tiger.”

He opened the gym door for you. “After you, kitten.”

“DONT CALL ME THAT.”

Murasakibara grinned wider, clearly enjoying how easily he got under your skin.

“Why not?” he asked, voice slow and smug. “It fits you perfectly. Small, feisty, and cute when you’re mad.”

You rolled your eyes hard and turned on your heel, choosing to ignore him completely as you handed out the rest of the waters and snacks to the team. All of them—except him. Deliberately.

Murasakibara’s expression shifted as he watched you walk past him without so much as a granola bar. A slight frown tugged at his mouth.

“Hey,” he called, sitting up slightly from his lazy sprawl on the gym floor. “Where’s my snack? I helped you carry those cups.”

You didn’t even glance at him. “No, you bothered me. And you didn’t even practice with the others.”

“I was practicing,” he defended, sitting up straighter. “Just… not in the way you think. And I still deserve a snack for being nice.”

You opened your empty hands and gave him an exaggerated shrug. “Well, would ya look at that. I don’t have anymore.”

He let out a dramatic sigh and flopped backward onto the floor like a starfish. “You’re so mean. I’m starving now.”

“Good.”

He rolled onto his back and stared up at you with the most pathetic, kicked-puppy expression you’d seen that day. “Please? Just one little piece? I’ll do anything.”

“Nope.”

He sat back up, actually pouting now. “Fine,” he muttered, standing again. “I’ll just have to find another way to get your attention.”

You turned your back to him with a huff and started picking up the scattered basketballs across the court. Of course, you could still hear the heavy thuds of his lazy footsteps behind you as he followed.

“You know,” he said, his voice too close, “you’re really making me work for this friendship. Most people just give in to my charm.”

You tossed a ball into the bin with a bit more force than necessary. “We are not friends.”

He paused behind you. For a second, the silence stretched awkwardly before he spoke again—lighter, masking whatever had flickered across his face a moment ago.

“That hurts, Y/N. We’ve had so many meaningful moments together already.”

You turned, unimpressed. “We met two days ago.”

He raised his hands and started counting on his fingers. “Two days and counting. I’m being very patient with you, y’know.”

Rolling your eyes again, you hauled the last ball into the bin and made your way toward the storage room. Unsurprisingly, his shadow trailed after you like some oversized ghost.

“You’re very stubborn,” he said, leaning against the doorway. “It’s cute.”

“Leave me alone,” you shot over your shoulder before flipping the light off as you exited.

There was a startled yelp and some very ungraceful shuffling inside the storage room. “Hey! Don’t leave me in here!”

The lights flicked back on behind you, followed by the sound of him tripping over something.

“That was dirty,” Murasakibara grumbled, stepping back out with a half-lidded glare that didn’t quite hide his amusement. “You’re playing hard to get. But I’ll win you over eventually.”

“If you’re not gonna go with the rest of the team, at least help me clean up,” you snapped, thrusting a broom into his hands.

He stared at it as if it offended him. “Fine,” he sighed, dragging it behind him like it weighed a ton. “But only because I’m nice.”

“Good.”

He swept slowly—so slowly it barely qualified as actual help—but kept throwing you smirks every time you passed him.

“You’re lucky I like you enough to do this,” he murmured. “Most people just get yelled at.”

You shot him a glare as you rinsed out the water bottles at the sink. “Shut up.”

He leaned on his broom. “Make me.”

“Stop. Saying. That.”

He gave a lazy shrug. “Or what? You’ll yell at me more? I kinda like it when you get all worked up.”

“Ew.”

He put a hand over his chest dramatically. “Ew? That’s harsh. I’m trying to be playful here.”

“You’re gross.”

Murasakibara bent down, his face far too close to yours. “Gross? Maybe. But I think you secretly enjoy my company.”

“I do not.”

He laughed, low and soft, and you could feel his breath ghost across your skin.

“Your heart’s beating faster, Y/N. Don’t lie to me.”

Flustered, you turned away and busied yourself with putting the cups away. He followed, of course, right on your heels.

“Running away again?” he asked as you stepped out of the gym. “You’re just making this chase more exciting.”

“I’m going home.”

He stepped in front of you, arms crossed over his chest like some smug wall of purple hair. “It’s late. Let me walk you home.”

You gave him a deadpan stare. “Ugh.”

“Come on,” he coaxed, stepping closer. “I promise I won’t bother you… much.”

“I hate that we’re neighbors,” you muttered.

He grinned like it was the best news he’d heard all week. “And I love it. Makes it easier for me to keep an eye on you.”

“Whatever.”

He matched your pace as you walked, his long legs keeping up with ease. “You’re so cute when you’re annoyed, Y/N.”

By the time you reached your house, you were fully ready to slam the door in his face. He lingered at the gate, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Same time tomorrow for cleaning duty?” he asked.

“Go away.”

He pouted. “But I need my daily dose of your attitude. Can’t get enough of it.”

“Go. Home.”

He finally backed away, hands raised. “Fine, fine. I’ll leave you alone… for now.”

Then he winked. “Sweet dreams, Y/N. Try not to dream about me too much.”

“Ew.”

His laugh echoed as he walked down the street. You turned away, flipping him off as you walked inside.

“Cute and feisty!” he called behind you. “You’re perfect!”

You slammed the door.

Hard.

[crazedbluette]

Whisking Hearts: Prologue

A JayVik x Baker!Male Reader

1.8k Words.

TW: emotional distress, academic pressure, imposter syndrome, homophobia, classism, ableism, verbal abuse from authority figures, identity suppression, and moments of depressive ideation.

Author Notes at the end!

Not proof read.

FDNI!!!!!

Masterlist

Your Dreams Were Supposed to Rise Like Bread

Piltover University was supposed to be where your dreams took shape. It was where you thought you’d finally soar. Where you could make your parents proud.

The brochures had shown students with eyes full of fire and passion, creating groundbreaking, unique inventions with their blood, sweat, and tears. The buildings themselves were grand and luxurious with marble halls with walls that seemed to hum with the promise of creating outstanding members of society. Students climbed those steps with the weight of ambition on their shoulders, and you’d been one of them: nervous, hopeful, tightly clutching your satchel with a single item inside of it: a worn, leather-bound notebook.

But what they never tell you is that some dreams demand more than you’re able—or willing—to give.

Your first few weeks were a blur of pressure, panic, sweat, and stress. Lectures were relentless. Complex theories thrown at you like daggers trying to destroy you and find weakness within you. Endless equations written in chalk on towering, intimidating blackboards. Professors spoke fancy and excruciatingly long words, their minds and words three steps ahead of your comprehension. And the students, oh god, you couldn't even begin to explain how inferior you felt to them. They moved like they were born for this, this life of sweat and stress, like each cog and circuit was a familiar friend.

You tried. You tried so hard.

You stayed up late, eyes burning from studying and eyelids heavy from sleepless nights. You nodded along in lab groups, forcing yourself to understand the words people around you were saying, your tired brain couldn't keep up. You copied down everything, read beyond the syllabus, skipped meals, and skipped sleep. You asked questions at first, worried that if you didn't you would fall behind. But soon, your voice grew quieter, you didn't want to seem like a dumb himbo to the other great minds in your university. You learned quickly that passion without precision was a liability here.

And you had passion, but not for arcane equations or chemical bonds.

Your notebooks, while filled with blueprints like the others, also hid something else:

Drawings of éclairs and tart shells. Notes on dough ratios. Rough sketches of braided bread and sweet glazes. Ideas for new pastries, some flavored with the fruits your mother used to sneak home from the edge of the market in Zaun. The margins were dusted in the memories of a childhood defined by scarcity, made sweeter only by what your mother could make rise with her hands and heart.

You remembered the way she sung Zaunite songs while kneading dough. The way she always said that food—real food—could be magic if it came from the right place in your heart.

You’d brought those memories with you. You’d come to Piltover with the idea that maybe you could merge two worlds: the innovation of Piltover with the warmth of Zaun. Baking as science. Baking as invention. A different kind of magic from the kind of magic everyone around you had known.

But every time you tried to bring that part of yourself into the light, it felt like you were dragging something fragile into a storm.

One student from your innovation class had scoffed when he caught sight of your sketches of baked goods. A professor dismissed your baking analogies as “wasting your potential on a domestic hobby.” And once—just once—you overheard someone call you the little queer baker boy when they thought you weren’t around.

After that, you stopped sharing.

You closed your notebook.

You shrank.

You blended into the background.

That night, the professor said your focus was “disappointing,” that you “lacked the vision” that Piltover demanded. That maybe this wasn’t the place for you, that maybe you should go back to the "filthy place" you had come from. You despised him, you despised the words he had called the place where you had grown up, the place you called home. He had just insulted your family, your friends, and your home.

But you didn’t say anything.

You just nodded, gathered your notes, and walked away.

Your calm walking had erupted into erratic running, your eyes red from the tears that are trickling down your face.

The sky was already dark by the time you reached the rooftop—high above the university's grand halls and glowing lamps. The city below was stunning, its glittering skyline promising so much yet provided so little. Piltover looked like opportunity incarnate. But you… you felt like a ghost drifting through it.

The wind was sharp. You sat with your back against the cold stone wall, pulling your knees close to your chest. And then—almost without thinking— you wiped your eyes and you reached into your satchel and pulled out a small glass jar.

Vanilla bean paste.

A gift from your mother the day you were accepted. "For the first dessert you bake in your own kitchen," she’d said, her voice filled with emotion and her choked cries muffled by the handkerchief she had broughtup to the lower half of her face. You’d tucked it away, meaning to use it for a special day. But this wasn’t special. It was something else. Something breaking.

You opened it anyway.

The moment the scent hit your nose, your eyes burned again.

It smelled like home.

Like warmth and joy and safety.

Like everything you hadn’t felt in months.

And in that moment, something inside you snapped—not like a bone, but like a chain.

You didn’t belong here—not because you weren’t smart, but because you’d been trying to be someone you weren’t. You had been folding yourself into shapes that didn’t fit, hoping one day you’d feel whole again.

You didn’t want to make weapons, or machines that outpaced the heart.

You wanted to make something that healed.

Something that comforted.

Something that fed people—in every way that mattered.

The next morning, you rose before dawn.

You didn’t leave a dramatic letter. You didn’t try to explain it to anyone (not like you knew anyone that would have cared anyways). You simply packed your belongings, closed your notebook, and walked out of Piltover University without looking back.

You left behind the blueprints you had convinced yourself didnt matter. You left the biting comments, the sleepless nights, and most importantly; the silence. You left the version of yourself who had tried so hard to be accepted.

Ahead of you, the bakery waited.

You could almost see it when you closed your eyes: you imagined the countertop dusted in flour, the brass oven handles glowing in the morning light, the little bell above the door that always rang sharply whenever someone entered. You remembered the exact curve of the mixing bowls, the chipped corner of the old recipe book on the shelf.

And you remembered something else—something more important than any invention you'd ever sketched.

You remembered how it felt to pull a loaf of bread from the oven and watch someone’s face light up. How food could make love visible. How a tart, a bun, or a soft, cinnamon-swirled roll could do what machines and politics never could: bring people back to themselves.

You didn’t need a degree to do that.

You didn’t need Piltover’s approval.

You just needed your hands, your ingredients, your fire.

The bakery welcomed you like it was an old friend.

The first loaf you baked looked.... clumsy and interesting to say the least. The oven ran too hot, and the crust was tougher than it should’ve been. But when you bit into it—tears stinging your eyes—you knew that this was right. This was you.

You rose each morning with the sun, sometimes in the afternoon if you had spent all night baking and creating new recipes. You shaped dough with your gloved hands. You reclaimed your joy, one croissant, one cake, one steaming cup of Zaun styled tea at a time.

And one day—soon, but not yet—two men will walk through your door.

One brilliant and bold, with strong shoulders and a tired heart. One sharp and soft-spoken, with eyes that have seen too much and still search for wonder.

They’ll smell the bread. They’ll taste something that makes them pause. And you’ll meet eyes across the counter, unsure what this feeling is.

But it will rise—just like your dough.

Not all at once.

Not as perfect as you may want.

But slowly, warmly.

A/N: I hope you guys liked it! This is my first ever series and I'm so excited to write it! If this flops im jumping off. JKJK!!! I'll have chapter 1 ready in 2 and a half weeks! The jayvik graphics and coffee bean dividers can be found on the masterlist of this series. If there are ajy missing trigger warnings or any spelling/grammatical errors please tell me! English isn't my first language so im sorry about that.. Please comment and reblog, it helps keep me motivated!

[reaper2187]

Kathryn hahn x female reader

The "Hot Ones" set was bustling with quiet excitement, a controlled chaos typical of pre-show preparation. Camera crew checked equipment, producers murmured among themselves, and a makeup artist made last-minute adjustments on Kathryn Hahn. Y/N sat across from her, observing the scene with a familiar calm. They had just finished working on a movie together, and now here they were, about to test their spice tolerance while answering questions that would dig deep into their lives and careers.

“Ready for this?” Kathryn asked, her wide grin flashing toward Y/N as she adjusted the lapel of her shirt.

Y/N smirked. “Born ready.” At 23, Y/N had already made a name for herself in horror, playing twisted killers that haunted the nightmares of many, but her recent turn as Knightmare in the Marvel universe was opening new doors. Her character, the daughter of the Seven Deadly Sins, was dark, complex, and thrilling to portray—just the kind of role Y/N loved.

Kathryn, on the other hand, was an actress with a range as wide as her laugh. The two had worked together on a thriller, a gritty, emotionally charged film, and the chemistry between them on screen had been palpable. Off-screen, that chemistry had turned into a solid friendship. And now, under the glow of studio lights, about to dive into an increasingly spicy array of wings, that camaraderie was about to be tested.

The host, Sean Evans, strolled in with his signature warm smile, taking a seat across from the two actresses. “You ready for this?” he asked, echoing Kathryn’s earlier question.

Kathryn gave a mock-terrified look, glancing at Y/N. “I thought I was until I remembered how much Y/N enjoys hot sauce.”

Y/N chuckled, her deep voice soft but edged with amusement. “I have a pretty high spice tolerance, so you’re in trouble, Hahn.”

Sean laughed. “We’ll see about that. Kathryn, Y/N, welcome to Hot Ones—the show with hot questions and even hotter wings. Let’s get started.”

The first wing was harmless, a simple kick of flavor without too much heat. They both handled it with ease, bantering back and forth about their experiences filming the movie. Sean jumped in with his first question for Y/N.

“Y/N, you’ve been known to dominate in the horror genre, playing some truly terrifying killers. What’s it like to play someone so evil, especially being so young?”

Y/N wiped her fingers with a napkin, thinking about her answer. “You know, it’s funny because I don’t think of them as evil when I’m playing them. I try to understand what makes them tick, why they do what they do. It’s more about understanding the character’s pain or trauma that leads them to those dark places. I’ve always been fascinated by the psychology of horror.” She glanced at Kathryn, who nodded in agreement. “And honestly, it’s pretty fun to play the bad guy. You get to let out all that chaos you’d never allow in real life.”

Sean nodded, intrigued. “And how does that translate into playing Knightmare in Marvel? She’s still dark, but she’s got that anti-hero edge.”

“Oh, definitely,” Y/N replied, leaning back in her chair. “Knightmare is all about redemption, but she’s also struggling with her nature. She’s the daughter of the Seven Deadly Sins, so she’s constantly fighting against her darker impulses. There’s something relatable about that—fighting your inner demons, you know?”

Kathryn cut in, laughing. “It’s wild because Y/N, in real life, is the least threatening person ever. You wouldn’t guess she plays these intense, terrifying characters by the way she’s so laid-back.”

Y/N gave her a playful nudge. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”

They moved on to the next wing, which had a noticeable increase in heat. Kathryn started to feel the burn, her eyes widening slightly, while Y/N stayed cool, eating the wing like it was nothing.

“Okay, Kathryn, this one’s for you,” Sean said, holding back a laugh at her reaction to the spice. “You’ve had such a versatile career, from comedy to drama, and now this thriller with Y/N. What’s it been like switching between genres?”

Kathryn blew out a breath, fanning her face. “Whew, that’s hot. Uh, yeah, it’s been a wild ride. I love that I get to explore so many different kinds of roles. Comedy will always be my first love, but I also love getting into the grittier stuff, like our movie. There’s something so cathartic about diving into those deeper emotions.”

She turned to Y/N, her eyes bright. “Working with Y/N was a dream. She’s got this quiet intensity on set, and it just pulls you in. You can’t help but feed off of it.”

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. “You make me sound like some brooding method actor.”

Kathryn raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you?”

Y/N grinned. “Maybe a little.”

The third wing brought the heat up a notch, and while Kathryn squirmed in her seat, Y/N remained as calm as ever. The difference between their reactions was obvious, and it made the dynamic all the more entertaining for Sean and the audience.

“You’re not even breaking a sweat, Y/N,” Sean said, half amazed. “What’s your secret?”

Y/N shrugged casually. “I just like spicy food. Grew up eating it. Plus, after playing a serial killer in all these horror movies, I guess my pain threshold’s pretty high.”

Kathryn laughed through the heat building in her mouth. “You say that so casually, like, ‘Oh, just another day at the office, murdering people and eating fire.’”

Y/N gave her a sly smile. “Pretty much.”

The fourth wing hit hard, a noticeable jump in spice, and Kathryn visibly winced, reaching for her water. Y/N, however, still appeared unfazed, though she did take a sip of her water just to stay hydrated.

“You’ve worked on some pretty intense scenes together in your latest movie,” Sean said, wiping his own brow. “Was there a moment during filming where the tension on set was almost too real?”

Kathryn let out a deep breath, eyes still wide from the spice. “Oh, man, there was this one scene where Y/N’s character is supposed to be chasing mine down this dark alley. It was late at night, cold, and Y/N is just in full killer mode. She’s got this look in her eyes, and even though I know it’s all acting, for a split second, I thought, ‘Oh my God, I’m going to die.’”

Y/N laughed softly. “I do remember that. You gave me this look after we cut, like, ‘Please don’t ever look at me like that again.’”

Kathryn nodded emphatically. “Exactly! You scared the hell out of me, but it made the scene so much better. That’s what I love about working with you. You’re so committed, and you push everyone around you to be better.”

Y/N glanced down, almost shy for a moment, her masculine energy softening under Kathryn’s praise. “I just want to make sure we all bring our best, you know?”

They reached the fifth wing, and by now, Kathryn was struggling. Her face was flushed, and she took frequent sips of milk between bites, while Y/N continued to soldier on, a subtle sheen of sweat on her brow the only sign that the heat was affecting her at all.

Sean jumped in with another question, this time focusing on their personal dynamics. “You two clearly have great chemistry, both on screen and off. Was there a moment when you realized you clicked as friends?”

Kathryn looked at Y/N, a smile curving her lips despite the heat. “I think it was during one of our rehearsal breaks. We were both exhausted, and Y/N just pulls out this deck of cards and starts doing magic tricks. I lost it. I didn’t expect that from her at all.”

Y/N chuckled. “Yeah, I was just trying to lighten the mood. Rehearsals can get intense, and I figured a little distraction wouldn’t hurt.”

Sean raised an eyebrow. “Magic tricks? Really?”

Y/N nodded. “It’s just a hobby, something I picked up when I was younger. Helps with the hand-eye coordination too, which is useful when you’re playing someone who’s good with knives.”

Kathryn shook her head, laughing. “See what I mean? Full of surprises.”

The sixth wing, known as "Da Bomb," was infamous for its brutal heat. Kathryn braced herself, biting into it hesitantly, and immediately regretted it. Her face contorted in agony as she reached for her milk, gasping slightly.

“Oh my God,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. “This is insane.”

Y/N took a bite, her expression neutral for a moment before she nodded slowly. “Okay, yeah, this one’s got some kick.”

Sean, looking slightly devilish, leaned in. “Y/N, you’ve got a high spice tolerance, but even you seem to be feeling this one. Has anything ever rattled you on set the way this wing is?”

Y/N considered the question, her voice steady despite the heat. “Honestly, the only time I get rattled is when the stakes are high for the scene, like an emotional climax. I can handle gore and action all day, but the scenes where you have to really tap into something vulnerable—that’s the

stuff that gets me.”

Kathryn, tears in her eyes from the heat, managed to nod. “Yeah, those are the hardest. You get so wrapped up in it, it’s like you’re baring a part of yourself.”

Y/N reached over, patting Kathryn on the shoulder. “You’re doing great, Hahn. Almost there.”

They finally reached the last wing, the infamous "Last Dab." Kathryn looked at it with dread, while Y/N calmly added an extra dab of sauce to hers, a cocky smile playing on her lips.

“You’re insane,” Kathryn muttered, though her voice held admiration.

Y/N winked. “Gotta go out with a bang, right?”

They both took their bites, and Kathryn immediately regretted it, her face turning red as she reached for more water and milk, anything to dull the fire. Y/N winced slightly, but powered through, still in control.

Sean laughed, amazed. “Y/N, you’ve officially survived the hot seat! Kathryn, you too—barely.”

Kathryn, still recovering, gave a shaky thumbs-up. “I don’t know how I’m still alive, but I made it!”

As the interview wrapped, Y/N leaned back in her chair, her calm demeanor intact, while Kathryn fanned herself, still feeling the burn. Despite the spice, the bond between them was undeniable, strengthened by their shared experience on set and in life. And as they exited the stage, laughing and teasing each other, it was clear that their friendship—like their careers—was built to last.

This is the second one as a little sorry for not posting

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Foraging

Foraging - the process of searching for and obtaining food sources or medicinal plants in the wilderness.

People on long camping or wilderness expeditions may depend on foraging for extra food or survival when they are adventuring out in the natural world.

In this case, identifying edible plants is a potentially life-saving skill.

How to Identify Edible Plants

Freshly foraged food can help you when you’ve run out of food supplies, but you should know exactly what is safe to consume. For that, you can perform an edibility test. Here is a quick breakdown of the edibility test for plants you find in the wild.

Look for the most common poisonous traits. Rule out mushrooms and plants with milky sap, fine hairs, spines, umbrella-shaped flower clusters, or waxy leaves.

Do a skin test. Take the piece of the plant you want to eat and rub it on your inner forearm or outer lip. Wait 15 minutes.

Do a taste test. If there’s no reaction during the previous step, taste that same part of the plant and wait another five minutes.

Do a bigger taste test. If you don’t taste any bitterness, soapy flavor, or feel any numbness, take a teaspoon of that same part of the plant and chew for five minutes, spitting out extra saliva regularly. Swallow, then wait eight hours.

Eat a small amount. If you’re still not experiencing any digestive issues, eat one tablespoon of that same part of the plant and wait another eight hours. If you still have no symptoms, you can consider that part of the plant edible in the manner in which it was prepared.

Take precautions. Whether you’re practicing sustainable foraging or trying to rough it in nature, use common sense and your best judgment when searching for edible wild plants. Some edible species of plants have toxic look-alikes, or may have edible berries but poisonous stems and bark (such as elderberries). Additionally, not all parts of the plant are edible simply because one part is. Test parts separately before consuming the whole plant, and whenever possible, always do plenty of thorough research when taking a chance out in the wild.

How to Forage Off the Land

Humans can only go 3 days without water, but about 30 days without food. So while foraging shouldn’t be your first priority in a survival situation, it can help you find some extra calories if things become dire. Here are a few tips for beginners on what to look for when foraging for food in the wild.

Look for the right berries. Berries are a good source of carbohydrates, fiber, and vitamins. Aggregate berries (those with tightly packed clusters, like raspberries and mulberries), are 99% edible worldwide. Blue, black, and purple berries are around 90% edible (though you should consider an edibility test). Orange and red berries are about 50% edible, so definitely use an edibility test. Green, white, and yellow berries are about 10% edible and should be avoided.

Catch some insects. Insects contain seven times more protein than ground beef, and they’re much easier to catch than small game. Some safe-to-consume insects include earthworms, mealworms, ants (boil first; avoid fire ants), crickets, and grasshoppers (remove the legs and wings first).

Find edible greens. There are many wild plants that are safe for consumption. Aside from the obvious fruits and vegetables, there are plenty of edible weeds such as chickweed, dandelion, clover, chicory, cattail, and wild mustard. Wild onions are also sometimes available, though they can be tricky to identify. However, if it looks like an onion and tastes like an onion, it’s an onion.

Stay away from busy roads or treated land. Some vegetation can be tainted by car exhaust, oil, lead, or other substances that make their way into the surrounding brush. As a forager, you should stay far away from areas that have been exposed to too many man-made elements, or have been coated in herbicides or pesticides.

Get familiar with common poisonous plants. While distinguishing between edible mushrooms and toxic mushrooms or berries can be tricky, there are some basic, toxic plants that everyone should be able to recognize such as holly berries and poison hemlock. You should also be able to recognize other toxic plants, such as poison oak, poison ivy, and poison sumac. These plants all contain a chemical called urushiol, which is an oil that can cause contact dermatitis and be hard to remove from your skin (hence the prolonged rashes when exposed to these plants).

Poisonous Plant Characteristics

There are many different characteristics of dangerous plants that can make them easily identifiable, even without a field guide. Here are a few traits:

Milky sap: Milky or latex sap is a substance that oozes out of a plant’s branches or stems if cracked or broken. It can cause skin irritation or other strong allergic reactions.

Fine hairs and spines: Fine hairs and spines are usually an indicator that a plant has a defense mechanism to ward off predators. Most of these hairs will cause some sort of stinging or burning sensation when you touch them with bare skin.

Umbrella-shaped flower clusters: Most plants with umbrella-clumping flowers have high toxicity and should be avoided.

Waxy leaves: Also known as the cuticle, “wax” on leaves is a protective layer that helps plants retain water, but can sometimes indicate that a certain type of greenery is a toxic plant and not safe to eat.

Mushrooms: Certain mushrooms may be edible—like morel mushrooms, oyster mushrooms, or chanterelle mushrooms—but you should exercise caution when you find these fungi growing on trees or the ground. Don’t eat any mushrooms that you cannot identify with complete certainty, because they can be toxic.

Some common food sources you can forage for are cattails, acorns and stinging nettles (if boiled), tubers, rosehips, weeds, yarrow, and plantain. Before you forage, you want to make sure that you know how to properly do so, because eating the wrong kinds of plants can be toxic.

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[forsaken-headcanons]

Vanity will often take a body back to the killer cabin after rounds as a snack for later. One day, c00lkidd said he was hungry. Since the others were either busy or in a round, Vanity naturally took it upon herself to feed c00lkidd. Selfless, I know.

Vanity cooked and served c00lkidd the survivor she just so happened to most recently get to c00lkidd (she didn’t tell him it was a person, of course). c00lkidd liked the meat even though it tasted weird. This eventually led to c00lkidd going to throw away his leftovers, and noticing a certain bloody, familiar blue shirt in the garbage.

yeah, vanity has since been banned from the kitchen.

ACTUALLY human meat tastes really good. like pork with a little more flavor iirc. he'd probably notice how it doesn't taste like how it looks and get a funny gut feeling about it, and ultimately decide to throw it away bc of it

don't. don;t ask. ok? :]