#oh.... might cook a chicken tender or two

[senseiwu]

....last time I looked at the clock it wasn't even 7 and now it's 7:47

Damn bro I gotta make dinner

[oonajaeadira]

I posted 8,794 times in 2022

That's 1,864 more posts than 2021!

1,286 posts created (15%)

7,508 posts reblogged (85%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@insomniamamma

@grogusmum

@writeforfandoms

@inthetags

@ithinkwehitametaphor

I tagged 6,498 of my posts in 2022

Only 26% of my posts had no tags

#<3 &lt;3 <3 - 1,795 posts

#beautiful reader - 397 posts

#this broke me - 259 posts

#din djarin - 205 posts

#mandalorian fanart - 162 posts

#ask games - 143 posts

#tag games - 97 posts

#maia draws - 94 posts

#grogu - 87 posts

#i love him - 86 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#how terribly sad it is that people are made in such a way that they get used to something as extraordinary as living.  --jostein gaarder

My Top Posts in 2022:

(spoiler, it's all PATS and Sweets)

#5

The Tolerant Devotion of Extracurricular Caretaking

(BANANA BREAD WITH BAKING CHIPS- Sweets Series)

Rating: T. Fluffy AF.

Fandom: The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez and f!reader (his assistant “Girl Sunday.”)

Warnings: Javi is...not at his best. Whiny!Javi.

Summary: The hardest part of your job is taking care of a sick Javi. But in many ways, it’s also the best part.

A/N: I hadn’t planned this installment but for an ask that came through asking what Javi’s like when he’s sick. My answer got longer and longer until I thought it might be a nice moment to illustrate a time that Javi isn’t the sweetest–yet still cute AF–so here we are. Also, I started thinking about some of the other employees in the house. I imagine they’re something like a little found family all hand-picked by Javi. You’ll get to meet a couple of them here.

Lo siento = Sorry

Me corto los cojones = here it’s akin to saying “I swear to God” or “sure as shit.” (Literally “I’ll cut my balls.”)

If you’re curious where the nickname “Sunday” comes from, you can find the answer in the first fic at the series masterlist!

“Oh, lo siento, Néstor! That’s mine. Isn’t it your day off?” You’d come into the kitchen to find the cook lifting the pot cover and getting a good whiff of the steamy concoction.

“Sí. But I will be doing a market run tomorrow and forgot to count how many lemons we have. You keep using them for the lemonade. What is this?” 

Néstor is a good-looking man in his early fifties, bald, thick-rimmed glasses, tall and sturdy, rarely smiles on the outside. He’s prone to wearing tight-fitting black clothes, a very imposing figure…unless you scan all the way down to his pink kitchen crocs, festooned with Disney pop charms. He’s a big fan of Coco and Baby Yoda.

“It’s my grandmother’s chicken noodle soup.”

His stare is long. Impassible. “It smells fucking amazing. I want this recipe.”

“Of course. It should be ready. You want some?”

“Sí.” Dry as a bone, he collects two bowls from the cabinet and starts ladling up the soup like a bricklayer scooping mortar for a wall, all business, passing the first bowl to you and cradling the second in one square hand, blowing on it a little before taking a sip. “It’s good. Good spices. Chicken is tender. Mm. Chives?”

“Thanks. Yes. Gran used to make it for me when I was sick.”

“You make this for El Jefe, no?” When you duck your head in a nod on your way to the drawer for a spoon, he barks a laugh. “Me corto los cojones you two are like an old married couple.”

Deflecting the blunt jab with a little smile and a sidelong glance, you begin your retreat out of the kitchen

“Eh, Sunday.” Without relinquishing his soup, Néstor moves to the freezer and cupboards, pulling out a couple of items and tossing them on the counter. “Be warned, he is a terrible patient. It will soothe him you make him something sweet. But not too sweet. Not good for sickness. I know he likes your banana bread.” Two black and frozen bananas clatter onto a plate near the hot soup to thaw.

“Oh,” you stammer. “But I don’t have–”

“Yes you do.” Reaching up to a high cupboard and moving a couple of flour packets, he pulls out two bags of baking chips, one chocolate, one cinnamon. “If I don’t hide them, he will eat them.”

“That sounds about right.” Again you turn to go. Again you stop. “He told you about my banana bread?”

Taking a long sip of the soup and stopping to chew a noodle, he nods, stoic, a warm glint in his eye. “He tells me a lot of things.” He tips his chin at the bowl in your hands. “That is going to get cold.”

“Right. See you tomorrow, Néstor. Thanks.”

________________

A knock on the door earns you a pitiful “nnnnnnnnn” from inside Javi’s bedroom and you take that to mean “yes, come in, but oh my god I’m miserable and you should know it.” 

Half of Javi’s face is lost in his pillow when you peek in, but the eye you can see squints at you in defiance, his chin curling up in a pout, his voice a low croak. “I feel like shit.” A couple of pathetic coughs wrack his body and he turns his face fully into the pillow to spare you.

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592 notes - Posted February 12, 2022

#4

Good. Things. Take. Time. 3: Leap of Faith

Fandom: Calls (THIS IS AN APPLE TV SERIES. PATS is a character. This is not RPF.)

Pairing:  Pedro Across the Street x f!reader

Rating: ***Explicit.*** Those under 18 please do not enter.

Warnings: Wall-to-wall angst. Sex. Sex work. Sexual massage. Painful yearning.

A/N: Breathe. I promise that the sun does shine again.

Summary: This is it, isn’t it. This is happening.

RESIGNATION  (1.2k)

DISCERNMENT (967 words)

THE FIRST LEAP (843 words)

THE SECOND LEAP (349 words)

THE THIRD LEAP (653 words)

THE FINAL ASSESSMENT (1.5k)

MOVING ON (492 words)

(gif by pascalsky)

RESIGNATION

The black Subaru hatchback you’re parked behind has a “I brake for animals” bumper sticker. It’s been on there a while; sun faded, shredding at the edges. The other cars on the street you know, the regular Thursday crowd. Most people in this neighborhood park in their garages or in their driveways. Someone must have a guest. You doubt it’s his car.

You realize you have no idea what kind of car Patricio drives.

You’ve done more sexual acts with the man than you can count, have pressed moments of his painful past out of him like a fruit in a juicer, he’s bought you breakfast pastries–twice–and you have no idea if he’s a Ford man or a Fiat boy.

He’s in I.T… Probably a BMW. Or an Audi. Maybe even a Tesla.

Doesn’t matter. Perhaps you’ll never know. Not unless you take a leap of faith. And even then…if you fail, you’ll really never know.

Your car engine clicks through the silence as it cools down, as you watch the clock, preferring as always to arrive just a little early and walk up to the door right on time.

A little too early this time. You’ve given yourself too much time to think.

It’s like he’s put himself behind glass. He’s right there, the same lover you’ve known since that first blissful session, but you just…can’t…get at him. There’s a strange energy in the room now. Hard to pinpoint the exact metaphor. The way he looks at you. Like a monk recognizing the temptation in front of him and denying himself the pleasure in order to save his own soul and stay free to save others. You can see him back there behind those eyes, but you can’t really grab hold. He prefers to remain back there with his pain–the hurt he caused his former girlfriend–a deep, deep wound.

And if you tried to…tried to push through and possess…what would he do? 

There’s a good chance that it could be your last session.

You’re not ready. You need some other logic, some other–

A double-tap on the passenger window yanks your focus into the present. A look to the window yanks your heart along with it.

“Hey, sorry,” he laughs nervously once you unlock  the door and he ducks his head in. “I saw you out the front window. Would you mind coming in a little early?”

A glance at the clock shows you have eight more minutes.

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598 notes - Posted April 21, 2022

#3

The Blatant Presentation of Glowing Adoration

(DIPPED MADELEINES- Sweets Series)

Rating: T. Fluffy AF.

Fandom: The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez and f!reader (his assistant “Girl Sunday.”)

Warnings: Sappy, y’all. I just pile on the sap. This cupcake is just a vehicle for the frosting.

Summary: There’s a party going on at the Gutierrez mansion and Javi has a gift for you.

A/N: This was originally going to be a two-parter to control the sap, but I thought maybe drawing it out would make it worse, so here we are. Sunday’s dress is based on this one and holy balls I want it.

If you’re curious where the nickname “Sunday” comes from, you can find the answer in the first fic at the series masterlist!

“No, no Giorgio, they need to stay here! Um…las plantas…aquí…shit.” You pull out your phone, desperate for the translation app.

The old Italian gardener rasps out a dry laugh and pats your face with a calloused hand, and gives you his own brand of sunshine with his weathered smile. He says something about it being alright, that he’ll make it pretty, but you can only guess at so much. Spanish you can do, but your Italian is limited, and since Javi is fluent in both, the old man never bothers to translate.

You’d had the big potted palms brought into the courtyard and arranged just so, creating a kind of pathway for the guests of the evening’s party to walk through, and here was Giorgio and his wheeled cart, loading them up, thinking perhaps they were a delivery and he needs to take them out to the garden.

“Giorgio, they’re for the party. The fiesta. Uh…fest..uh, festa!!”

“Festa!” he chuckles. “Sí, sí, festa delle piante!”

“No, Giorgio–”

“Sunday?” Javi arrives from the archway, your benevolent savior, his curls still damp from his shower, the drawstring linen lounge pants and mostly open shirt just a temporary wardrobe for padding around his house before the formal main event this evening. “You are here! I have been looking for you, I have–”

“Oh, thank god, Javi, could you help me? I know Giorgio wants to help but I can’t get him to understand the arrangement and I don’t have time to explain–”

“Yes, yes, of course I can do this.” It isn’t until Javi gently lays his hands on your shoulders that you realize how high you’ve been holding them, and they melt downward with a stroke of his palms. He smiles through his minor concern. “It will be alright. Everything will be perfect. Please do not be upset. Okay? You work too hard.”

You relax a little as Javi enters into lyric conversation with the gardener, trusting him to do the explaining. But the ice sculptures will be delivered any moment and you’ve left the gratuity envelope on your desk, so you leave him to it, calling out a thanks over your shoulder.

“Sunday? Wait?”

But you’re already moving down the hallway.

When Javi suggested you hire a PR agent for this party, you should have taken him up on it. After a recent sickness, both of you were still playing catch up. But this party was for family. His cousin Niko–a young up-and-coming fashion designer–had just landed a commission with Loewe. It was a big deal and everyone was proud of him. Javi never overlooked an excuse for a party, and it was usually your job to coordinate them. It got to be a bit more extravagant than you originally planned and you’d lost track of time and–

As you pass the kitchen, a different voice booms–

“Sunday. Your assistance por favor.”

“Sorry, Néstor. Can it wait? I have to–”

“No, it cannot, get your bum bum in here.”

Puffing up your cheeks, you give a frustrated blow entering his arena, Néstor’s immaculate baking counter lined beautifully with golden, fluffy madeleines, half of them dipped in white, the other in dark. 

“This is what you want?” He gestures flippantly, walking away to gather mixing bowls and bringing them to the sink. 

“Oh, they’re perfect. Niko will be so happy!”

“I know they are perfect. But you must taste them. I think maybe your opinion is wrong and I will make some that are plain with dusted sugar. These two? Profiles too similar. Taste.”

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634 notes - Posted March 4, 2022

#2

The Superfluous Meeting of Utmost Importance

(ORANGE VANILLA POPSICLES - Sweets Series)

Rating: T. Fluffy AF.

Fandom: The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez and f!reader (his assistant “Girl Sunday.”)

Warnings: Please schedule an appointment with your dentist before reading this fic. 

Summary: It’s the day of the meeting.

A/N: Okay, y’all. You asked for the meeting where Javi confesses the love everyone here and everyone in the household knows he has for Sunday, so here it is. However. It’s not the only meeting Javi’s concerned with.

This one’s from Javi’s POV and I hope you enjoy that. I loved getting into his curly little head.

Audemars Piguet = a very expensive watch. Believe me.

If you’re curious where the nickname “Sunday” comes from, you can find the answer in the first fic at the series masterlist!

The way the sunlight kisses your hair, how you move your jaw when you’re thinking–a way of not clenching it in stress–the way your fingers skip over your keyboard. You’re determined to get your work done by his 2pm meeting today.

A meeting you’d set the date and time for per his request–he smirks–to “confess.”

Javi is completely in love with you. Has been for a while now. He’s never felt the need to hide it. It’s not a revelation, it’s just an everyday truth.

You’re wearing one of the tops you brought with you when you took the job months ago. It’s cute on you. It’s the second time you’ve worn it this week. He could buy you a whole closet of clothes, enough to never wear the same thing twice, but you wouldn’t ask for that and he’d never insist.

You don’t care about his money. You’re happy to have a room in the house, but you eschewed the down comforter for your grandmother’s afghan and he even had to push you to choose your office furniture or you would have gone without. The only time he can give you extravagant things and get a reaction out of you is with high end meals…but even then, it can’t just be expensive, it has to be good and prepared well before you lose yourself in a blissful sigh. You appreciate his gifts but value his attention and trust more than anything else, he can see that, see the shine in your eyes when he asks for your opinion or tells you something he’s never admitted to anyone else.

He loves this about you. He loves that he could buy you a Monet and you’d still rather look at the moon.

He knows he doesn’t have to tell you. But he wants to say the words and leave you no doubt. Grins broadly when he thinks about it, feels comfort all the way through to the marrow.

But which words? How to say it? He isn’t sure yet.

Leaning pigeon-toed against the doorway to your office, he watches you for a moment, your back to the door. Even though you’ve positioned your desk to look out at the ocean, you spend much less time staring out the window than he does. He wishes you wouldn’t work so hard–your dedication creates a beautiful, taut ping in his chest–but he knows you enjoy it and he’d be lost without you and your devotion. It is good that you’re different than him in this regard.

A glance down at his Audemars Piguet shows it’s just turning 11. Three hours then. Maybe he’ll go for a swim.

But instead of taking the stairs and heading for the pool, he suddenly has the spark of an idea and heads past them to the kitchen.

“Ah. Néstor, hi.”

“Buenos dias, jefeeeeeee.” The garlic he’s mincing holds the cook’s attention, but he sings off a dry greeting.

The kitchen counter is covered in bowls and plates full of freshly chopped and grated ingredients for tonight’s dinner–a special meal for a special night–they both know how much you like Néstor’s homemade wood fired pizza. A margherita, a pugliese, a prosciutto crudo e rucola… he will keep creating and firing them until you’re both full and then he will keep going so that there will be leftovers for the cook’s day off.

Javi rocks on his feet as he watches Néstor stir the simmering sauce on the stovetop, waiting for a moment when he won’t be too much of a bother, but his patience runs out. He asks the cook for his help. To help Javi make something himself. Something sweet. He doesn’t know what though. He just came up with the idea a minute ago.

Néstor swirls the wooden spoon through the steaming tomatoes, silently, expertly, taking his time and assessing the texture. “Para Sunday?” He asks, frowning, not looking up from his gentle mixing.

“Sí.”

“Hoy es el dia de la confesion, eh.” 

“Ah, sí.” That’s right. He told Néstor about the meeting last night at the party, hoping for advice from the confidante but only receiving a thoughtful stare and the assurance that he would plan something special for dinner.

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658 notes - Posted March 20, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Good. Things. Take. Time. 2: One Bed

Fandom: Calls (THIS IS AN APPLE TV SERIES. PATS is a character. This is not RPF.)

Pairing:  Pedro Across the Street x f!reader

Rating: ***Explicit.*** Those under 18 please do not enter.

Warnings: Masturbation (f and implied m), hand job, oral (m receiving), feather light dom/sub/switch, P & V (unprotected but with prior safety agreements), kissing, praise in droves, instruction compliance, the usual implication of nefarious massage practices / something like sex work. PLOT. Boring shit about database programming, characters you’ve come to know outside their element, a drop of angst, yearning across a crowded room, character shock and name swap (wait...what?), and, as always, PATS* is his own warning.  *Now with more soft.

A/N: I was getting ready to write a one-bed fic and asked y’all to vote on a character. Another boy won, but at one point, PATS was in the lead and I panicked. How do you write a one-bed fic with characters whose whole playing ground IS a bedroom? My brain wouldn’t shake the challenge and this is what happened. I will also say: this is not a direct sequel to the first fic. It continues the entire series that’s been building through the sessions. 

I have more notes, mostly thank yous to y’all. You can find them at the end.

Anti-Summary: “This can be a pause. Pause of treatment-client relations. What happens in this room isn’t what happens in your room. That space is sacred and I don't want to compromise that in any way. And if it’s a pause, it’s a complete pause. No touching, just sleep.” (Adira’s note: hahahhAHAHAHAAHAHAHAH GOOD TRY.)

.

As with the original fic, this will be broken into sections if you need to take a breath.

REGISTRATION (1.4K)

DISORIENTATION (1.8K)

THE FIRST CONUNDRUM (512 words)

THE SECOND CONUNDRUM (784 words)

THE THIRD CONUNDRUM (958 words)

THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED (3.8K)

ASSESSMENT (1K)

REGISTRATION

“I want you to repeat as necessary this week. The key is to enjoy yourself, Preciosa. Feel free to log in and make a note about how you felt when you started, how many times you came, and how you feel at the end. I’d like to hear about it. See you next week.”

You tap your phone on its dash mount to wake it up and press the replay button.

“Hey. So…I’ve never actually done this with a client, so thanks for being my guinea pig. I know you like to try new things. Again, sorry I had to bail on our session, but maybe this will be fun so… Take off your clothes and get yourself comfortable. I’m gonna talk you through a few things. And I want you to imagine I’m there with you, okay? Your hands are my hands–”

It’s the third time you’ve listened to the half-hour recording. After the first go through, you had to find a rest stop and pull over. When you’d finally emerged out of the single-stall restroom, you had to apologize to three angry women waiting in line. You couldn’t–and wouldn’t–do what he told you to do in a public stall, no matter how cleanly it was kept, but it was easy enough to just get a quick fix and clean yourself up so you could keep driving. Sure, listening to Pedro’s mellow tones guide you through the most intense self-satisfaction scenario you could possibly imagine while going 70 on the highway wasn’t the best idea. But as long as you keep your hands on the wheel it should be okay.

__________________

–I’m sorry about this, Preciosa, but I won’t be able to keep our appointment on Thursday. Life is getting in the way. If you don’t mind though, I’d like to make it up to you.

The chat had been waiting for you on Sunday morning when you logged into the portal and he was still active.

–Make it up to me? I’m the one who’s getting weekly sessions at a bi-weekly rate.

–Plus tip.

Oh yeah. That.

–Hey. You deserve it.

The chat sits for a full minute.

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675 notes - Posted December 31, 2021

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[equilibrium-anticipation]

How To Make Peanut Butter Chicken When You Are Studying Abroad

Buy

Chicken, mostly to make box pad thai, but you'll have half left over.

Green onions (seem like a good topping), also mostly for the pad thai.

Tomatoes, two weeks ago, for salad. You did not make a salad.

Lemon, one week ago, to make salmon. You skipped the lemon.

A three pack of onions, two months ago. You will only need half an onion.

Rice-- nevermind, you always have rice.

Peanut butter, duh.

Coconut Milk! You're making it fancy this time!

Cook

The chicken expires today, so this is what you are making for lunch. NO MAKING OTHER PLANS.

Heat the oil, on medium high. Chop the onion, and some leftover garlic. Also a green onion, even though that's not on the recipie. Get down ground ginger. It's cheaper than buying fresh.

Toss the onions in, and stir until they get translucent. Add three cloves garlic, some ginger powder, green onions. Also cumin. You're supposed to add chili oil later, but you definitely don't have that, and cumin is the "spiciest" spice you have. (you own three spices). Stir.

After a minute or two dump in the raw chicken. lay it out so it can cook for-- 3-4 minutes???-- nope, absolutely not. What? Oh, you're supposed to simmer this with a lid for like 20 minutes. You have one pan. It does not have a lid. Cook the chicken until you can't see pink through the skin.

Add-- oops, you were supposed to have ketchup. Oh well.

Add an amount of chopped tomato. Also add like three tablespoons of peanut butter and a teaspoon of brown sugar. Do not add chili oil because you do not have any. Stir.

This does not have enough liquid. It is going to burn.

Add three teaspoons of white wine leftover from when you were making ramen and could not find sake at the grocery store; add a dash of fish sauce, also from the ramen making; this is also not enough; add a few shakes of soy sauce, and also some rice vinegar, both from sushi making experiments; might as well squeeze in some of that lemon juice now. Keep stirring the whole time. This is probably enough liqiuid for now.

Go to the pantry to grab your can of coconut milk. It's time to simmer. Oh. oh no. oh dear. You don't own a can opener. The cans of beans you had for lunch at the beginning of the semester came with pull tabs. You can probably donate the can or something.

Pour in an amount of the skim milk in your fridge that expires in three days anyways. You haven't opened it at all. Maybe you should buy some cereal when you make an emergency toilet paper run tonight?

Set the heat to low and go wash your dishes. Consider making rice. Remember that that takes like half an hour and your chicken will be done in an indeterminate timeframe that's probably less than twenty minutes. Remember to stir once every few minutes.

At this point the sauce is pretty thick and the chicken is pretty tender. It's been less than ten minutes, probably.

Serve yourself half the chicken. The other half is for dinner. You can probably make rice then.

Go to your desk to eat, and try really hard not to think about the lab report you should be writing right now.

It's delicious.

The chicken's gone in three minutes.

There's no way you will ever be able to replicate your own sucess.

[kirishoshego]

Confidental Composition//Bakugo

!!!MINORS DNI!!! 18+ONLY !!!

This is the first part of my little 'Teachers Pet Series' (I will add the link once I got all parts covered and the right ideas).

Summary: A simple task fucked up late at night as you send the wrong version of a piece of homework to your English literature teacher Mister Bakugo. Of course, he would want to see you after class the next day. But not for the reasons you might think. Pairing: Docent!Bakugo x afab!student!y/n // Words: 4.2k+ Side note: Insert a friend or random name you want for X :)

TW: nsfw: slow burn (sorry), spanking with a ruler, hair pulling, being bend over a desk, calling him sir, spitting, choking, dirty talk, degrading, slight praise

„Write an essay about the worst description of a woman or coitus. In the essay, explain why it is bad and then rewrite it. At least 30 pages, max. 60 pages (sources and any other extras you please to include, excluded). Due Date: 8 weeks from now on, 35% worth of your end grade. Questions can be asked per E-Mail, or, if you must, I’m free every Wednesday afternoon for meetings strictly for this essay and this essay only.“

A sigh left your lips as you starred at the piece of paper for the tenth time today ever since he handed it out to you and your classmates. The options you had were endless, you knew so many bad pieces about both topics and could write more than 100 pages about them as well. Everyone in class you talked to had decided on their topic already, some were even further. It was X who told you to just write the topics on a piece of paper and let fate do its work.

Black ink on a badly ripped blue note decided that you were going to write about a sex scene. Just now that you thought about it, rewriting something like that for your professor to read was an awfully stupid idea, yet you decided to listen to a small piece of paper.

At first, you were going to go with Fifty Shades of Grey but you felt like the choice was chewed up and spat out. It took you three days to finally decide on a book and once you settled there was no turning back. Considering your ignited interest in this topic you weren’t surprised when you were done within the first four weeks. Knowing the editing is going to take another week, maybe even a week and a half, you decided to take a small break, just one or two days off. On your second day, you decided to visit the new coffee shop that had just opened up around the corner.

Never had you expected to see your professor near your living spot. You were about to greet him when you noticed his pissed-off expression on his face and only now did you spot the woman behind him. She grabbed his arm and made him turn on the relatively small and empty street.

„Suki you can’t be serious,“ she was angry and hurt, while he seemed to be angry and annoyed. Not much of a difference than to how you see him on the daily, to be honest. „Are you fucking stupid? Of course, I’m fucking god damn serious. It was your choice to cheat on me and now I choose to throw you on the streets where you apparently belong, go ask one of your little boy toys to take you in for all I care,“ you were frozen in place, not entirely sure what to do. Right now your eyes were glued on his chest that was clad in a tight, black pullover, rising up and down heavily as his nostrils were flared caused by his anger. „Because you gave me no choice! If you like that sort of weird, rough shit then paddle your own canoe! I need something soft and tender-,“ before she could finish her sentence he laughed. Cold and slightly maniac in a way.

„Then get some fucking chicken! If you don’t like how I’m in bed then break up with me and piss off but don’t send my best friend a nude to ask him to come over. Even a ten-year-old would see how stupid that is,“at that moment your eyes met. His eyebrows were furled together, red eyes expression furry and disgust. Blond hair usually styled like he was going to be on the cover of Vogue, like he had been before, now slightly messy. Plump lips slightly apart to let his teeth shine through slightly before wetting them with his tongue. Your eyes widened and before you knew what you were doing you waved at him, making him cock his eyebrows in confusion for a second before noticing it was you who he was looking at. Turning on your heels you walked past busy crowds of people as you walked back home, trying to understand what you had just seen and why your angry professor had turned you on more than anyone had done before.

It was a stupid idea to ditch the next teaching unit of his but you had absolutely no clue how you were going to look at him. You knew teachers had a private life themselves, but never would you have guessed that you would run into one of them in your small area. As far as you knew he lived across town according to the very, very few private stories he had shared in magazines.

„Dear Professor,

down below is my finished project as an attachment in form of a PDF. I know you request it to be printed as well and I had planned to hand it in today, but sadly I came down with the flu. I’m looking forward to attending your next unit in the following week.

Have a nice week,

Y/N Y/L/N“

Maybe he had forgotten that you were there already and you were worrying too much about it. You were his student, nothing more, nothing less. Bakugo could care less about you, right? The flu did go around a lot right now, so it wouldn’t be completely unthinkable that you were sick. Itching eyes signaled you that it was time to go to bed now, so you closed your laptop and went to bed, not knowing what the next day will hold for you.

X had waited for you at the main entrance the next day to give you all the information you might need and ask why you weren’t there, considering it was obvious that you had the flu for one day only. At first, you were hesitant to explain what you had witnessed, it was messy already and you doubt Mister Bakugo would want the fight to go viral at his workplace. „Just one of those days you know? I had my mind completely full and felt like crap,“ that was the best excuse you could come up with, a white little lie that wouldn’t harm anyone. „Glad to see you’re doing- Oh, hello Professor,“ X smiled at someone behind you. There was no need to turn around to know who it was, the scent of his very expensive and extremely beguiling perfume clouding your mind. „Hello,“ his gruff voice greeted your friend shortly as you turned around, met with his muscular chest. You didn’t expect him to be so close to you, but here you were, tilting your head slightly as you looked up to him through your lashes, feeling not just your cheeks growing hot. „Good morning Sir,“ your voice sounded a lot more confident than you were feeling. Bakugo clenched his fist around the fake leather of his bag, his red eyes starring right into your soul as you had no chance of escaping whatever was going to happen next. „Miss Y/L/N, just the person I was looking for,“ fuck. „You were?“ X and you said at the same time, but your friend decided to excuse themself after a single glare from the older man. „How may I help you, Professor?“ You asked after swallowing down the anxious feeling that threatened to rise. „I received your Mail yesterday, with the PDF,“ okay, why did he search you just to tell you he got your assignment? Was it that bad? „But I’m relatively sure that it was the wrong one, considering I doubt that you want your teacher to know that 'this shit is so bad, but I wouldn’t mind being bent over a writing desk like that' with a smirking emoji at the end,“ only when his finger pushed your chin upwards gently you noticed that it was agape, shame filling every molecule in your body as you already planned your escape out of this country. Nobody was near you to see the weirdly intimidating scene happening between you and your teacher.

„Also I know you didn’t have the flu. I don’t appreciate being lied to. Tomorrow five p.m. in my office, don’t be late or you will get in more trouble. Send me the actual version tonight so I can grade it. I won’t let something as unprofessional as this slide again, understood?“ You nodded, taking in all of the information given to you, and somewhat in all of this mess felt thankful that he was giving you a second chance. The man in front of you rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue, ordering you to speak up. „Yes Sir, thank you,“ you sounded more confident than you felt inside. „Good,“ was all Bakugo said before he turned around, leaving you behind in the big hall dumbfounded and confused… And horny.

As if Chronos himself felt immense joy in your misery, minutes appeared to be hours and the panic inside of you only grew the closer you came to five in the afternoon. You tried everything, watching a show, listening to podcasts and audiobooks, reading a book you had put of for so long, went outside, cooked something, worked on another assignment, stopped yourself from destroying your hair, made the phone call you so desperately had put off and it’s still only ten p.m on the same day. How was that even possible? As you laid in bed you tossed and turned, the thought of your really hot teacher all angry, breathing heavily, his hands roaming your body. It was hard to pinpoint exactly when those thoughts turned into a very lucid dream, but when you woke up in the morning, already an hour too late to your first period, all you wanted to do was scream into your pillow.

Considering first class is canceled, you wanna go grab breakfast? X texted you.

Canceled? Checking your mails you saw your teacher had sent out a mail, excusing themselves and explaining they came down with the flu. A blessing in disguise. You let X know that you would meet up at the building and go grab something near it. Once agreed, you took a quick shower, a moment of peace given to you as water hit your body. There was no way you could do anything between your last class and the meeting with Professor Bakugo, so you tried to look your best possible for the next upcoming hours.

Suddenly time flew by and the closer you got the more you begged for a little bit more time, for him to postpone it, anything. But no, here you were, five minutes early and looking around to spot the blond man with no luck. „Miss Y/L/N. Step inside,“ you jumped slightly as his voice boomed up behind you, not expecting him to be in the office already.

Once you walked inside you were stunned about how clean everything was, no matter where you looked it was neat. His books were sorted alphabetically with marks between them to let him know when a new letter began. As far as you could tell he used cherry wood for his pieces of furniture, a big, black carpet in a corner underneath a small seating area, and some books placed on the table. Even his paperwork was stacked in order. Big glass windows allowed the evening sun to fall into the room, its warmness kissing your skin while you were seated in front of him, a big writing desk between the two of you, on it your work.

It was quiet for a short moment, before he leaned back in his chair, red eyes mustering you up and down which didn’t help at all. „What would you like to talk about first? Your assignment or the fact that you lied to me?“ Why was he so bothered by your lie? You knew plenty of students calling in sick every once in a while even though they aren’t. „I apologize for both of it. It shouldn’t have happened and I learned from my mistake,“ you were hoping that it would ease his anger a little bit but he seemed more worked up than usual. „Although I don’t understand why you are so angry at me for it? Plenty students lie-,“ „Yes, but they aren’t stupid enough to make it so obvious,“ he interrupted you. „I could care less about who’s missing my class, it’s their fault in the end if they decide learning is unnecessary. However you are one of my top students, I expected better from you. You could have excused yourself with no explanation. But you chose to add the feeble lie about being sick for what?“

You took in a deep breath, feeling as if another lie would be caught immediate, so you had no other choice but to tell him the real reason: „I heard the fight you had with the woman you were with, in the café, and I didn’t know how to react when I see you in your class,“ there was a small moment where he looked honestly confused before something clicked in his brain. „So it was you who I saw. What did you hear?“ „I can’t really rem-,“ „One more lie and I will lose my temper, don’t test me,“ shit, why was he turning you on so much right now. He’s your teacher for god’s sake and angry at you, this wasn’t the right time. „That she doesn’t agree with certain things in your private life,“ „Like?“ he knew you tried to talk around it, yet he wanted you to talk about, to see you embarrassed again, he liked that look on you. „The way you fuck,“ it was said before your brain could even comprehend the words, another apology laying at the tip of your tongue but his next question cut you off before you could say something else. „Why were you there in the first place? I’ve been there a few times and never saw you or any other student,“ he explained. „Because I live close by?“ It sounded more defiantly than you had wanted, causing your opponent to cock his eyebrow.

„I feel like you’re forgetting who’s the authority figure here,“ he walked up to his door, locking it before coming back. Now he was right in front of you, slightly sitting on his desk and the sleeves of his button-up shirt pushed up a little. „No sir, I’m sorry,“ „You see, the problem is, I don’t really believe you,“ with that he pulled you up, bodies pressed against each other, letting you feel his toned torso while the muscles in his arms flexed slightly.

„You lied to me once already, I think I have to teach you a lesson,“ everything happened so fast and you suddenly found yourself face down on his desk with his hand between your shoulder blades, the other one grabbing his wooden ruler. „If I recall correctly this is what you wanted right?“ His voice was low, slightly above a whisper as his upper body was pressed against your back while he pulled a few hair strands from your face. „Yes, but Professor I don’t think this is a good idea,“ your inner voice yelled at you, saying this was the best idea ever, angry that you possibly ruined your dreams coming true.

„Tell me to stop and I will do so immediately. Your choice. There will be no consequences if you worry about that,“ he reassured you, waiting for you to get up and run, but you didn’t and the current position allowed him to feel you clench your legs. „So?“ He asked again, the ruler in his hand basically burning with the anticipation of hitting your skin. „No, don't stop,“ you breathed, awaiting his next move.

„Good,“ with that he exposed your raised ass, your underwear the only thing between your bare skin and the wood that came down upon it, one foot raising in the air because of the sudden pain. „From now on if you say stop I won’t listen, you will tell me how you feel through colors. If it’s too much you tell me red and I will drop everything, understood?“ Another spank was delivered to the same spot.

„Yes,“ another one. You weren’t sure if he hit harder or if your skin turned more sensitive with every blow.

„It’s sir to you,“ you could feel him lunge out but shortly before the ruler came down he stoped, laughing slightly at your small jump.

„Yes sir,“ another one.

„You’re going to apologize every time my ruler paints your cute ass even redder, got it?“ You nodded your head, a moan escaping the back of your throat as he spanked you yet again.

„One more thing, be a good girl and stay quiet, wouldn’t wanna get caught now do we?“ He knew it was going to be torture for you to follow his order the more he continued and in a way he wanted you to fail. There was so much build-up inside of him and it appears that you were willing enough for him to use you as he pleased. That’s why you were his favorite. Bakugo knew what he was doing was wrong and he never expected to feel this way for one of his students but forbidden fruit tastes the best.

You stopped counting after the seventh blow, sorries, sirs and small whimpers fall from your lips as if they were your whole vocabulary. At one point you started crying, tears mixed with mascara running down your cheeks. He tried to remember something that turned him on more than the sight of your messed-up body with no luck. Everything build up inside of him, everything itching in his hands, the inner desires he had to soften for his ex, it all was going to come down on you. His thick girth twitched at the simple thought of finally being surrounded by your dripping wet cunt.

A warm soft hand rubbed over your bruised flesh while the other one found its way into your hair to pull you up to him, your back arched.

„What are you sorry for?“ Your mind was clouded with pleasure and pain, the only thought right now was the feeling of his dick print right between your sore cheeks. „I asked my little bitch a question, I expect you to fucking answer,“ this time he spanked you with his hand but it was just as intense as his ruler. „I don’t know,“ you breathed, a soft moan slipping out of you when his thumb barely circled your throbbing clit. „You’re just apologizing because you want me to use you?“ You could hear him chuckle lowly before he pushed your underwear to the side, his middle finger now playing with you. „Yes sir,“ Katsuki couldn’t hear a single ounce of shame in your voice and he wondered how long you had been thinking about him like this before.

„I never expected you to be such a dumb, cock hungry whore,“ The sound of his belt hitting the floor was dull like it was far away from you but at the same time, you felt him closer than before. Strong hands around your waist turned you around and once again he lifted your head with his finger underneath your chin, studying your ruined make-up as if he was memorizing every little detail he never wanted to forget. The blond, muscular man lifted you with ease, your behind getting a small moment of cooling as it hit his wooden desk.

Bakugo dried your tears slightly with his thumb, smearing it even more. „Only for you,“ you whispered and in that moment he couldn’t stop himself, he just had to kiss you. Not sweet and gentle, but passionately and hungry, like he was poisoned and your kiss was the antidote. The hand behind your head traveling to the front as you were laid down completely.

„If I had known before I would have fucked you so much sooner,“ with one hard thrust he was buried deep inside of you, one hand over your mouth because he knew you wouldn’t be able to keep quiet and the other one around your throat, squeezing shut and watching you struggle against it slightly. Your professor was thicker than what you were used to and you didn’t know how good it would feel until now. With the first few snaps of his hips, you knew you never wanted to feel something else anymore.

Your hands went to his arms and you tugged on them, causing him to let go as the blood found its way back to your brain. „Color?“ he asked, afraid you weren’t able to handle him. „Green,“ was all you could get out before another moan cut off your ability to talk.

„Good girl,“ he whispered into your ear, kissing down from your earlobe to your shoulder before sucking on a rather sensitive spot. Both of your wrists were held over your head with his left hand, with the explanation that he doesn’t appreciate being stopped while using you however he pleased. The right hand was going from between your chest after he admired your bouncing tits thoroughly, to your stomach to connect with your most sensitive bundle of nerves. Bakugo switched from circles to eights, from fast to slow, but the harshness of his hips never haltered.

„I know you wanna scream right now, but I can’t allow that. Can’t let others hear what a dirty slut you are for me right now. I promise I will fuck you in my house if you behave now. You can moan my name as much as you want. Or maybe I will gag you, watch you drool all over yourself. Maybe I will tie you up and edge you for an hour straight until you’re begging me to fuck you, you like the sound of that, huh? I can feel you squeezing around me,“ another chuckle left his plump lips as he watched you struggle to stay up on your feet.

„Maybe I will let you choke on my dick while I work on something for the next lesson. Gonna use you as my little cum dump. Let you think about it again when I talk about it in front of the whole class. Do-,“ you were so close when a sudden knock on the door startled you both, but he never once stopped what he was doing, if anything he went even harder, whispering into your ear to be quiet for him.

„Hey Kat, your ex is outside and says she wants to talk, want me to send her in?“ It was the psychologist professor Shinso, his voice as done and deep as usual. „No, I’m occupied,“ Bakugo saw your mouth open after you fought so hard against it, he couldn’t let you moan, not right now. He did the first thing he could think of, spitting into it and watching you swallow. Oh, he would definitely film you do this with his cum covering you everywhere and the thought brought him slightly closer to his release. „Still grading papers huh? I don’t get where you got all of that energy from,“ his voice was blurred out by Bakugo whispering into your ear. „Do you want me to tell you what we're doing right now? Let him know I’m fucking my little toy stupid right now?“ And while you were shaking your head no it was the last straw for you and you found yourself grabbing his hand to put over your mouth, biting your lips until you tasted blood to muffle the scream you couldn’t stop. Bakugo cursed under his breath when he could feel you throbbing around his dick and your nails digging into his arm. „Tell her to leave me the fuck alone, she’s already forgotten,“ his voice sounded strained and you knew he was close as well. „Ah, I see. Well then have fun,“ his laugh was fading away the further he went.

„Can’t believe that made you cum, you’re even more perfect than I thought, such a dirty girl, tsk,“ both his hands are on your hips and he pulled your body against him with every thrust. You were still coming down from your orgasm when you felt his thrusts turning sloppy before he stopped completely, his dick now pulsing while he was holding you tightly. Breath uneven and getting stable on his feet again he turned you around, careful so he wouldn’t hurt you.

„Next time I gonna make sure you can’t walk but right now I need you to be able to leave the building,“ he pulled his pants back up and added: „Sadly,“ before walking around his desk.

It was still hard for you to stand so you sat down, wincing as the usually soft cushion now felt like thousand of tiny spikes on your bruised ass. Before you pull your bottoms up again he grabbed your wrist and pulled you up, once again with a stern expression on his face you were so familiar with.

„I apparently really fucked you stupid if you think I let you leave like this,“ having him put cooling cream on your bare bum felt more intimate than having him be balls deep inside you. „Sorry I just thought-,“ „Well, you thought wrong. I don’t know what kind of boys you had in the past but now that you have me there are going to be changes, got that?“

[muffindaddystyles]

OH NO BABY!!

Summary: It was Harry who swimmed in freezing ass water but someone else (his lovie) ends up catching a cold, caring boyfriendrry, a mighty bit momrry.

Turquoise chilly waves crashes against the dark coloured stones as Y/N watches her button sized boyfriend; summat all with rosy cheeks and nose, un-tattooed, wearing excessively short knickers (so tiny it shows the curves of his cute bum perfectly), being a cheeky giggly boy while shooting his swimming scenes. 

She wheezes a cold puff of breath winding her brown overcoat closer around to keep her warm but it fails to do so and she might get a scolding from Harry for being silly and waiting outside the whole time just to watch him but she doesn't care, she's extremely proud of him and comes by the sets of My Policemen once a time she gets day off her job early. 

He paddles towards her like a penguin buried into humongous coats and towels, his brows furrowing together trying to recognize her dainty self waving him quite enthusiastically from far and his face softens at that.

Shaking his head when her teeth clanks together from the gush of stinging cold breeze. 

"Lovie'," He wraps his nippy palms around her hands bringing them to his frosty lips to blow warm air, knowing she hates cold and gets real whiny from not being able to bear it yet she stood in it for two hours for him means alot to him because his assistant told him someone was waiting for him but didn't tell it was his actual sweet baby.

"How you're not a frozen chicken yet?" She asks sighing once in the heat of his given trailer and he makes an exhultant purring noise when she cups his face, lulling it left and right playfully, "Are you okay? She queries worriedly looking down at him with batted eyes and he muses a chuckle at her sweetness. 

"Baby 'm fine -- feeling hot by the way now you're inside the van." He grins bashfully tugging her closer with his knees pulled around her legs, "You better go back home .. I don't want your cutesy bum to freeze to death." She squeaks surprisingly when he smacks her ass playfully and drags her down by pulling the lapel of her coat to smear his lips against her's fondly -- heart bigger than it's normal size at her sight making his day 100x better. 

"I brought you lunch, it's on that shelf." She tells him standing at the stairs of trailer and he waves her blowing a heartious kiss her way, "Call me when y'reach, yeah?" 

"Kay, bye!" Her awfully pretty smile covets dimples into his cheeks and he just want to throw himself into the sofa piled with blanket and scream into it like a teenager girl.

Though, she keeps sneezing through whole ride -- eyes teary, nose runny and fingers twitchy not to mention her numb toes making her feel very uncomfy. Her eyes dropping from being too sleepy and lazy. 

She's about to catch a cold. 

Tiredly she drags her feet upto their flat and doesn't even pet their kitten strawberry on the way to their bedroom and when reaches it flops over blankets snuggling into them -- without even changing into comfy clothes. 

Sirens everywhere as she wakes up with a groan holding her forehead to subside the pound in it and it's feeling like blazing alarms are going off in her head making her want to puke. 

It's dark outside. She's been napping for hours. She manages to sit on the edge of bed deciding whether she should stand up to go to washroom or not for that all she could see is floating wooden floor. 

Weakly she trudges towards the kitchen filling a glass of water and pulls out a thermometer from one of the drawers -- she was too occupied in waiting for it to beep  then checking her fever that she didn't hear Harry announcing; he's home. 

She gasps quickly shoving it under her bum, "Don't you hide that thermometer from me!" He squalls rushing towards her in two big strides of his daddy long legs and her eyes widen comically. 

"I was just checking and I don't have any kind of fever!" She squeals not letting him get hold of the thermometer and he glares down at her sternly, "You're burning up, baby." He hisses, the back of his hand pressed to her forehead. 

She stands up and does a twirl for him shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly, "See 'm fine —- " Only to pass out but Harry was quick to take her fall in his arms gracefully squinting his eyes down at her.

"Yeah . . . could see how fine you're." She gives in atlast. Knowing he's going in a severe mommy mode.

"Put your arms around me — Or just fall on me, yeah that works too." She nods and let him slip his socks clad feetsie under her soles to walk them to their bedroom, he sits her down and she wails when he opens their wardrobe to get her something comfy. 

"Nooo." She bunches up into a ball as he fists her vest top to pull it over her head, "it's freezing -- 'm feeling so cold." He frowns because he's sweating his ass off from the heat. 

He sweeps her hair away from her eyes rubbing a hand down her back continuously, "It'd be a sec, pet. Then I'll warm these blankets in the drier 'n make ye' some soup, so you'd be all cosy 'n snuggly … hmm?" She's very unconvincing when sick. Wants him and just him by her side. 

She wipes her nose with her sleeve and sniffs, raising her armpits in air for him and  shivers terribly when he undressed her completely, "Oh me poor baby." He leans in to kiss the corner of her lips but she pushes him away grumpy-ly. 

"You're g'na get sick too, dummy." He pouts childishly helping her to put her legs in her fuzzy pyjamas, plants tender kisses to her ankles once covering her feet in aloe-fused socksies.

When she stands up on wobbly legs with the support of his folded thigh he almost jumps asking worriedly. 

"Where are ye' goin', missy!??" 

"To washroom." Her voice barely audible her throat achy and scratchy, "'M comin' with you." He tells her demandingly and she groans knuckling at her eyes. 

"No."

"You wanna walk by yourself? Alright, let's see that." He leaves her wrist and she gasps tripping forward from weakness -- catching the nearest furniture before the damage. 

"Moppet, stop being so stubborn and lemme take care of you … look at you, an absolute horror –-- never been this frail." He's just so caring it makes her want to cry and have a full on water-works party. He pushes her from waist to himself pecking her sweet smelling hair and takes her to washroom. 

After that he tucks her beneath two fluffy blankets and leaves her to make some soup for her and bring her medicine, "Harry!" She yowls pinching the blankets closer around her round small head and feels bad when he rushes inside in a frenzy with an utterly concerned face, serving spoon in his hand and dish rag on his shoulder. 

"What happened baby? D'ya wanna throw up? Or are you feelin' freezy, should I blow up heat?" He asks in one breath and she blushes murmuring timidly, glossy eyes still very sleepy and exhausted. 

She sneezes loudly, "I just –- achoo!! –- " Another sneeze and she messes her words horribly, " –- you — " Drool on the corner of her mouth. 

"You achoo me?" He giggles softly fetching some tissues for her and wipes her nose with them as she struggles to clean it herself. 

"'M sorry, please come back." She sighs holding in an another sneeze to avoid wetting him with her yucky stuff. 

He strokes her head for a generous moment, "It's almost cooked –- oh fuck is it burning?" He sniffs the air then looks down at her with full on saucer eyes and slaps his forehead when she raises her shoulders, "Maybe?" Thankfully not all of it got ruined and his grin was obnoxious while bringing it inside. Trying to shoo away strawberry who's pawing at the frizzes of his socks. 

She smiles up at him with hooded eyes when he hovers the spoon infront of her waiting to feed her as if she's some sort of lil baby and when she tells him it's hot he blows at it and when she still tries to make excuses he stares at her strictly, "Baby." He warns her and she obliges quickly grabbing his wrist delicately to eat and his heart jumps consciously at the fact she's still burning awfully. 

"Did you even put salt in it? It tastes like nothing."

"Please stop wasting of what's left of ye voice on complaints about soup you can't even taste." He huffs and she giggles only to drive into fits of loud coughs. He rubs her back gently and puts the tray aside when she feels like throwing up from the effect of coughs and moves the bin where she's bended over the edge of bed and his legs. 

"It's okay, hmm just let it out." He caresses her back and holds her hair away from her face -- though nothing comes out since she hasn't eaten anything from morning. 

"I hate this." There comes the first sniffle and he instantly cradles her face in his soft hands, "I know dovie' you're feeling very icky right now but it'll be better in the morning, I promise." She shakes her head coughing into her elbow. 

"I don't want to eat anymore." Her voice groggy and hoarse, he lifts her gaze up towards him scolding her with a stern frown. 

"Hey, now none of that -- you're not allowed to sleep until your belly isn't full." She groans nodding at last and he kisses her shoulder as a little reward. She isn't very bratty. Infact she's Harry's polite girl. Though, When she's he makes sure to tug her back on line but at the moment he understands that how much she's suffering. 

How much she needs him to take care of her.

Taking care of her medicines and her cough syrup he turns on the lamp laying back into heap of pillows against the headboard and spreads his knees to bunch her petite weak body against his chest and closes them when she's properly snuggled on top of him, it's one of her favourite positions to sleep in when she's sick --- clinged and cuddled to him. 

Like babies on their mommy's chest with their bums sticked out.

He tightens his arms around her hiding his face into the crook of her neck and smooches tiny kisses to her sweet spot, "You're so cute baby makes me heart-ache." 

His tranquil heartbeat never fails to lull her to sleep and his hands loving on her sides always makes her feel very warm, "You shouldn't have come to beach -- moppet. Knows your immune against cold is terrible." He whispers cheek squished over her head and she murmures sleepyly —- hands bundled up between her and his front, "Just wanted to make you feel ….. loved." Her words jumblish but full of affection and drool sticks to his sweatshirt when she mumbles against his chest. 

//

Harry didn't sleep whole night making sure she's okay, making her sip her cough syrup in betweens and massaging her head but when his eyes barely dropped and the clock hit 4 in the morning whimpers and wails started slipping out of her lips as if she's in very much pain. Which infact she's. Her body shivers vigorously in his arms and even though she's sweating her fever didn't lower down a bit. 

He has never seen her in such a bad condition. 

He perches on his elbow immediately cupping her hot rosy cheek and gives it few pats crying out worriedly, "Hey baby -- wake up." When she doesn't listen his lungs felt suffocating themselves bile forming in his throat. He throws the blanket away sitting up fully and rests her head in the nook of his elbow.

"Y/N!?" He tries not to panic when she gives him no-response and before his anxiety driven self could duck down to press his ear to her heart her eyelids fluttered barely -- blue chapped lips moving slowly. 

"'M okay, bub. Don't worry ….. " 

"Bullocks. You're not okay! You can't stop shivering!! Looks almost dead." He growls angry at her and himself for not taking her to clinic soon, "You're so fucking stubborn, pet." He mutters rageously laying her gently down on the mattress and climbs down the bed to bring their coats. Almost stomping his way all around the bedroom to collect stuff. 

This time doesn't ask her if she could walk or not and glides his arms underneath her shoulders and knees to haul her firmly against his chest -- blanket still wrapped around her shivering body. 

"Shh, shh my baby. You're g'na be okay, 'm so sorry you're in so much pain." He tries to soothe her while walking down stairs of the building. 

Turns out she caught pneumonia. They had to stay two hours at the clinic for her drip and some injections for which he had to hold her down from wiggling and squirming her way out. 

Made her rest till the fever was gone temporarily then drives them back home when assured that her condition isn't worsening and right now when she's cuddled up into his side with strawberry sleeping on his thighs he nudges her lightly.

"Dovie' I love you so much but that doesn't mean you can scare the shit outta me like that." She just mewls sinking deeper into his side.

"No more set visits fo' you." He tells her seriously and she perks her head up coughing mildly and he raises his forefinger in a demand for her to stay quite, that there's nothing to argue, "You could watch me for once 'n all at the big screen." 

"Harry……" She whines tugging the hem of his sweatshirt.

"No, Harry." He pets her head down back on the pillow. 

Without saying anything she distance herself from him like a grumpy shrimp and fusses under her breath. He supresses his amused chuckles noting the silliness of this girl and drags her back by her ankle towards him.

"Come back here, you little betrayer." He gasps dramatically and squishes her in his embrace till she gives up and herself nuzzles up into his homely scented neck. 

[meltingpotimagines]

Husband!Hawks

this mans

is not husband material

but!

for the right girl? he may be willing to play the part

listen, mans may not be a simp but he is cHARMING okay? he got potential

besides he’s lowkey a simp for the right girl but whatever

was very romantic when he proposed

managed to rent out an entire park perks of being the #2 hero

decked out a gazebo with fairy lights, candles, and rose petals

considered making a heart with the rose petals but decided just scattering them around would be classier and less cheesy

set up a picnic with a basket f u l l of food

sandwiches, cheese, fruit, desserts, the works

and ofc a bottle of champagne bc tonight you two would be celebrating

or so he hoped

you wouldn’t say no right?

i mean who could say no to that gorgeous face pHEW

pulled out the ring box right as you swallowed the last of the macaron you’d been nibbling on

his heart sped up as your eyes widened, a breathless ‘keigo’ escaping your lips

“i know you might not be ready, but the more i get to know you, the more i realize that i don’t want to live the rest of my life without you. you’re the girl of my dreams, and i never want to wake up. would you marry me?”

“are you s t u p i d? ofc i will!”

his grin has never been as bright as it was at that moment

slipped the ring onto your finger and immediately pulled you into his arms and took off into the air

slowed your assent as you two soared above the clouds and spun around, unable to contain his joy

gazed at your face with those golden eyes, taking in your beauty, before giving you the sweetest, most tender kiss you’ve ever felt

oh boy the wedding

when i tell you this was an e v e n t i mean anyone who was anyone wanted to go to this wedding

but only those that were close to the two of you were invited

haha suckerrrs

somehow got all might to officiate

who knew all might could officiate weddings? 

certainly neither of you

no one really knows how that decision came to be but i mean no one was complaining either so

he let you make all the decisions except for one

the flowers

he h a d to be involved in the flowers

he appreciates pretty flora and if the bouquets and floral arrangements at his wedding weren’t the prettiest possible he would n o t be satisfied

teared up as you walked down the aisle (which he will neither confirm nor deny)

not that he wasn’t lookin’ mighty fine too

just imagine: tan suit with a black button up and a gold tie, gold cufflinks with a ruby set in each

i know those are his costume colors but he looks good in them so y’all can fight me

dipped you for your first kiss as husband and wife to everyone’s amusement

best believe a few different cameras caught that

the timing of the wedding was planned out so the reception was held at night

semi-sheer white tents and custom black ten-feet tall candelabras

the soft glow from the candles combined with the moonlight made for the perfect dreamy vibe 

he managed to find a florist that could dye white roses black and cover them them with a thin layer of gold glitter

was it necessary? no

did it look good? heck yeah

the gold glitter shined beautifully against the black roses

tho

the way your eyes sparkled as you danced with him was far more captivating

you two had flown up into the sky to dance your first dance together

your silhouettes against the bright moon made for a perfect picture

the only reason you ended up coming down was because neither of you had eaten much that day and a guy’s gotta eat

he gonna need stamina later *winky face*

you cannot convince me the man wouldn’t insist on fried chicken

like a whole buffet table of different flavors

but i mean fried chicken is good so can’t blame him

everyone expected him to smear some cake on your face when he fed you that first piece

instead wiped off the frosting that got on your lips with his thumb and licked it off

your best friend caught t h a t one on camera and will never stop teasing you about how flustered you got

he kept up a great image of a polite host but on the inside he was ready to g o

it had been a long day and he was ready love on his wife

heh

wife

he likes the sound of that

peppers your face with kisses on the ride home

yeah yeah i know h o n e y m o o n but where y’all were goin’ was forever away and mans just wants to shower you with affection as soon as possible (esp considering he had to keep his hands off you all day since you two never had a moment alone)

scoops you up the second you’re out of the car and carries you over the threshold

gives you a soft kiss before putting you down

and that’s the last soft kiss you’re gonna get for the night lolllll

definitely the type to make you breakfast in the morning

also the type to cook in nothing but an apron and boxers but anyway

you better be up in time to see that sight bc if not, you’re getting breakfast in bed not that i’d complain

he’s not the best cook but mans can manage some bacon and eggs

plus some fresh fruit bc it makes it more visually appealing and less like he doesn’t really know how to cook

he set the tray on your lap and climbs back into bed, pulling you into his side so your head can rest on his chest as you two munch on breakfast

there’s something so soothing about the sound of his heartbeat

a soft little rhythm that nearly puts you back the sleep

didn’t help that he was unconsciously running his fingertips along your arm, drawing random squiggles and shapes

will tilt your head up by the chin every so often to give you a little peck on the lips

if you do fall asleep, he’ll just gaze at you softly while lightly tracing your features

still can’t process that you’re married

someone actually loved him enough to marry him

there was someone that didn’t just admire or use him bc of his quirk

didn’t give him attention purely bc he’s the number 2 hero

you saw all his flaws and shortcomings and insecurities and loved him regardless

if he’s dreaming, please don’t wake him up

you cleaning him wings for him is something he loves so much

it’s such an intimate task that makes him feel cared for

loved

how much time you take in cleaning them and how tenderly you handle each wing

it’s one of his favorite ways to spend time with you

it’s nice being taken care of for once, esp when he’s always taking care of others

absolutely loves taking you on night flights

will take you in his arms and just soar above the clouds

with the clouds below you and the stars above, it feels like you two are the only people that exist

definitely dances with you during some of those flights

wraps one arm more tightly around your waist and take your hand in his and just… slowly spins in the air

it doesn’t look like much but when you’re just looking into each other’s eyes, it feels like the most romantic and intimate moment you could ask for

your life is quite literally in his hands but you’ve never felt safer

even more so when you wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face in the crook

his arms wound securely around your waist, the comforting smell of his scent, the kisses he presses to your temple every so often

it feels like home

likes startling/scaring you a lot

will sneak into the house after work just so he can tap on your shoulder from behind 

the gasp you let out as you freak out for half a second never fails to amuse him the jerk

will always make it up to you with long, deep kiss

if he gets home late after a long day he’ll just crawl into bed and pull you into his arms before burying his face into your hair

no talking, just breathes in your scent before he crashes

he sleeps really well like that, but, although he won’t admit it, he sleeps best when you hold him, his face buried in your chest

he feels warm and safe, like it’s okay to be vulnerable for once

absolutely flirts with you while at work

probably definitely sends you a few spicy pics or texts

it gives him such smug satisfaction knowing the affect he has on you when he’s not even physically there

picks up take-out when he knows your too tired to or would rather not cook

like to back hug you and wrap you up with his wings

9/10 times will bury his face in your neck and nuzzle

sometimes if he spots you while on patrol, he’ll fly over and flirt with you

“how you doin’, gorgeous? the name’s hawks. what’s a pretty lil’ thing like you doin’ in a neighborhood like this?”

sir, this is one of the safest areas in the city pLS-

but if you actually a r e in danger? oh boy

no one, and i mean no one, touches his girl

honestly i’d rather fight bakugo one on one than deal with keigo’s wrath

he’s one of the chillest people you will ever meet, but when he’s that mad? s c a r y

will keep a close watch on you for a while after that

asks you to always let him know where you’ll be and to text him when you get home

definitely considered installing a tracking app on your phones

he’ll calm down eventually, but for the moment he’s extremely anxious

although he certainly tried his best to hide it

he didn’t want to stress you out too, especially if you had any anxieties from it yourself

he was just afraid to lose you

he doesn’t know what he’d do without you

after all, you’re the most precious thing in the world to him and he loves you more than he could ever put into words

[ahtsumu]

IT’S ALWAYS SIX O′CLOCK SOMEWHERE

pairing: nanami kento x gn!reader

synopsis: a glimpse into a day in your life with nanami kento. he comes home to you after a long day of work. sweet words are shared. you talk of the future.

tag(s): set before shibuya arc, tooth-rotting fluff, married life aww ; wc: 1.2k

it’s a quarter to six when nanami kento’s footsteps on the front porch announce his arrival. it’s not that your house is small or the walls are thin–– it’s that he walks like he carries the world on his shoulders.

he does, though.

the front door opens, then shuts, and then–– “honey, i’m home,” his sonorous voice calls out.

“kitchen!” you sing. the bright cooking space is engulfed by the smell of lemon and thyme and the chicken in the oven–– not an unfamiliar scent to the nanami kitchen as of late. you count his steps as they grow louder and when they finally stop, you take your eyes off the oven door and turn around.

nanami leans against the archway with a half-smile on one side of his lips, dangling his tan suit jacket over his shoulder by the collar. the glasses he’d worn out the door in the morning are now tucked in his shirt. he looks a bit tired.

“hello, handsome,” you purr, slinking up to the blond. instinctively, his arm snakes around your waist, pulling you closer to his muscled chest. his head dips down for a gentle kiss.

“how was your day?” nanami asks in a murmur.

your phone buzzes on the counter, interrupting the tender moment.

“that’s the chicken,” you sigh, slipping out of his arms.

“no, that was the timer,” he replies, stealing another kiss from you before letting you go. “the chicken is dead, sweetheart.” you look over your shoulder as you slip on an oven mitt, rolling your eyes at his joke. he laughs and crosses his arms over his chest, proud nonetheless.

“do you think you’re funny?” you take the tray out and set it on the counter. the mouthwatering smell of lemon roasted chicken intensifies in the kitchen.

“sometimes.” nanami grabs the meat thermometer on the counter and sticks it into the thigh. 165 degrees. perfect.

“i think this time it might be edible,” you joke, grabbing the tray and moving to the dining table. nanami follows with two plates and two sets of cutlery in hand. as you set the table, he goes back to bring the other dishes over.

once you’re both settled in your seats and have food on your plates, he says the little “thank you for the meal, darling” that he always does. nanami lets out an approving hum when he pops a piece of the chicken in his mouth, commenting on how “it tastes amazing” this time–– unlike the last, when you essentially drowned the chicken in lemon juice, revived and buried it alive in thyme, and then killed it again by charring it.

“i’m a fast learner,” you say smugly. and then you remember what nanami had said as you were cuddling in bed last night. about being a mentor. “oh, speaking of learning… how’s that kid doing? itadori, you said his name was?”

nanami sighs and sets his utensils down. “he’s just a kid,” he begins, leaning back in his chair. “but… he’s got soul.”

you frown and grab his hand, giving it a light squeeze. only after that white-haired man called gojo came knocking on your door did you learn about your husband’s… talent. the way he’d described growing up with it, though, made it seem more like a curse. fourteen-year-olds having to fight cursed spirits, having to die for the greater good of humanity… you understood why he chose a life far away from that.

but nanami kento is also the man who rescues strays from the streets and takes them to shelters. he holds doors open for entire lines of people. he gives umbrellas away to the homeless when it rains.

he just wants to be a good person.

so you also understand why he’d go back to it.

nanami offers you a half-hearted smile. “can we not talk about… that stuff?” he chuckles, folding his hands together and resting his chin at the top. “i’d like to hear about your day. did you get the problem with hana sorted out?”

yes, you did and, in fact, because you’re the managing editor of the newspaper you work for, the problem was resolved pretty easily. how? oh, well you did have to talk to yamamoto about making deadlines more flexible and…

“work is shit,” you sigh at the end of your story. “but… it’s not all bad. i’m lucky enough that i get off at four and not five like you. i guess the moral of the story is that there’s happiness everywhere. you just have to look for it.”

the clock in the living room chimes.

chuckling, nanami takes a sip of his chardonnay. “you’re right, love,” he muses. “it’s always six o’clock somewhere.”

little things take up the rest of your conversation–– a quote from the book you’re almost done reading, the recent drop in the temperature outside, the neighbours’ new baby boy. dinner finishes up as seven rounds the corner.

you bring the dirty dishes to the kitchen together.

nanami rolls up his sleeves and starts washing the plates as you sit on the counter with your feet dangling below.

“say,” you start in an awfully suspicious tone.

“no,” he says immediately.

“but––”

“in this economy?” nanami asks, looking into your eyes.

“well, i don’t know how much mojo is paying you––”

“gojo.”

“–– but i’m making a handsome five figures each year, and we still have a lot saved up from when you were at sachs,” you say, looking at him through your lashes.

nanami thinks it over as he scrubs down the last plate and puts it into the dishwasher. there are so many things that could go wrong… especially now. “are you sure?” he asks, still not fully believing what you’re insinuating.

“i’m sure,” you say, grinning. he looks around the kitchen for a towel, only to find it already in your hands. “c’mon, kento. let’s start a family.”

an expression, feather-light and equally soft, comes over his defined features as he takes the towel and dries his hands.

“there’s a lot that we have to plan before we go into this,” he begins sternly, blue eyes twinkling beneath the ceiling light.

“well, then, let’s plan it out,” you return, hopping off the counter and wrapping your arms around him. nanami chuckles, noting how, like always, you just do things the way you want to. that freedom in your soul. he wonders if two years of marriage is enough for it to start rubbing off on him. “how about we go for a walk outside and talk about it?” nanami smiles softly and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“okay,” he agrees, rubbing your back affectionately as the two of you walk to the door.

nanami already has a shoe-clad foot out the open door when he pauses and remembers how the temperature has been dropping recently. “it’s a bit cold outside already,” he tells you, nodding at the coat closet. “you should grab a jacket.”

so you shrug on a light beige one–– one that matches the suit he was wearing earlier–– and hold his hand in his pocket.

and you walk through the door together.

[howlingday]

"Hey, Renny?"

"Mm?" Ren didn't turn from his position of cutting potatoes for tonight's meal. His childhood friend, Nora was tapping two meat tenderizers together, pretending they were lovers. She did this often in the stone kitchen, especially when the other servants were elsewhere in the castle.

"Do you think Jauney is happy?"

Ren blinked, then set down the knife. He turned to face her. Nora was sitting on the ground, wearing her black Ursa pelt over her shoulders, two meat tenderizers in her calloused hands. "What do you mean, Nora?"

"I mean, ever since Pyrrha," Nora made an uncomfortable face, "you know, Jauney has been really grumpy. Our fights aren't as fun anymore, he doesn't laugh at my jokes, and he's been especially angry at the people at his royal court."

Ren sighed. "Lord Arc has been under a lot of stress, Nora. He is the lord of these lands, and he doesn't have as much time to enjoy himself since winter is due in only a few months."

"Hm..." Nora tapped her chin in thought. "What if we buy him a whore?"

Ren blinked, then returned to his potatoes. "...No."

"Well, I'm stumped!" Nora stood as she exclaimed. "He has all this stress, but he can't get it out. It's not healthy!"

"I wouldn't worry about it, Nora. The harvest festival will be soon, Lord Arc will find have fun, and he will go back to his usual self." Ren grabbed the good potato slices from the cutting board and placed them in the pot of water. He slid the rest into a separate bowl with his knife.

Nora set the meat tenderizers on the stone counter. "Okay, but if he's still grouchy after the festival, I'm buying him the best whore lien can buy!"

"You're going to buy who what?"

Ren froze in place as the familiar voice spoke. He turned, facing the lord if this castle and his employer. He looked the same as he did when they first met; deep, blue eyes, under a mop of shaggy, golden hair and above a chin of golden stubble, and wearing a black Beowolf hide over his shoulders, hiding his muscular.

"Oh, hi, Jauney!" Nora jumped with joy.

"L-Lord Arc!" Ren gave a deep bow, hiding his blush from being embarrassed. "What a pleasant surprise! To what do we owe this honor?"

Jaune passed a glance between the two, silently judging them. He then smirked, reminding Ren that, though he was his lord, he was also a cherished friend. "What's this about buying a whore?"

Ren's face continued to flare. How much of the conversation did he hear? Ren lifted his head to face his lord, and saw his amused grin. Ren sighed before speaking once more. "We were just discussing our shared concern for your well-being, Lord Arc. Nora was simply providing a solution for your stress."

"By buying me a whore?"

"Yes!" Nora proudly exclaimed.

"N-No, my lord!" Ren countered.

Jaune simply laughed. "So which is it? Am I getting a whore or not?"

"I-" Ren choked out.

"Lord Arc," came a cry from another room, "are you here, sire?!"

Jaune sighed. "Sounds like more bad news. Before I leave, what do you think it might be?"

Nora answered before Ren could speak. "Maybe one of those creeps are coming for a visit again."

"Now, Nora," Jaune chided, "just because Queen Salem's Inner Circle are unlike us, it doesn't mean that they are to be treated any less than us."

"But they are creepy! Especially that stinger-guy!"

Jaune was silent for a moment of thought. "I suppose you're not wrong there."

"Perhaps, Lord Arc, the whores have caught wind of our plans?" Ren asked with a small smile.

Jaune barked a laugh. "Maybe they did!" He sighed before stepping towards the exit. "I'll go see about the shouting." He suddenly stopped a few steps from the door. "Oh, but before I leave, what is tonight's supper?"

"Tonight, you are having chicken stew with carrots, potatoes, and onions." Ren answered, filled with the confidence fitting of the Lord Arc's personal cook.

"Sounds good! Nora, are you coming with?"

"On my way, Jauney!" Nora skipped to Ren and kissed his cheek. "Bye, Renny! Jauney and I are gonna go get bad news!" Nora then skipped out of the kitchen, following her lord.

Ren sighed and returned to his task. One day, someone's going to have a problem with Nora's casual attitude. Until then, however, Ren would mind to his cooking.

Jaune made his way to the main hall, where the shouting was coming from. He walked in and found his messenger, Russel open his mouth to shout once more, only to shut it upon seeing his lord. The young man was wearing an undecorated black Grimm pelt, a sign showing that though he was a member of lord Arc's defense, he had yet to prove himself worthy of any notable position.

"Yeah, I heard you. Are we under attack?"

"Have the whores caught wind?" Nora asked as she stepped in.

"I- what?" Russel asked in confusion. He then shook his head. "No, my lord, I have just recieved word of a small force on their way to the castle."

"How small?" Jaune asked.

"Just three; a man and two women."

Nora scoffed. "Just two women? Please! I'm ten times worth any woman!"

"Y-Yes, but there's more."

"More?" Jaune asked.

"Yes, my lord. You see, the woman leading them is described as a raven-haired maiden in a red dress."

Jaune clenched his teeth, and felt his breath grow shallower. "What color were here eyes?"

Russel swallowed the lump in his throat before answering. "From whatever men survived their encounter with her, described her as a witch with amber eyes."

"Jaune-"

"Nora," Jaune interrupted, "alert the rest of the castle. I want everyone ready for whatever happens next."

Nora nodded. "Yes, my lord!" Russel paled further. When dame Nora, the most crass of Jaune's closest charges and his right hand, spoke formally to lord Arc, he knew the danger was real.

"Russel," Jaune spoke, breaking the messenger out of his stupor. "What did you mean by, 'whatever men survived their encounter'?"

Cinder yawned as she passed through the hamlet on her steed. The black beast bellowed smoke from it's ember-lit maw as it trudged forward. Emerald glanced between her lady and the people who cowered in their houses. Mercury grinned with delight as he watched people flinched at meeting his gaze.

When he saw a pretty girl, his grin shifted to a wide, predatory smile. They would weep at the sight of this, hiding behind their husbands, fathers, and brothers with the same amount of fear. He chuckled every time.

"Mercury," Cinder spoke, "what do you think you're doing?" She didn't meet his eyes when he looked up. She faced forward, her face as indifferent as it was when they entered the hamlet.

"I'm just having fun." He defended.

"Your 'fun' is upsetting our beast. Continue," her gaze finally met his, amber eyes alight with wrath, "and I will have my fun with you." Mercury flinched and faced forward. "Besides, you'll have plenty of time for fun once we reach Arc's hovel."

"Does he know we're coming, ma'am?" Emerald asked.

"I have sent more than enough messages to ensure that he will greet us personally."

"And if he doesn't?"

Cinder looked around. Every door was shut. Every window filled with at least one person. Every home with a family as small as two people or as big as four generations. She smiled.

"Then I'll just have to send a bigger message."

Nora stood outside the gates, the cold autumn wind biting her skin. She liked this, though. It reminded her that she was hardy, tougher than the supposed "ladies" who would rather hide and let someone else fight their battles.

She looked up and saw gray clouds combining, gathering together to choke out whatever blue and light remained in the sky. It was going to rain soon, but again, she didn't care. If she became sick, she would just power through it, like she did all things. Plus, Ren would wait on her, hand and foot, as he always did before. She smiled at the thought.

The sound of running footsteps returned her focus to the road leading to the castle. Another messenger showed up, this time with singed clothes. What was his name again? Duck?

"Reports from the nearby village; two-"

"Women and one man are approaching the castle." Nora interrupted. "Yeah, we heard."

"The woman leading them was also riding a black monster we've never seen before! What do we do?"

Nora looked him up and down. He was pudgy, kind of short compared to Ren and Jaune. He wore an unmarked Grimm pelt like the other one, except his was burnt, and slightly smoldering. She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. "Go inside, get cleaned up, and get ready to fight."

"Yes, dame!" He rushed past her after giving a salute. She hated formality, especially getting them.

It has been three years since the day she "earned" her title. She remembers because it was given to her by the Black Queen herself as a reward for turning her back on everything she cared for. Two nights after she and Jaune surrendered to her after that monster murdered her best friend, Pyrrha.

Nora pulled out a spyglass and peered down the road. No one was approaching. Nora began grinding her teeth. She put away the spyglass and turned towards the castle.

"Looking for someone?"

Nora turned towards the voice. The voice of the murderer from that night. Atop a Grimm twice her size, sat Lady Cinder Fall in her red dress with golden accents. She had a wry smile on her face, like a tyrant out of a fairy tale after telling them their hero had died. Like she had after slaughtering her friends.

"No." Nora answered, glaring at the murderer. "I was looking for something, and then you showed up."

"Referring to a lady as a thing?" The assassin to Cinder's right said. "Sounds like treason if you ask me."

"No one asked you. Besides, what I was going to ask you was, 'how's your knees?' You know, after I broke them?" Mercury stepped forward, but a snap of Cinder's fingers brought him to heel.

The woman stepped forward instead. "We request-"

"Demand, Emerald." Cinder corrected.

"-Demand an audience with Lord Jaune Arc. Is he available?"

Nora eyed the woman carefully. She didn't remember seeing her. Was she there that night, or did she join after that? "Maybe."

"Maybe?" Emerald repeated.

"Uh-huh."

Cinder slid from her steed and stepped towards Nora. "There's no need to be rude." She checked her fingernails. "After all, we're all on the same side, right? We both pledged our loyalty to Queen Salem, no?" She lowered her head to be level with Nora's, smiling. "I mean, unless you feel another example should be made."

"Like burning more of our messengers?"

"Like burning another champion."

Nora reeled back a fist. Mercury crouched like a wound spring, while Emerald drew her twin, curved blades. As the Grimm began salivating a glowing red liquid from it's maw, Nora swung forward.

And Cinder kept smiling.

"Lady Fall!" A voice called from behind, stopping Nora from connecting her punch. Nora turned and saw Jaune walking out from the castle gates, arms wide open and a smile on his face. "I wish you had contacted sooner! The castle is an absolute mess, and there's only enough food for one helping for the four of us."

Cinder stepped around Nora and approached Jaune with the same gesture. Nora watched as they hugged. "I do apologize, Lord Arc, but our matter was so urgent, it had to be done without much warning. Why, I recieved the news before the crow of this morning's rooster!" The two shared a laugh. "And don't worry about dinner, we won't be long."

Jaune wrapped an arm around Cinder's shoulder and guided her inside. "And send you home on empty stomachs? Oh, no! I insist! Come, my cook was preparing a delicious chicken stew."

"Can you stew a chicken, Lord Arc?"

"I can't, but my cook can!" The laughter echoed from inside.

"Don't wait up." Mercury taunted as he stepped past. Emerald followed quietly. Nora eyed the Grimm as it stood there. She turned and walked inside.

She hated formalities, but she hated this even more.

Lady Cinder Fall, protege and student of Black Queen Salem, was impressed by the dinner. The dining hall itself, though not as large as her majesty's, was certainly large enough to house an army. And based on the large number of occupants currently eating before her, it did.

Cinder sat at a long table next to Lord Arc, her other side occupied by Emerald and Mercury, and Lord Arc's side occupied by his two lackeys, the girl from outside and some burly meathead he never met. In front of her were rows of soldiers, messengers, guards, and castle staff eating from their plates and bowls.

"More wine?" The young man in a green robe asked, holding a bottle of red wine. He looked as young as Lord Arc, and had a pink strip of hair in his bangs.

"No, thank you." Cinder presented a soft smile.

"I'll have some!" Mercury said, shaking his empty glass.

Cinder rolled her eyes and turned to Lord Arc. He sat quietly, looking out to his subjects with smile. His glass and bowl were empty, save for a few drops remaining of his wine and soup. "Lord Arc," Cinder began, immediately getting his attention, "regarding the important business we must discuss."

"Oh, of course. But can it wait until after dinner?" Lord Arc asked. "It's like my father once said; 'politics only aid indigestion.' And considering this is urgent news from her majesty herself, it could only be something political, right?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. Her majesty, Black Queen Salem, has tasked me to deliver a message for you."

"Oh? And what might this message entail?"

"Queen Salem requests to know your intentions as Lord of the eastern coast."

"I... I'm afraid I don't understand the question." Lord Arc grew tense, she could tell. She could also see how close his protectors were listening in. "When Queen Salem graced me with the task of acting as lord of Vale's eastern coast, I thought I was to simply act as she would have me."

"Yes, but she's curious as to your endgame. Surely, you don't intend to simply live the rest of your life alone with no legacy; no songs of great deeds left to outlast you twice over?"

"...Lady Fall, I'm flattered, but I'm afraid I'm just not ready for your proposal to wed."

Cinder laughed. It was fake, but she tried to make it sound genuine. "Oh no, Lord Arc! This isn't a marriage proposal. But her majesty is concerned you may not be... up to the task."

"Is this a question of my loyalty?"

"Perhaps," she smirked, "but I feel a test is more appropriate."

The sound of liquid splashing suddenly caught Lord Arc's attention. He stood over Cinder and he gritted his teeth. Wearing her smile, she turned to watch as Mercury poured a third bottle of wine onto the servant's head. His hair was soaked and matted as he continued to bow.

"Damn, out again." Mercury said in a bored tone. "What was this wine called again?"

"The Rouge Rogue, sir." The servant replied. "Aged for twenty years from the-"

"Boring!" Mercury cracked the bottle over the servant's head. He fell with a thump, the bottle shattering and cutting his scalp.

"REN!" The girl screamed as she rose, unknowingly signaling the rest of the castle to not only rise as well, but rise with weapons in their hands. The soldiers and guards rose with swords and axes, while the servants, both too young to speak clearly and too old to stand without a cane, held forks and knives in their hands. "I'LL KILL YOU, YOU SONUVA-!"

"SILENCE!"

Everyone froze in place and stared as Lord Arc, master of this castle, roared his prominence. His face was red with rage, but his hands, held aloft, were stiff. The crowd was silent, save for Mercury, who just laughed. Jaune stepped from the table and approached him.

"Clean that up."

"Is this guy serious?" Mercury said. "I'm an agent of Black Queen Salem, the most powerful creature who ever lived, and he thinks he can give me orders?" He then spit on Lord Arc's face. "Touch me, and I'll burn this whole damn castle to the ground. Hell, might have some fun doing it, too!"

Lord Arc turned towards Cinder. She continued to smile. "Don't look at me, Lord Arc. It's as he says; he's an agent of Salem. Harming him will have consequences from her majesty herself."

Lord Arc faced Mercury once more. "Is that true? You serve only Salem?"

"Pfft!" Mercury scoffed. "No shit, dumbass! I don't serve 'Lady' Cinder, or you! The only person I answer to is Black Queen Salem herself."

"I see. That will make this so much easier."

"Make what easier?"

"This." Lord Arc backhanded Mercury and sent him sprawling to the ground. He spit out a tooth as he got to his hands and knees. "Apologize."

"Y-You can't hit me!" Mercury staggered to his feet. "I serve-!"

Lord Arc backhanded him again, this time sending him over the table. The servant named Ren stood by the table and watched silently, his hand covering his bleeding scalp. Lord Arc glanced to him. "Take some servants and return to the kitchen. Have your wounds tended."

"Y-Yes, my lord!" The wounded servant signaled to the other servants and five of then set down their utensils to before rushing to tend to his wounds.

Lord Arc returned his attention to Mercury. "Apologize." Mercury murmured as he rose to his knees. "Apologize." Lord Arc repeated sternly.

Mercury Black kneeled before Lord Jaune Arc, his head bowed. "I am sorry, my lord. I repent and beg that you forgive me."

"You are a murderer and coward. You attacked my castle, murdered my subjects, and aided in the assassination of my fiancee. I can't remember how many times I hit you that night, but it was never enough to make you stop. And now you come to my home again to commit the same crimes, only to bend your knee at only two strikes."

Cinder's smile had grown to a predatory grin as she watched Lord Arc pass judgement on Mercury. Her keen eyes saw what led to this moment as well. This was what she came here to see.

"Mercury Black, in your path of bloodshed to your current standing as an agent of the Black Queen, you have proven that you have only grown more cowardly and pathetic in your services." Lord Arc grabbed Mercury by his hair. "Return to Salem, and tell her of your failures. Only then will you be forgiven." He then pushed Mercury away, tears streaming down the assassin's face. He looked to Cinder. "I believe it would be best for you to leave."

"Must we, though?" Cinder replied. "You would send is back in the middle of the night, storm clouds brewing above as we speak, with only myself and Emerald capable of fending for ourselves?"

Lord Arc held a pained face of guilt. Good. That will make things much easier.

Jaune stood on his balcony and watched as the storm clouds rolled across the sky. As Lady- No, as Cinder predicted, the sky was black, with no moon or stars to shine. Thunder bellowed in the distance as lightning flashed in the clouds. No rain, though.

He sighed and looked to his land. Everything was dark, so he could not see far, but what he could see pained him. He saw the tree where he would spend his summer days napping. The same tree where he met her.

He stepped away from the balcony and into his chambers. He walked to his bed and glanced at his weapon to it's side. He nodded to it's presence and sat on his bed. He replayed the night's events in his head.

He started from checking on his longtime friend in the kitchen. His wounds were cleaned and treated. All that was left was for time to heal. When Nora stomped in full of rage, Ren calmed her as best as he could. He felt guilty allowing his friends to suffer as they had, even when Ren noticed and told him not to.

Before that, he had to see to his guest's quarters. Mercury had not yet broken from his adjustment, which Jaune felt neither pity nor shame. Perhaps the punishment will be enough to change him for the better. Cinder and her fellow female companion aided in bringing him to their room. What was her name? She was so quiet at dinner, but she was close enough to Cinder to sit next to her at dinner.

Regardless, Cinder stated the quarters were satisfactory for the night. Once confident in their comfort, Jaune exited to allow them to rest. He didn't care for their company, but as Lord of the castle, he would serve only to anger his queen by leaving her inner circle to fend for themselves in the storm and darkness.

A knock on his chamber door awoke him from his reminiscing. He hurried to the door and opened it, finding an unexpected visitor.

"G-Good evening, Lord Arc." The young woman of green hair from before spoke nervously in her white nightgown. Perhaps his display earlier had frightened her, or maybe his very presence simply put her on edge. Nonetheless, he greeted her kindly.

"Good evening," he replied. "I apologize, but I don't believe I caught your name."

"My name is Emerald. Emerald Sustrai, Lord Arc." She was nervous. Though, with Summer's End so close, it would not be surprising that she was cold as well. "I wished to have a word with you."

"This couldn't wait until morning? It's late, and it has been a long day for us both, I'm sure."

"Yes, but I wished to discuss what happened today with you, if you don't mind." Jaune looked around the corners, seeing no guards. Only torches lit along the walls. "May I come in?"

Jaune rubbed his chin, and felt stubble. He hummed to himself a little at the feeling. Had it really been so long since he last shaved. He then sighed, remembering his guest, and stepped aside, gesturing with an arm for her to enter. As she entered, Jaune caught a faint scent of lavender from her. He hummed once more, then shut the door.

"What did you want to talk about?" Jaune asked as casually as possible. It would be best to keep her at ease. "Your trip, your mission, or-"

"I wanted to ask about your semblance."

Jaune blinked. "My semblance?"

"Y-Yes. You used your semblance on Merc earlier, and I wanted to know how it worked."

"To find a weakness?" Jaune asked with caution. He stepped towards his bed, not revealing his back to her once.

"No! It's just..." Emerald gulped. Was she sent to spy on him?

"Just what?" Jaune repeated. "The only times people want to know about the abilities of another is to either gloat their superiority, or to exploit a weakness from a gullible opponent."

"W-What if I told you mine? Just to make us even?" Jaune seated himself on his bed. He then waved for Emerald to continue with his hand. Emerald sighed and held out her hand. Her eyes focused on it. Suddenly, as though from nowhere, a flower grew from her palm. It was a small lavender, in size and shape, but it casted no shadow as Jaune watched. Emerald stepped forward and help the delicate plant in front him. Jaune tried to pluck it, but it died in his fingers, fading away as he touched it.

"Illusion." Jaune stated. "Your semblance tricks a foe with an illusion you desire them to see." He chuckled. "It's certainly impressive, but judging by your breathing, it requires a lot of concentration to maintain."

"And... what of yours, Lord Arc?" She said, still catching her breath. "That was... no illusion... that made Merc bow to you."

"Supremacy." Jaune answered. "When I strike an opponent's aura, their will ebbs away, eventually forcing them to submit to me. Depending on how strong one's will is, I will either have to hit them once, or multiple times."

Emerald gulped. "I... I see."

"Now that I've answered your question, I have a question for you." Jaune stood, his frame towering over Emerald, his blue eyes squinting. "What are you doing in my room so late in the night, Emerald Sustrai?"

Emerald didn't speak. She didn't dare look in his eyes. Was her plan found out? It was supposed to be a simple in and out reconnaissance mission. All she had to do was get information on Lord Arc's semblance and report back to Cinder. She wasn't prepared to fight; she left her weapons in her room, concerned she wouldn't have been able to hide them from the man. Now, she was vulnerable.

"Are you going to answer me?" Emerald remained frozen, like a rabbit in a tiger's cage. "Would you like for me to answer for you? Nod if you do."

Emerald wanted to shake her head, if only to be given more time to think of a lie. But she didn't. Like a fool, she nodded.

Lord Arc circled around her. "I'll bet you thought you were clever. Sneaking in, taking what you came for, and then retreating to celebrate your conquest." He stopped in front of her. "But you made one mistake in coming here." Emerald shut her eyes, expecting the worst.

She heard the bed squeak. "I'm just not in the mood." Emerald opened her eyes and saw Lord Arc lounging back on his bed. "Don't get me wrong; you're certainly beautiful, and on almost any other night, I would have ravaged you until all I could think was lavender, but I'm just not interested."

Emerald stood there, blinking. "Er, so you're saying I'm here to...?"

"Are you not a whore?"

Emerald's cheeks flushed. "Wh- No!" She didn't mean to scream, but she couldn't control herself due to the indignity of it. True, she is a liar, a thief, and, in some instances, a murderer, but never a streetwalker. "I'm not a whore!"

Lord Arc sat up. "Then why are you here?"

Emerald cursed herself. Her pride got the better of her. She coughed into her fist as she spoke again. "W-What I mean is, I don't think of myself as a whore. I prefer the term... escort."

Lord Arc's cheeks flushed. "Oh, I am so sorry! I... I had always heard it spoken as- W-Well, in any case, I humbly apologize."

Emerald saw an opportunity. "W-Well, you should! I can't believe your friends paid me so well to 'entertain' you, only for you to insult me!" She turned her back to him and stepped towards the chamber door.

"Wait," Lord Arc called out, "before you go, allow me to apologize in full." Lord Arc reached into a location she didn't see and heard him walk behind her with a jingle in his hands. He placed a hand on her left shoulder and moved his right hand to in front of her, a hefty bag of coins in his palm. "I hope you can forgive me for my rudeness."

Emerald took the coins. "Hm, I'll consider it." She then kissed his cheek. "But only because you're so kind." She then stepped out of his chambers and down the hall, sashaying her behind for show, certain his eyes were on her until she turned the corner. She then sighed in relief.

"This better be worth the trouble." She whispered to no one.

[stiltonbasket]

how my love springs deep

by stiltonbasket

(read here on AO3!)

Summary:

My Lan Zhan, his husband calls him. Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan.

Or, the one where Wei Wuxian feeds rabbits, and Lan Wangji reads a love letter.

(brief a/n: this fic was inspired by this heartbreaking work of beauty by @pakhnokh--I had to write Lan Wangji getting adored after witnessing it, come join me on the angst parade T~T)

____

My Lan Zhan, 

    It has been two years and more since I last wrote you a letter, for marriage has joined us both at the hip, and ensured that we are never more than a touch or a cry away from one another. I have you by me always, in every hour of every day; and every love-word that crosses my mind finds its way to my lips in the very moment of its birth, and reaches your ears just as quickly, for I could no more keep silent in my devotion to you than swim the full length of the Songhuajiang against the current. And so I go about my days hence, calling “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, my Lan Zhan” all the while: but today I have woken before chenshi, and you are still asleep beside me with Xiao-Yu in your arms, and though my every nerve and vein is aching for love of my husband, I cannot bear to wake you to say so. 

    Lan Zhan, sweetheart—when we were first married, you told me once that I colored the world for you the instant we met, and brought every shade of the rainbow with me from Yunmeng to make the Cloud Recesses beautiful. You said that the air that touched me at the gate smelt as if lightning had passed through it, and that the very stones I knelt on in the lanshi’s courtyard began to glitter after I departed, though they had never done such a thing before—and that the Cloud Recesses itself, having been a place of peace and reflection before my arrival, was filled with delight and warmth after my coming, as if that first day was the dawn after a long, long night, and I the sun who gifted it to you. 

    Heaven knows I had no equal words with which to worship you then, my darling, for I was young and still bewildered to know that you loved me. But I have been your husband for nearly three years now, and so I must tell you this—you have driven me mad for love of you, Lan Zhan, and it has been so since we first crossed swords on the rooftop gate when we were eighteen. 

    How mad, you ask? The classics say that love is a proper, courtly thing, to be shown with modesty before others and in its full force only in confidence. But I have never been proper, and so I must tell you that if you were a flint and steel, seeking only to light a flame and a tinder-heap to light it in, I would take form as a sun-parched forest, and set myself afire at your touch so that I might be beside you thus. If you were a god, roaming the heavenly kingdoms while my mortal flesh kept me constrained below, I would take the habit of a priest and devote myself to your prayer; and if you were a grain of sand in the Gebi desert, and I a traveler sick with thirst, I would fall to my knees and sift through every dune and basin to find you before drinking even a drop of water. 

    If I were freezing in the great mountains above Gusu, whose peaks are lush in the springtime but shrouded in snow in the winter, I would be well and happy if I had the warmth of your hand in mine; and when I am in my jishi, with the doors thrown open to let in the wind, I drop my knives and tools at the sound of your voice and stand there enraptured until you fall silent again. My heart nearly beats out of my body with everything you say, and everything you do; and when you look at me I lose all knowledge of speech and reason, recalling nothing but your name and your smiles unless some show of wit is necessary—which it very well might be, with you and I being what we are, and all our doings riddled with puzzles that would have bewildered even the scholars who founded our clan. 

    Lan Zhan, I love you so desperately that to be away from you is torment, and to be with you has always been paradise, even when you were sitting on one side of the library pavilion and reading Lan An’s poetry, and I was on the other with my brush and parchment, pretending to copy lines while I sketched a portrait of you and painted flowers into your hair. You have made me more your own with every passing day, though in every moment I fully belong to you, and there is no strangeness in it—as if new pieces of my spirit are formed shichen by shichen, and bound unto you before drawing their first breaths.

    I could go on endlessly, xingan, and exhaust even the lanshi’s stocks of paper in my adoration—but it will soon be breakfast time, and the hens have not been fed, nor the eggs collected, and neither have the rabbits been given their greens. I must go and tend to them now; only wait for me, and I will be back at your side again before you have time to miss me. 

    Ever yours, my husband—

        Wei Ying.

    P.S.—I left a pot of ginger porridge on the table by the bed, if you should wake and be hungry before I return. There is only a little, since the rest is still cooking in the kitchen, and you and A-Yu will still have an appetite for breakfast if you finish it all. 

_____

After Lan Wangji wakes and reads the folded letter on his bedside table, he scarcely glances at the tiny blue pot of ginger congee before stumbling out of bed and putting his shoes on. He is dressed in nothing but a thin white undergown, since he gave up dressing warmly at night when he first began sleeping beside Wei Ying; but he does not bother putting on a coat, and pauses only long enough to tuck a sleepy Xiao-Yu back under the covers before bounding out of the jingshi and hurrying downhill in his nightshirt. 

“Wei Ying!” he calls, when he passes the tidy chicken pen—home to ten brown hens, which Lan Wangji brought to the Cloud Recesses as a gift for Wei Ying before they were married—and finds the chickens pecking away in the yard, eating grains of fresh corn that had clearly just been thrown out by Wei Ying’s dear hands. But Wei Ying must have finished collecting the eggs, and gone on towards the warded field on the fringes of the bamboo forest to scatter vegetables for the rabbits; so Lan Wangji presses on, running with the wind at his back and the sharp pebbles underfoot almost piercing through his slippers. He reaches the rabbit field in less than a minute, careening between stalks of bamboo like a man possessed, and throws himself at Wei Ying so forcefully that he knocks his husband backwards into the soft grass at their feet. 

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying wheezes, as his lettuce basket flies out of his hand and lands near the entrance to a burrow: mercifully, the basket of eggs must have been set aside somewhere else before Wei Ying arrived to feed the rabbits. “Lan Zhan, sweetheart, what are you doing here? Is Xiao-Yu—?”

“Do not worry. Xiaohui is still asleep,” Lan Wangji assures him, bringing Wei Ying’s sun-warmed hands to his mouth and kissing them. “I came to find you because I read your letter.”

Wei Ying smiles, beaming from ear until Lan Wangji finds himself gasping for breath at the beauty of the sight before him. “I thought you must have. You were cuddled up against me when I woke up, and you were holding Xiao-Yu between us to keep him warm...and I couldn’t help it, Lan Zhan! You were so sweet that my heart could scarcely bear it, so of course I had to write it down for you.”

“Perhaps I should take up the habit of writing you love letters,” muses Lan Wangji, kissing Wei Ying’s delighted grin straight from his lips. “What do you think, xingan?”

“I think that waking to find you beside me every morning already brings me so much joy I could burst, darling. If you really did start leaving love letters for me to find, I would fold myself into your arms and never come out again.”

“Mm, perhaps you would. But that would please me greatly, so I suppose I will have to do it.”

His husband pinches his cheek. “Lan Zhan!”

“I am listening, beloved. With all my heart.”

Wei Ying covers his face and tries to roll out of Lan Wangji’s grasp, wriggling about six inches away before Lan Wangji takes him by the waist and draws him back. “Lan Zhan,” he wails, as a couple of baby rabbits hop up onto Lan Wangji’s back. “You can’t say such things, you silly man! See how my face is burning, look!”

“I’m looking,” Lan Wangji teases, tracing Wei Ying’s red cheeks with the pads of his own pale fingers. “I am always looking. I love my husband dearly, and he is very beautiful to look at.”

“Well, my husband is not so young as he used to be. Perhaps he is mistaken.”

“Oh?” He punctuates the inquiry with another searing kiss, pulling Wei Ying up into his arms and holding him so close that he can feel the stutter of his breathing, and his pulse beating quickly against Lan Wangji’s wrist. “Do you really think so?”

But the only reply Wei Ying gives him is a tender look that shakes Lan Wangji down to his jindan, and leaves him struggling for air all over again as Wei Ying wraps his arms around him. 

In the end, they do not leave the clearing until nearly half an hour later; the grass is as comfortable a cushion as two sweethearts could want, and the rabbits keep leaping around them and making Wei Ying laugh, so they lie there, cheek to cheek and chest to chest until they remember Xiao-Yu, all by himself in the jingshi with no one to hear him cry if he wakes up frightened to find himself alone. 

The thought of their son has Lan Wangji leaping to his feet with Wei Ying’s hand in his, and then they bolt back towards the house and retrieve the basket of eggs on the way, running nearly fast enough to outstrip Wen Ning at his swiftest before Wei Ying throws the doors open and barrels into the bedroom. 

“A-Yu!” he calls, letting out a shout of laughter as Lan Wangji comes jogging up behind him. “Xiao-Yu, baobei, what are you doing?”

“I’m eating ginger porridge,” Xiao-Yu chirps. The little lotus-shaped pot of congee is nestled snugly in his arms, and A-Yu is eating out of it with the large spoon Wei Ying left behind for Lan Wangji. “Papa and A-Niang went out, so Xiao-Yu is having breakfast.”

“Aiyah, Xiao-Yu,” Wei Ying groans, taking the pot away from A-Yu and wiping his dirty face with a handkerchief. “That was for you and Papa, sweetheart, since I was going to be late back. How will you eat your breakfast properly now?”

“But A-Yu is still hungry,” the little boy insists, trying to grab the spoon. “A-Niang, let me finish?”

“Wait a little longer,” scolds Wei Ying. “I still have to cook the rest of the porridge with steamed dan, and make chicken soup to go with it. Now be a good child and go with Papa to take your bath, and breakfast will be ready when you finish dressing.”

Xiao-Yu nods and jumps off the bed, scurrying off towards the washroom on the other side of the house, and leaves his parents to embrace each other once again before they part to attend to their own duties. 

“What do you want this afternoon, qinai?” Lan Wangji murmurs, as Wei Ying’s head falls onto his shoulder. “The tradesmen ought to have sent up the day’s groceries by now, so I will make lunch while you teach your talisman class.”

Wei Ying blinks, very slowly, and then he stands up on his toes and plants one last, lingering kiss between Lan Wangji’s eyebrows. 

“Teach my talisman class with me,” he entreats. “When we get back, we can make lunch together.”

(And so they do, and just like all the other dishes Lan Wangji has shared with Wei Ying, that afternoon’s luncheon tastes fresher and sweeter than every meal before it.)

[nhinxsworld]

More crack headcons lol

I was gonna make like something about how the dirty talk or something, but my brain is just garbage.

pairings: Naoya Zenin x reader

Gojo Satoru x reader

warning: crack nsfw

Gojo Satoru

I just know Gojo has like two brain cells and no one can convince me otherwise.

Sometimes he is just bored during sex or feeling extra goofy, and he'd just say any stupid shit that comes to his mind and or just does anything. He sometimes just stops functioning and has the half a brain cell, that he shares with a 15-year-old.

The type of guy talk to about "The turkeys not the only thing getting stuffed tonight." during Thanksgiving. Probably talked about cooking you per railing you or slapping you like those ridiculous chicken slapping videos.

What kind of dirty talk, sex mindset is that??? I don't know??

Remember when I said he is also the kind of guy who would stop and eat the lube for fun??? Yeah, he literally would stop for a moment and try to guess what flavor it reminds him off "Oh my god babe this lube tastes like the strawberry syrup I ate as a kid, you wanna try?"

He wouldn't even do it any sexy way like licking it of his fingers or your body, now this guy just straight up squirts the bottle into his mouth like he is drinking chocolate syrup out of a bottle or eating straight spray cream.

Low-key would disgust you, who the hell eats lube for fun...?

As hot and sexy as this man is, it's almost impossible to get in some kind of sexy mood or mindest during these times, just haha funny railing.

Absolutely loses it when you tell him it feels hot.

"awww my lube glazed chicken nugget gonna get cooked by this cock?? Gonna stuff you and give you a filling pretty♡"

LUBE GLAZED CHICKEN NUGGET??

"Slap you tender?" Gojo holds back from hitting too hard, but you can truly feel how strong he actually is. Fuck, did his slaps burn and hurt, in a good way of course!

This man is impossible, probably laughed about it so hard, he hurt himself laughing. Probably has a super ugly hyena laugh mixed with some choked chicken, but it only comes out when things are hilarious to him (his jokes.)

He will take any chance to call you his little stuffed turkey or his little chicken nugget. Probably took you and the kids to McDonald's to dramatically gasp when someone ordered chicken nuggets talking about considering your poor feelings and cannibalism.

The worst thing might be when it actually flusters you, his dumbass is talking about chicken nuggets and stuffing to his students, why the fuck are you blushing.

"What are you thinking about?" Gojo smirks.

Naoya Zenin

Noaya has some accent, if I understand correctly. I don't quite understand what his accent is or what kind of accent it is, but from what I understand it's an almost more traditional Japanese. Imma just compare it with being American and British English.

Sometimes you just don't understand what he is saying. The difference between some words he uses is just so confusing to you.

It doesn't bother you that much since usually you can fill in the gaps and learn, but Naoya just straight up doesn't speak standard anymore when he fucks you.

His voice sounds even harsher with the dialect somewhat, somehow hotter if you just listen to his voice and the way he speaks. You could have sworn he blamed it on your dumbification kink, being too stupid to even understand him, because usually you can.

It doesn't bother him, he says whatever he wants, and you're too stupid to understand him. Though sometimes he does like to say hurtful things, and there it does bother him when he calls you a whore differently it would usually be described, and you just look at him with those doe eyes. Telling him his voice sounds pretty, his accent makes him speak in an almost melodic way, it's harsh yet pretty and soothing.

What the fuck do you mean his voice is pretty? He just called you a dumb whore who isn't good at anything but taking his cock. He is telling you to shut the hell up, to open up only when you're sucking him off.

Maybe it's better and more enjoyable for you if you just don't understand some of his harmful words.

It's probably some old man dialect, that a young man such as him should rarely speak, yet he dirty talks you or degrades you in it. He probably grew up speaking it, so it's just his most natural state.

Once said something along the lines of breaking you, and you almost cried because in his dialect broken would be translated to be thrown out or thrown away.

"Hell are yer crying about, I ain't done nothing yet?"

-

w-what if I did actual hc about what I think they'd say and do

[collisiondiscourse]

battle scars || a deku & class 1-A drabble

(A quick drabble talking about members of class 1-A, the scars they share, and the love that heals them. TW for descriptions of violence and both external and internal injuries.)

There isn't a single hero that Deku knows of who doesn't have scars.

They aren't stigmatized, no not at all. No one who's ever seen a hero in action before thinks that scars are ugly. In hero society, scars are celebrated. Admired, adored, worshipped--whatever connotates the wearer to something positive. In a world where suffering and self-sacrifice are glorified, scars are a mark of beauty.

Even then though, Izuku Midoriya can't help but think that his scars are better off hidden.

He knows, god does he know, that everyone has their own wounds and injuries. Little divots here, the occasional prosthetic there--everyone he knows is marked in some way that reminds the world that they are still human where it matters. They aren't gods or faces off a product--just average traumatized people who unfortunately love humanity more than they love themselves.

Class 1-A being no exception.

Mina, for example, has burns. Big burns, small burns, burns of all shapes and sizes that litter her body like the pattern of the hero costume she wears. A few too many evil scientists with interests in chemistry like to think that their knowledge gives them the upper hand, but the Alien Queen always proves them wrong.

One of her horns is chipped, and when she gets drunk she admits that her sense of sight might be going. Sometimes, the scars sting, but the sweet ache of her body as she nails another dance routine reminds her that there's more to the world than how people look. When she begins to forget that, Kirishima claps loudly as she lands another pirouette.

Kaminari is dotted from head to toe in Lichtenberg scars. It's something that surprises no one, and something the blond feels no shame in showing off at any given moment. The lightning patterned marks are most prevalent along his forearms and palms, every hug from him feeling rough but safe nonetheless.

Occasionally, due to one too many brain fries, he'll have days where his mind doesn't seem like it's all there and memories fade like footprints in the sand. On those days, Denki lays down and Jirou runs her hands through electric blond hair while humming a soft and sweet tune.

Kirishima's scars run like cracks. They splinter and have ridges that look very much like his own quirk. Most of them are very faint and shallow, getting more focused and deep around his chest and forearms as he held firm against countless unrelenting attacks.

After one too many nosebleeds, the red-head finds out that he's way more prone to internal wounds from the way his organs deal with shock absorption less adaptively than his skin and bones do. Eijirou's tense muscles eventually learn to relax under the gentle caring massages from an exasperated Mina.

Iida, on the other hand, has a prosthetic. An unfortunate and horrible incident left him missing half a leg after pissing off a Stain-inspired villain who was a little too much like her idol. He's much less scarred (a benefit of his full-bodied armor), but Deku still sometimes sees the way he struggles to breathe.

Internal scars from internal wounds similar to Kirishima's make his body sometimes forget that he's stopped running. Tenya wears these scars with responsibility and blushes whenever he greets an enthusiastic Hatsume Mei for his monthly prosthetic maintenance check.

Uraraka has scars all over her fingers. Nicks and slices from where people tried to render her quirk useless by taking off a finger. She has a star-shaped mark on the right side of her forehead from where a building caved in and shattered her helmet.

Neat little slashes run up and down her ankles and soles of her feet from lucky shots people had before she floated away. Ochako wears these scars with ferocity and pride, adorning them in pink band-aids that Toga sometimes scratches at when the brunette comes to visit her in jail.

Todoroki is... a little different. The scar over his right eye is a lot more faded, yet still there. It grew up with him, healed and faded at the edges like the wounds in his heart, but not forgotten because of how it made him who he is. He has burns of all types adorned around his body--caused either by his own quirk or others.

He also often gets sick when he overexerts himself like the hopeless workaholic Big Three member he is. Yaoyorozu and Inasa visit him on those sick days, bringing light and chicken soup into his big empty home.

Bakugou's a lot similar to Deku. Their families and friends have noticed that if you put a diagram of their bodies side by side with markings of their injuries, it wouldn't exactly be a mirror image, but seemingly two parts of a puzzle clicking together. The blond had all sorts of scars around his body, a hazard that came with the title of Japan's Symbol of Victory.

There were deep lashes on his back, marks of muzzles and handcuffs from attempt after attempt of kidnappings and ransom hostages. On his forearms were twin bracelet scars, from an especially ruthless villain that attempted to cut his hands off in an effort to eliminate his quirk. Over his torso were two faint pink marks shaped like explosions, both from the first time he sacrificed himself for Deku.

Bakugou had similar aches on his shoulders and neck from overuse and recoil whenever he'd pushed himself too quick and too soon. Kacchan would scoff at the notion of hiding his scars and treat the pain with a quick home-cooked meal, fingers twitching when Deku would plop himself on the counter and ask about his latest shift.

But Deku?

Deku hid well. He hid because it was his habit to deceive and alter his appearance--covering things up with a simple black arm band because in the grand scheme of things there were some secrets best left unseen. Deku wore long sleeves and concealer over his skin like it was a suit of armor, hiding the rawest parts of him because even as he grew and climbed his way to the top, a part of him always remembered that the burden he carries is too heavy to let be seen.

So he hides.

He hides the way burns litter his skin from trying to contain the inferno that is OfA and walking through fire to bring civillians home. He hides the Lichtenberg scars and the way green lightning sometimes crackles hard enough to make him flinch as he fights his way through unbeatable hoards of enemis. He hides the prosthetics, the way his arms gave out on him quite a while ago, forcing them to be replaced and improved. He hides the way people have tried to tear him apart and steal his burden for themselves.

One for All was his greatest gift and most painful curse.

Some nights he trembles and shakes, muscles spasming in effort to just simply keep going. Shivers run up and down his spine because with every injury his blood circulation worsens and worsens until cold and pain is all that he feels. Izuku will sometimes walk around, scars hurting and throbbing hot white under his skin, and look for medication that dulls the ache and makes him go a little less crazy.

Hands mindlessly running over bumps and edges, scars from villains and friends and debris and growth spurts. He would stand in front of a mirror like a house of cards and pull himself apart, reflection making him detest himself from how gnarled and ugly and imperfect he was.

"--No, my boy. Not imperfect." The tall and gaunt figure of his old mentor would tut. Thin and skeletal fingers would grasp the bottom of a white shirt and lift it up, gently revealing a scar so deep it almost looks like a crater. "Not imperfect at all. For people like us, your scars make you far more than just a hero."

Deku, of course, would hum in resignation. He looks at All Might--no, Toshinori Yagi with a skeptical look and the retired hero would smile.

"You are... a miracle."

And just like that, Deku would be brought back to being 14 years old, quirkless and desperate. He's on his knees, looking at the Symbol of Peace in his true form--thin and pale but still oh so powerful. A voice tells him that there is a destiny he has far greater than he'll ever realize, an adventure that awaits him through the old skinny man with unruly blond hair.

Izuku didn't see weakness that day, no.

He saw hope.

So now, even as Pro-Hero Deku hides away the parts of himself that are broken and raw from the world he protects, he finds his cure all the same. In the arms of those who are warm and familiar, Deku sheds his armor, his foundation, his long sleeves--

and he is simply Izuku.

He is Izuku who gets spa days and yoga sessions with Ashido, Denki, and Eijirou that stops his muscles from spasming on days where it gets unbearable. He is Izuku who gets tender massages and hearty midnight snack runs with Ochako and Tenya when nightmares and visions just won't let him sleep. He is Izuku who gets soup and warm borrowed hoodies from Shouto and Kacchan when stress makes him keel over and shudder at the thought of working. He is Izuku who gets big warm hugs and a fierce movie marathon with his loving mother and mentor who is his father in all but name.

He is Izuku, riddled with scars that still heal.

[oonajaeadira]

The Tolerant Devotion of Extracurricular Caretaking

(BANANA BREAD WITH BAKING CHIPS- Sweets Series)

Rating: T. Fluffy AF.

Fandom: The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez and f!reader (his assistant “Girl Sunday.”)

Warnings: Javi is...not at his best. Whiny!Javi.

Summary: The hardest part of your job is taking care of a sick Javi. But in many ways, it’s also the best part.

A/N: I hadn’t planned this installment but for an ask that came through asking what Javi’s like when he’s sick. My answer got longer and longer until I thought it might be a nice moment to illustrate a time that Javi isn’t the sweetest–yet still cute AF–so here we are. Also, I started thinking about some of the other employees in the house. I imagine they’re something like a little found family all hand-picked by Javi. You’ll get to meet a couple of them here.

Lo siento = Sorry

Me corto los cojones = here it’s akin to saying “I swear to God” or “sure as shit.” (Literally “I’ll cut my balls.”)

If you’re curious where the nickname “Sunday” comes from, you can find the answer in the first fic at the series masterlist!

“Oh, lo siento, Néstor! That’s mine. Isn’t it your day off?” You’d come into the kitchen to find the cook lifting the pot cover and getting a good whiff of the steamy concoction.

“Sí. But I will be doing a market run tomorrow and forgot to count how many lemons we have. You keep using them for the lemonade. What is this?” 

Néstor is a good-looking man in his early fifties, bald, thick-rimmed glasses, tall and sturdy, rarely smiles on the outside. He’s prone to wearing tight-fitting black clothes, a very imposing figure…unless you scan all the way down to his pink kitchen crocs, festooned with Disney pop charms. He’s a big fan of Coco and Baby Yoda.

“It’s my grandmother’s chicken noodle soup.”

His stare is long. Impassible. “It smells fucking amazing. I want this recipe.”

“Of course. It should be ready. You want some?”

“Sí.” Dry as a bone, he collects two bowls from the cabinet and starts ladling up the soup like a bricklayer scooping mortar for a wall, all business, passing the first bowl to you and cradling the second in one square hand, blowing on it a little before taking a sip. “It’s good. Good spices. Chicken is tender. Mm. Chives?”

“Thanks. Yes. Gran used to make it for me when I was sick.”

“You make this for El Jefe, no?” When you duck your head in a nod on your way to the drawer for a spoon, he barks a laugh. “Me corto los cojones you two are like an old married couple.”

Deflecting the blunt jab with a little smile and a sidelong glance, you begin your retreat out of the kitchen

“Eh, Sunday.” Without relinquishing his soup, Néstor moves to the freezer and cupboards, pulling out a couple of items and tossing them on the counter. “Be warned, he is a terrible patient. It will soothe him you make him something sweet. But not too sweet. Not good for sickness. I know he likes your banana bread.” Two black and frozen bananas clatter onto a plate near the hot soup to thaw.

“Oh,” you stammer. “But I don’t have–”

“Yes you do.” Reaching up to a high cupboard and moving a couple of flour packets, he pulls out two bags of baking chips, one chocolate, one cinnamon. “If I don’t hide them, he will eat them.”

“That sounds about right.” Again you turn to go. Again you stop. “He told you about my banana bread?”

Taking a long sip of the soup and stopping to chew a noodle, he nods, stoic, a warm glint in his eye. “He tells me a lot of things.” He tips his chin at the bowl in your hands. “That is going to get cold.”

“Right. See you tomorrow, Néstor. Thanks.”

________________

A knock on the door earns you a pitiful “nnnnnnnnn” from inside Javi’s bedroom and you take that to mean “yes, come in, but oh my god I’m miserable and you should know it.” 

Half of Javi’s face is lost in his pillow when you peek in, but the eye you can see squints at you in defiance, his chin curling up in a pout, his voice a low croak. “I feel like shit.” A couple of pathetic coughs wrack his body and he turns his face fully into the pillow to spare you.

“I told you this would happen,” an admonishment you deliver gently upon entering the room and sitting on the edge of the bed. 

Not so many days ago your positions had been swapped and Javi insisted that you stay in bed even though you thought you could manage to function through the virus. But when the exhaustion hit, he personally brought whatever you asked for–and more–and propped himself against your headboard to keep you company while you let the tv drone in the background, showing true stubbornness despite your warnings that he’d only end up sick himself. 

You have never been more sorry to be right.

“Come on. Sit up. You need to eat.”

Javi’s room--usually bright from the sun bouncing off the water through glass doors--is cavernous and dim today, the curtains remain closed. His huge bed just makes his ailing body look tiny as he pulls himself up with a weak moan, unwinding from the tangle of duvet that he’d twisted in his sleep. His curls are a riot and his face still wears the creases of heavy rest. 

“Here.This will help. Guaranteed.” Careful with the hot bowl, you wait until he has a good grip with both hands before relinquishing it and heading into the bathroom. “Doctor’s orders say you take that medicine every six hours and it’s almost noon. So eat first, then we’ll dose you.” Turning the spigots on the huge mini-jacuzzi tub and leaving it to fill, you move back to his closet. “I have Rosi coming to change your sheets while you take a bath–don’t fall asleep in there.” You set out his softest set of clean pajamas on the padded bench in his dressing room before coming back to sit with him. “Once you get some food and meds and a little steam you’ll feel a little better. And you’ll rest better.”

“This is good,” he whines softly as he takes another spoonful of the soup. “Did you make this?”

“Mmmhm.” Leaning over his bedside table in order to humbly avoid his look of thanks, you struggle to read the prescription bottle in the dim light even though you already know the instructions by heart. 

But his appreciation will not be thwarted. He reaches out, lifting one of your hands in his, and brings it to his cheek, holding it there, closing his eyes and leaning into your palm with a hum.

It catches your heart, this tender little vulnerability, this sweet ask for attention. Javi is always an open book, never afraid to physically show you how grateful he is for your companionship and your care for him. But it usually comes in the form of a bear hug or a huge dopey grin or some extravagant gesture, his affection takes the form of a bull in a china shop, never mistaken, always bold. Javi can do subtle, but it is rare and precious. Without thinking, you let your thumb brush over his cheekbone, relishing this quiet moment, wondering what ridiculous thing he’ll say next to break it.

But he simply sighs and leans in more.

“Your hand is nice and cool.”

It’s then that you feel the heat in his cheek. “Seems you’ve got a little fever.”

“Mm. Maybe.” Releasing your hand, he turns his concentration back on the soup, drinking the dregs of the broth straight from the bowl, finishing it between sniffs and sighs before it cools.

It takes all of your resolve not to reach out and run your hand through his curls, to gently push them out of his face, an instinctual gesture of care. Even before you gave into closeness with Javi, you’d had the urge to touch that hair. He doesn’t even have to do anything to it but wash it and let it air dry, let the sun highlight it, let it grow into soft waves of chestnut and sand… Even now, bed-headed and slightly trampled, his curls beckon your fingers to play…

Instead, you measure out the meds in the little cup. You go to turn off the water in the tub. A knock on the door brings you back into the bedroom and Javi’s downing the medicine with a screwed up face and a “bleh” as you open the door for the housekeeper and her clean sheets.

“Hola, miss.”

“Gracias, Auntie, come in.”

Rosi blushes charmingly at your pet name. You’d explained the similarities between the English sounds of aunt and ant, teased her that with her small frame and her strong arms, her ability to haul heavy laundry baskets and supply buckets, that she had the superhuman strength of the ant, with the patience and good humor of the aunt.

Shooing you out of her way, she asks Javi in Spanish how he’s doing. He groans, lifting himself out of bed, answers dramatically that he may die and she should choose nice flowers for his grave before thanking her and shuffling off to the bath.

Rosi rolls her eyes for your benefit, whispering something you don’t catch entirely but seems like “let the dramatics begin” before playfully scooting you out and setting to her task.

“Thank you, Auntie. Javi, I’ll check in later, okay?”

He stops in his shuffle. “Where are you going?”

“To work.”

“Bring your work here?”

“What, and keep you awake with my typing and phone calls? You need rest.” His shoulders drop in a heavy pout and you soften. “Okay. I’ll bring my laptop to the balcony. I’ll be back in an hour. Don’t fall asleep in the bath.”

The pout deepens. “Nnnnnn.”

________________

Once you whip up the small loaf, it only takes 40 minutes to bake. That’s time you can use to rush through the most urgent tasks on your list; there’s a good chance that your job as an assistant will have less to do with your client files and more to do with soothing and coddling.

Not that you’re upset about it. Not at all.

When the loaf is out and still warm, it gets sliced–the baking chips soft and smearing on the bread knife–and goes on a tray with your laptop, a couple of cans of juice, and his special edition disc of Peggy Sue Got Married.

This time your knock is met with silence. As you assume, he’s asleep; his bed is a dim landscape, a mountain range of blankets and a forest of curls at the edge of a pool of pillows. Setting up camp on the balcony, in the warm, breezy afternoon overlooking the sea, you leave the door cracked just a little to let the fresh air in and to keep an ear out when your boss inevitably wakes. 

It doesn’t take long.

Halfway through formatting a report, the curtains billow a little in the wind, a snatch of sunlight sneaking through. In complaint, there’s a throaty groan followed by a couple of feeble little coughs.

“Sunday? Sunnnnnnndaaaaaaaaayyyyyy—”

He’s really very pitiful and it’s all you can do to school your face as you perch quietly at the edge of the bed. Leaning over the expanse, the back of your hand kisses his forehead. “You got some sleep. Your fever’s better.”

Your barely contained smile is met with a very grumpy side eye. “I don’t feel better.”

“What can I do for you? Hm? You hungry?”

As you pull away, Javi catches your hand. Even when he’s ill he still has more strength than you and pulls at you petulantly, urging you more fully onto the bed. “No don’t go.”

“Okay. Just let me get–” you move to go get the tray, but he holds you tight.

“Noooooo!” It’s forceful and surprising and more than a little demanding. When you snap your head to face him, he immediately recognizes that he’s crossed the line, dropping both your wrist and his volume. “Please.”

Néstor wasn’t kidding. What a little brat.

You can’t think of a time he’s ever ordered you and it’s a testament to how badly he must be feeling.

But it’s also a poorly-worded statement about how much better it would make him feel to have you around.

Those deep browns fill with remorse and drift to yours when you touch his shoulder softly, letting the reprimand be seen rather than heard. “Javi.”

You know I’d do anything for you. Of course I’m going to stay.

“I’m sorry.” 

I didn’t mean to speak to you like that, Sunday.

“I’m just going to the balcony to get something. I’ll be right back. Promise.”

When you return and situate the tray on the bed, there’s a full on moan of regret when he sees the banana bread. “Ohhhhh you are too good to meeeee–” 

“Probably.” Cuing up the movie on his TV, you take in his triple dose of delight. He hums wistfully over a mouthful of banana bread. Then at you as you crawl up next to him and make a little nest of pillows, preparing to keep him company. Finally, as he realizes which film you’ve brought with you, his face twists in gratefulness and shame, over emotional in his exhausted state–

–and drops his head onto your lap, flopping an arm around to clamp your knees in a hug.

Had this overdramatic display come a couple of weeks earlier, it may have embarrassed you. A month earlier and it surely would have flustered you. But after your own recent sickness–when he had ordered up his own doctor to care for you, flown in pineapples and mangoes for you from Madrid and pastries from Barcelona, and called in a favor to get in a week’s worth of the softest knit bamboo pajamas from a luxury line in Cannes–you had a crystal clear idea of what brand of important you were to him.

And when he’d crawled up on top of the covers with you, pulled you into his side as you swam in and out of sleep–like the whales that swam up and down the Arctic coast on the droning Animal Planet–you gave in, knowing that you’d do the same for him in a heartbeat.

Or, in roughly, a week. Which is about how long it took for the symptoms to bring him down.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles from your lap, mouth full of banana loaf, eyes on young Nic Cage, young Kathleen Turner.

“You already said that.”

“I know. But I am being…nnnnnn…” He pushes out a nasal groan as he swallows, irritated that he’s too scrambled to find the word he wants.

“Childish?”

“Malhumorado,” he coughs.

“Grouchy?”

“Hm? Crotchy?”

“GROUCHY.”

“Yes. This. I am sorry for being growchy.”

“I was warned. I understand. You’re sick.”

“Mmm. Sick. Grouchy. Lucky.”

And you melt. 

Oh hell.

Giving guiltlessly into temptation, you pull the wreck of his curls back from his forehead, raking them lightly through to the flipped ends. And again. And again. Your care for him easily wins out over your slight annoyance with every slow slip of soft, sun-kissed strands through your fingers.

Javi’s chest expands, and as the air escapes in a satisfied sigh, something between a croak and a whimper, the arm around your legs squeezes tighter. His cheek bleeds warmth through your clothes and his breath bathes your bare knees.

The breeze plays with the curtains, allowing the sun to sneak a look at this soft tableau now and then.

Half an hour into the film, Javi’s breathing has shallowed out and your hands have gone on automatic, playing idly with his locks, twisting a curl around a finger. You’re not really watching the movie anymore, only thinking through your feelings and the words you need to express them and how, and if you should…or the energy you’d have to put into suppressing them. And how. And if you should.

“Sundayyy.” Javi’s moan comes in quiet skips, trying to get traction on his vocal cords and slipping on silence here and there, getting lost in the press against your lap.

“Hmm?”

“I want you…” The long pause that comes next causes you to hold your breath, wondering if this is all he meant to say. But then he twitches a little, continues to mumble.  “...put a date on my calendar.” Ah. He is talking from somewhere far from the edge of awake.

“Okay.”

“For when I am well. Need to confess to you.”

It takes a few seconds to control your amusement, your question walking the rim of a laugh. “Your sins?”

“Nnnooo. My love.” Matter of fact. As if it’s the obvious answer. A little petulant and disappointed that you would suggest anything else.

A month ago you would have agonized over this, denied your own feelings, afraid of being unprofessional. A couple of weeks ago, you might have been unsure, hoping just to accept it in silence broken only by your thrumming heart.

But that was then.

“I already know, Javi.”

“Okay. Good.”

There’s another long sigh as you continue to card through his hair, all the tangles gone now, only waves, rolling through your fingers like a gentle tide.

“Javi?”

“Hmmmmmm.”

“Are you awake?”

“...No...” 

It’s like he can sense your smile.

The outline of his cheek swells as he smiles too.

_____

NEXT

SERIES MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

[jimlingss]

can i request a yoongi chef au? i feel like yoongi's culinary skills are underrated, and I'm just a slut for chef aus in general

Anonymous said: Hi I saw ur request open posts for the new year!!! Could u write more yoongi stories🥺?!?! Your stories are so fantastic and i’m thirsty for more yoongi lolol🤪(hopefully u get enough votes to do more of him haha)

I feel like Jin’s the one who’s usually written as the chef, prob because he’s the better known chef in BTS, but you’re right! There’s gotta be more chef Yoongi!AUs, so here you go!!!

↳ Buttering Up

2.2k || 100% Fluff & Flirtation || Min Yoongi || Chef!AU

He clearly doesn’t know who you are.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.”

You hum, arms crossed as you eye him up and down. His black hair is practically a bowl cut, bangs covering his forehead. He’s in casual clothes — a taupe trench and black pants — looking like he’s ready for a trip to the grocery store rather than to cook. You wonder where this child crawled out from.

“You’re Yoongi?”

“That I am.” He approaches the door of the restaurant before plunging his hands inside his trench coat pockets. He fishes out the key and unlocks it, ushering you inside. “Hope you don’t mind that the restaurant’s closed down.”

You mind much more that he left you waiting on the cold city street for over ten minutes. You still can’t believe he was late. The audacity.

“I would’ve liked to see how you and your staff do your dinner service.”

“Unfortunately, we’re booked full for the next two months.”

You scoff — how doesn’t he know who you are? You’re a food critic who’s brought highly regarded restaurants to their knees through a review of five sentences. Your words alone has had rippled effects in the industry. Even the most talented chefs hold their breaths when you taste-test.

You make Gordon Ramsey look like Mother Teresa.

This Yoongi character is much too arrogant to not respect you. His new and upcoming restaurant might have raving reviews, but you’ll see what’s really going on.

“Sit wherever you’d like.”

There are no waiters in fancy garb, no hand sewn tablecloths made of silk. He doesn’t even pull out the chair for you. Instead, he’s off flickering on the lights of the restaurant while you choose a wooden table and chair right in front of his open kitchen — which is a horrible mistake in itself.

Open kitchens have always been a concept that has fallen short in your eyes. It’s much too noisy during dinner service and it gets smelly fast. Who actually wants to leave smelling like butter and oil?

It’s something you note as you get settled. 

Your coat drapes at the back of the chair and then you watch him. Yoongi’s taken off his trench as well, revealing a white long sleeve that he’s beginning to roll up to his elbows. He’s lean and his build is small, but somehow, he’s far from being scrawny. You gawk at the veins running up his forearm until he casually asks—

“Do you have a preference for wine?”

“I’m fine with any.”

He hums and comes over from the glass cabinet with a bottle of chardonnay and a wine glass. Yoongi pops the bottle easily and pours into the pristine glass with a mere tilt of his wrist. You watch the stream fill the glass a quarter way full.

“Is there a menu?”

“You don’t need one.”

Your brows raise. “Excuse me?” 

“If I were you, I’d put myself in the chef’s hands entirely and go with their recommendation.” He strides away, placing the wine bottle on the other table and then he turns with a glint in his eye and his mouth slightly crooked upwards. “Unless, of course, you don’t trust your chef.”

Oh. He’s confident. 

You can’t wait for his ego to blow up in his face.

“Fine then.” Your head tilts upwards. “What’s your recommendation then?”

He rounds his way to go into the kitchen that’s only a few meters away from where you sit. “Risotto with grilled chicken breast, topped off with caramelized onions, mushroom, grilled zucchini and sautéed tomatoes.”

You roll your eyes. What a basic dish. Isn’t it just rice? And with chicken breast?! Ew. It's guaranteed to be bland.

“Alright then.” You give a smile that might be more mocking than intended. “We’ll see how it tastes.”

Yoongi starts and while sipping the chardonnay, you take a good look at the restaurant from your spot. The place is rustic with a hint of contemporary. There’s exposed brick, wooden tables and chairs, and low, yellow lighting. There’s nothing particularly impressive about the place.

Soon, the sound of rapid, rhythmic chopping fills the space and then sizzling. You watch him intently. And you’re appalled. This Yoongi guy commits the worst cooking sins — his pan is cold when he starts throwing on ingredients. He cooks with olive oil. He overcrowds the pan. And he doesn’t even taste test once as he cooks.

What the actual fuck. 

There’s a line between arrogance and insanity, and he was crossing it.

You cringe when he starts using his metallic spatula on the non-stick skillet.

Is he even qualified to run a restaurant?!

Or maybe your assistant sent you information about the wrong restaurant? Or maybe this was not the guy you were supposed to be eating from. What if he poisons you or kills off all of your taste buds?! Your career would be ruined.

“Everything going okay?” you pipe up.

He glances up at you for the first time, eyes peering past his bangs. “Yep. Should be done in five.”

Food is simple. It either tastes good or it doesn’t. But the higher up you go and the fancier it gets, the more convoluted the food tastes with bland flakes of gold and the same old truffle shavings. That or it’s entirely boring and unoriginal. 

Or in this case, it might kill you. Which would be the first. And you’re not happy about it.

You feel unsettled when he plops the dish in front of you.

“Chef’s recommendation.”

“Thanks.”

You feel unsettled because it actually smells good. The aroma that fills your senses is flavoursome and buttery, and the thyme on top adds a fresh hint. You’re also unsettled because the plating isn’t actually bad. It’s been presented in a pasta bowl with wavy designs and the chicken breast is thinly and neatly sliced on top. It’s clean. It’s bright. It’s colourful.

But the most lethal poisons are the appetizing ones.

“Are you going to wait until it gets cold?”

You look up, brows raising at how he’s gotten comfortable in the chair across from you. Usually the chefs and waiters or waitresses like to skedaddle off and leave you to your own thoughts, too afraid to stand in your intense scrutiny. But Min Yoongi twists off the cap of his water bottle and casually downs it in front of you.

“I’m just looking at the presentation.”

“Tastes better than it looks,” he exhales after swallowing his water. 

Your expression becomes skeptical. But you take the silver spoon beside you anyhow and decide not to waste any more time.

The spoonful goes into your mouth. He watches you. You chew.

Instantly, you halt. 

The flavour hits your tongue. Creamy. Thick. But each individual grain of rice still has some firmness with a discernible texture. It’s been done al dente. There’s sweetness from the caramelized onions. An earthy flavour from the mushrooms. A zesty touch from the thyme. The chicken breast is somehow still juicy and the tomatoes burst on your palate. 

Suddenly, you’re thrusted back into your childhood. Those summer days spent in the cottage. Sun-kissed cheeks, dirtied knees, cotton dresses. You can hear your late grandmother in the kitchen. The way she calls out that it’s lunchtime. You can feel the comfort of family and love.

It feels like you’ve become the food critic in the ratatouille movie. 

You almost cry.

“What do you think?”

You clear your throat. You have to be honest. There’s no way you can lie about something like this. “It’s good. I think...this is the best risotto I’ve ever had. You cooked it perfectly and the toppings you chose were absolutely immaculate with this dish—”

You look up at him. Min Yoongi has an enormous, cocky smirk plastered across his stupid face.

It’s entirely off-putting. 

“But of course,” you quickly add, “there are many ways you could improve on it. You could add cilantro—”

“That would unnecessarily drown out the notes of thyme you taste,” he rebukes without a single beat and you scoff. 

“I noticed you didn’t add any pepper to it which could deepen the flavour.”

“Except this dish doesn’t need it,” Yoongi deadpans. “You don’t need to help me make any adjustments. I think I know what I’m doing better than you are. Just do your job and I’ll do mine.”

You suck in your cheek and narrow your eyes on him before you take another bite of the risotto while it’s still hot. “The food is delicious, but I must say, the company really spoils it.”

Yoongi’s slumped with one cheek resting in his hand, elbow on the table. He lazily stares at you with that smirk of his. “Really? Because if I didn’t know any better, you look nervous rather than annoyed.”

You scoff for the second time. “Why would I be nervous?”

“Maybe you didn’t expect the food to taste as good as it does and that makes me unexpectedly attractive,” he states plainly. You almost choke. You hit your chest as you sputter. “Or maybe you’re intimidated by me. I’ve gotten both before.”

You wipe your mouth with the napkin. “I’m afraid you’re not very perceptive, Min Yoongi.”

“Really? I think I am.” He smiles, the corners of his mouth quirked. “I’ve read your reviews before.”

You’re unamused. “Have you now? So you must know how difficult I am to satisfy.”

His smirk is sly and it’s jarring against his softer, more tender features. He’s smaller than the men you’re used to being around, but somehow it feels like he’s taken up the entire space of the restaurant. His focus on you is sweat-inducing. Even if you don’t want to admit it. 

“I don’t think so. You’ve just been eating shit food,” he says bluntly and your brow cocks. “You just need someone good you can trust. Someone who can take care of you properly.”

You’re not sure if the double entendre is purposeful. You wouldn’t put it past him.

“And is this someone you?”

Yoongi shrugs and sits back. “It could be.”

You grab your glass of chardonnay and gulp the rest in an effort to stop the conversation before it completely derails into a different direction. Yet, Yoongi’s half-lidded and darkened eyes stay on yours with each swallow. He’s unfazed. Unbothered. And that bothers you even more — bothered in a way that makes your face hot.

There’s a clack as you put the wine glass down and gasp. 

“I’m a professional.” You won’t be swayed so easily. “I can’t be bribed.”

“Of course.” He blinks as if he doesn’t know what you’re talking about. You glare at him and he gestures to the dish. “Please. Keep eating.” 

You finish the plate.

“Do you want any seconds?” he asks as he gets up.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Yoongi lingers, all too brazen and fearless. “If you don’t get any more now, you might have to come back for more.”

This time, you don’t try to hide the roll of your eyes. “That’s a presumptuous assumption.”

Yoongi smirks and his voice is husky. “After getting a taste from me, everyone comes back for more.

You scoff.

Min’s Restaurant Review

Three nights ago, I ate at Min’s Restaurant and met the main man in the kitchen. Unfortunately, he is a difficult person to interact with. I hope no one has the disservice of having to speak to the chef behind the dishes. Doing so may as well ruin the experience. Furthermore, his cooking methods are unconventional and unorthodox. It was completely shocking to watch.

However, and what I would consider most important, the food at Min’s Restaurant is spectacular. What Min’s Restaurant lacks in likeable personnel, they make up in the served cuisine. The meal that was prepared for me not only subverted my initial expectations, but overcomes, what I consider, what the food industry is lacking in this modern age exactly. Without unnecessary garnishes and ingredients, the flavours of Min’s Restaurant are both light and deep. It was an undeniable delight to consume and for the first time, I licked my plate clean. 

It is undoubted that the man behind Min’s Restaurant has the hands of god.

You should have pride.

But you’ve always loved good food. It’s your Achilles heel. It’s the one thing you’ve been passionate about since you were a kid. The reason why you love your job.

Even after writing such a review, you find yourself booking another reservation. But as a customer instead of a critic.

Of course, they were booked full for the next six months, largely thanks to your review, and they swiftly refused you with numerous apologies. But they called back not ten minutes later. You have a feeling that your name finally sunk into them — that he had something to do with it. 

That theory is confirmed when you arrive. The person in question is next to the seemingly nervous hostess as the noisy kitchen echoes throughout the busy restaurant. 

In the low lighting, Min Yoongi stands there with a relaxed smirk. As if he was expecting you. As if he knew you’d come crawling back to him to eat out of the palm of his hand, literally and figuratively.

You hate that he’s right.

“Welcome back.”

[writingfeatherduster]

Can I request something where sans keeps making excuses to keep Grillby talking? And when confronted, he admits that he just likes hearing Grillby’s voice? 👉👈

Haha, so this was going to just be silly fluff, I swear, but...  Look I swear it all works out and it’s really cute in the end. I hope you enjoy!

Talk to Me

Word count: 3323 Summary: Sans wants to hear from his boyfriend more, but he goes about it the wrong way.

“Hello Sans, this is Grillby. I just wanted to call and make sure you’re alright. It’s been two days since I’ve seen you at the bar… I asked Dogamy and Dogeressa if they’d seen you and they both said they haven’t. Are you ill? If you are, I could bring something for you and Papyrus, or- ah, well, I’ve been talking long enough. Forgive my rambling. Just send me a message to let me know you’re alright? I hope to see you soon.”

Sans let the voicemail play as he laid in bed, relaxing a bit. It had been months since Grillby left that message. Sans had some kind of flu and was bedridden for a week. As soon as Grillby heard, he came over with canned soup, cold packs, and audiobooks, giving Papyrus a break to rest and ensuring that both of the skeletons were well cared for. The audiobooks had been nice, but they’d been nothing compared to Grillby’s voicemail. When Sans heard it, it occurred to him that he wasn’t sure he’d ever heard Grillby talk for that long in one go. The even rhythm of his voice was remarkably soothing. Sans had fallen asleep to that insignificant message more than once.

The skeleton felt a bit silly. He and Grillby were dating now. He had more than enough opportunity to talk to him. Something still felt off though. Even when they were outside the bar, Grillby was always a one-or-two sentences kind of guy. He never told any stories, he didn’t ramble on about his favorite subjects, and he never vented in length about his day. And then there was that phrase. “Forgive my rambling,” Sans muttered to himself, frowning. He’d heard that twice since he’d started dating Grillby, and something about it didn’t sit right with him. Speaking about dates with Grillby…

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Sans’s watch went off and he shot up. Shoot, he was late! Grillby had the evening off and they had agreed to meet up at the bar before going to MTT Resort for dinner. Grillbz made a reservation and everything! Sans hurriedly put on a black tuxedo-print shirt and then threw his freshly-washed jacket on top. That was about as close to fancy as Sans got.

Grabbing his phone, the skeleton took a shortcut to Grillby’s, where the bartender himself was waiting outside. Damn, he made Sans feel underdressed. Grillby had a black suit jacket on over his navy blue dress shirt, and it looked like he might have even ironed his usual bowtie for this. He was looking at his watch, making Sans feel a pang of guilt. This was what, the fourth time in a row he’d been late for a date?

Grillby didn’t seem to mind it. He glanced up and caught sight of Sans, smiling a bit. “I see you’re all dressed up,” he chuckled. “You look nice.”

“Not as nice as you, hot stuff.” Sans grinned, holding out a hand for Grillby. “Ready to go?”

Grillby nodded and took his hand. “Ready.”

Dating Start!

One moment, they were in Snowdin. The next, they were at MTT Resort, barely in time for their reservation. Sans had done a few comedy gigs at MTT before, so it wasn’t like it was a new place to him, but somehow going there with Grillby made it feel different. The lighting felt softer, the music seemed gentler, and when the two of them sat at their table, the smile Grillby gave Sans made the skeleton feel like he was dreaming. For the first time, MTT Resort Restaurant felt romantic.

“What are you thinking about?” Grillby asked, breaking Sans’s train of thought.

Sans chuckled. “You,” he responded honestly. “You make the whole room light up wherever you go.”

Grillby arched an eyebrow. “Well, I am made of fire.”

“Oh my god, you know what I meant,” Sans managed through his laughter. As he calmed, he gave the bartender a soft smile. “This is nice. I’ve been here a thousand times, but it’s different when it’s with you. A good different. You make everything better.”

Grillby blushed, smiling. “Sans… that was the sappiest thing I have ever heard.”

Sans grinned at his teasing. “Aww, you know you love me.”

“I do.” Grillby rested his arm on the table, opening his hand to Sans. The skeleton took him up on his offer and mimicked the gesture, holding Grillby’s hand on top of the table. Grillby ran his thumb over Sans’s knuckles, thoughtful as he looked at their joined hands.

Usually, from there, Sans would start the conversation back up with an onslaught of puns or start talking about his day. The skeleton’s thoughts drifted back to that voicemail. ‘Forgive me for rambling.’ Their talks were always pretty one-sided, huh? It didn’t seem to bother Grillby at all, but it bothered Sans. He wanted to hear his boyfriend ramble. He wanted to know what was going on inside the fire monster’s head. And, if he was being honest with himself, he just wanted to take a moment to bask in Grillby’s even baritone voice.

“What are you thinking about?” Sans asked.

Grillby hadn’t expected that question, looking up. “Us,” he answered simply, smiling a bit.

That wasn’t a satisfying answer! Sans pressed a little more. “What about us?”

“About the time we spend together.” Grillby met Sans’s gaze, eyes full of tenderness and beautiful firelight. “I have never felt greater happiness than I do by your side.”

Man, how did he manage to sound so romantic in so few words? Sans flustered, dramatically fanning his face. “I’m swooning. And you said I’m a sap? If I’m a sap,” he joked, “Then you’re the whole maple.”

Grillby chuckled. “So tonight’s joke theme is going to be trees, I take it?”

“You better be-leaf it.” Sans winked at him. “Hey, why do trees make the worst frienemies?” He waited for a beat, then said, “Because they’re the best at throwing shade!”

Sans sometimes wondered if Grillby would have laughed at that joke if it came from someone other than him. Whether or not he would, he was laughing now, and Sans wanted it to go on forever. Unfortunately, it didn’t. Grillby regained his composure and let go of Sans’s hand, picking up a menu. “While I hate to interrupt the pleasant-trees, we should figure out what we want to eat.”

“Heh, good one,” Sans mumbled with a smile as he picked up his menu. Aha! This could be the perfect opportunity! “You know,” he began, “I’ve been here for gigs, but I’ve never actually eaten here. All these fancy dishes sound super complicated. Can you explain some of this stuff to me?” Grillby was passionate about cooking, so surely he would have a few words on the matter. More than a few, hopefully.

Grillby glanced up over the top of his menu. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Uhh…” Good question! Sans hadn’t really thought about it. “I dunno. I’ll figure it out as we go?”

Grillby nodded and looked back down at the menu. “Alright.” He considered the dishes on the menu for a long moment. “What about the swiss steak? It’s a tenderized steak cooked in a pan with onions and tomato sauce. It appears in the recipe they use here they also add mushrooms. I can’t be sure, but as far as spices go I would guess- well. I’ve already explained the basics. Forgive me for rambling.”

“No no, you’re good! I…” Sans wanted to groan. Oh, come on! For a moment there, the skeleton had been able to get completely lost in Grillby’s voice, taking in every word. “I, um, I think that sounds good, but I want to hear about some other stuff first.” He scanned the menu, picking a random dish. “What’s, uh… beef stroganoff?”

Grillby tilted his head, locating the name on the menu with interest. “Oh, that’s another good dish. Stroganoff is made with small pieces of a marbled cut of steak, ideally sirloin or ribeye. The sauce is made with…” Grillby trailed off and adjusted his glasses. “Well, it’s a white sauce. It’s usually served over noodles.”

So. Freaking. Close! “Yeah, great,” Sans mumbled, looking for another food that might get the bartender talking. He’d seemed excited to share for a minute there, so why did he stop? It was so frustrating! “What about… how do you say this one? Cock-ow-vien?”

“Coq au Vin,” Grillby corrected gently. “It’s a chicken dish. The chicken is slow-baked with vegetables in a wine sauce.” He stopped there instead of going on as he had before. Darn. Operation Have-Grillby-Explain-The-Entire-Menu was a bust.

Sans ended up going with the ‘Coq au Vin’, mispronouncing it on purpose when he ordered so Grillby would give him that fond look of exasperation he loved so much. The skeleton chuckled and played innocent, shrugging. “What’s with that expression? I said it eggs-actly how you did!”

Grillby just rolled his eyes. “Sometimes I wonder why I ever chose to date a comedi-hen,” the bartender sighed, smiling a bit at Sans’s resulting snicker. “So how was your day?”

Sans shrugged. “Eh, pretty much the usual. Papyrus tried out that waffle recipe you gave him today. It was… interesting.” Usually, he would elaborate, but he had something else on his mind. Time for Plan B: Make Grillby the center of attention! “Hey, you used to live around here, didn’t you?” Sans asked, abruptly changing the topic. “What was that like? As a kid?” If there was one thing any monster could go on about, it was childhood memories. Right?

Apparently not. “It wasn’t significantly different from living in Snowdin,” Grillby answered simply, eyeing the water the waiter had brought him as if it were going to jump out of the glass. “Just warmer.”

And… that was it. That was all Grillby had to say about it. If anything, the bartender seemed to be talking even less than usual. Sans was starting to get a little frustrated. “I’m sure it was different. More monsters, the construction of the Core… C’mon, Grillbz, don’t be shy about it. What was it like?”

“Noisy.” Grillby pushed the glass of water a bit further from himself. “That’s part of why I moved to Snowdin.”

Sans picked up the distracting glass and threw it over his shoulder. “Well then tell me why else you moved to Snowdin. Lava to snow seems like a pretty big shift just to get away from the noise.”

Grillby was caught a little bit off-guard, glancing over Sans’s shoulder before meeting his eyes again. “W-well, I’m an adult. It’s natural that I would leave home at some point, haha…”

“Yeah, but don’t fire monster families usually stick close together?” Sans asked.

“That’s correct.” Grillby adjusted his glasses, gaze falling to the table. “But I chose to open a business in Snowdin.”

Well, now they were just going around in circles. It seemed no matter what Sans asked or what buttons he pushed, Grillby was going to give him short, distant answers. The skeleton was beyond frustrated. Was it so much for him to ask to hear his boyfriend talk for more than a few seconds at a time?! He sighed inwardly as an oblivious waiter came by with their food, setting it on the table and cheerily asking if they needed anything else before walking off. The food looked nice, but the conversation tonight was… well, kind of nonexistent.

An awkward silence settled over the table as the two monsters looked at their plates. Unsurprisingly, Sans ended up being the one who had to break the silence. “So… Looks good. Why don’t you eat some and tell me what you think?”

Grillby wordlessly picked up his fork, taking a bite of the steak he’d opted for. He noticed he was still being watched and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I-it’s good,” he mumbled. Did Sans realize his eyes had darkened? Was everything okay? The fire monster was starting to feel like he was being interrogated.

“Yeah? Care to elaborate on that?” Sans knew he was being pushy, but he didn’t know what else to do. He wanted to hear Grillby talk. He wanted to see him let down his guard and ramble for once. Just once, he wanted to be the one listening instead of the one doing all the talking. Was that too much to ask?

Yes. Yes, it was.

Grillby suddenly stood up, keeping his gaze on the wall, the floor, anywhere but Sans. “Excuse me,” he mumbled, “I need to step outside for a moment.” 

Sans sat up straight, finally snapping out of his thoughts long enough to pay attention to his boyfriend’s body language. Grillby was on the defensive, tension evident in each flame of his body. Before Sans could say anything to stop him, the fire monster had rushed off, walking past him and exiting the building. Well, shit.

“What the hell just happened?” Sans mumbled to himself, going over the events of the evening in his head. Yeah, maybe he’d been a bit pushy with Grillby, but it wasn’t worth getting that upset over, right?

“What was it like?”

“Noisy.”

“Don’t fire monster families usually stick close together?”

“That’s correct.”

“Ah, well, I’ve been talking long enough. Forgive my rambling.”

“Forgive me for rambling.”

...Grillby’s been talking plenty, Sans realized, eye sockets widening. He’s been telling me he’s uncomfortable all evening. I just wasn’t listening.

Grillby sat against the wall outside of MTT Resort, sighing as he took off his glasses and hung his head. He felt so embarrassed. He just couldn’t figure out what he had been doing wrong, and if Sans had kept questioning him he was sure he was going to cry or yell or- or something unpleasant. It had been weird when Sans started asking about the menu as if he couldn’t read, but Sans was weird like that sometimes. It went from weird to uncomfortable when the skeleton started asking personal questions, practically demanding answers. The bartender wanted to answer them. It wasn’t fair that Grillby knew so much about Sans’s personal life and Sans knew so little of Grillby’s, but…

...well. The fire monster had his reasons for not talking about it on what was supposed to be a romantic date.

People talked to people. Grillby knew this. His patrons at the bar were always making small talk and rambling and telling their stories, and that was a good thing. That was how people got to know others and become friends. On more than one occasion, he’d find himself listening to a conversation and thinking of just the story to tell or just the comment to add.

On more than one occasion, he felt a hand on the back of his neck, shoving him down and reminding him that children were seen and not heard. Even as an adult, that inclination to only say what needed to be said and to say it as concisely as possible stayed stubbornly in the back of his throat, choking any stray chatter that might make trouble for him.

People talked to people. Grillby knew this.

It was just… hard, sometimes.

“Takeout for Gr- Grail-bee? Is there a Grail-bee here?”

Grillby put his glasses back on, looking up. Sans stood over him with a plastic takeout bag, the skeleton looking sheepish as he offered a smile. “Hey there, firefly. You okay?”

“I’m alright,” Grillby mumbled, moving to get up. Sans stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, sitting next to the fire monster instead. Grillby relaxed back against the wall, looking at the bag and immediately feeling guilty. “I’m sorry. I-” Grillby’s voice cracked and he took a deep breath, choking back the tears he’d been trying to avoid in the restaurant. “I ruined dinner, didn’t I?”

“No, no, Grillbz,” Sans quickly reassured, turning towards Grillby and putting a hand on his shoulder. “You didn’t ruin anything. C’mon, don’t cry- come here, it’s okay, I’m sorry.” He pulled Grillby into a hug, rubbing his back. “Shh, I’m sorry. I made you real uncomfy back there, and that’s on me. I should’ve been paying more attention.”

Grillby wrapped his arms around Sans, taking deep breaths. “Sans,” he finally mumbled, “I understand that you are curious about me and my background, but why were you so… insistent, tonight?”

“Weeellll…” Sans rubbed the back of his neck. “I honestly didn’t care about the question itself so much as I… wanted to get you to… ramble? You know, it sounds really dumb out loud, heheh…”

Grillby took a moment to process that, pulling away after a moment. “You wanted me to ramble?”

Sans chuckled nervously. “Yeah, I mean, I… I-i like the sound of your voice? It’s, um, calming.”

“It’s calming,” Grillby echoed, dumbfounded. All of that stress, just so Sans could listen to him talk for a few minutes.

Sans braced himself for the worst as Grillby lapsed into silence once again. He was going to be pissed, wasn’t he? “Look, I really am sorry, Grillbz. I don’t know what I was thinking, I just-”

Sans was cut off by a quiet snort of laughter. Grillby was… chuckling? Not just chuckling, he was laughing. He started to laugh and then couldn’t stop, resting his head on Sans’s shoulder as the fire of his hair danced with mirth. Needless to say, the skeleton was very confused. “So… Am I missing the punchline here or something?”

Grillby sat up, smiling at Sans with that fond, exasperated look again. “Sans, you numbskull… Why didn’t you just ask me to read you a book?”

Oh. Oh yeah. That probably would’ve been the easiest way to do it. 

Sans groaned and put a hand to his skull, sending Grillby into another fit of laughter at the skeleton’s expense. Sans figured he deserved it, after all the pressure he’d put on Grillby that evening. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I’m guessing this means you forgive me?”

Grillby calmed down, smiling at Sans before planting a kiss on the top of his skull. “Yes,” he said softly, “I forgive you, bonehead.”

“Cool,” Sans chuckled. “Sooooo… If I were to ask you to take me home with you and read to me…”

“The answer would be yes,” Grillby said with a small smile, standing up and offering Sans a hand. “I’ll even let you pick the book. But first, you have to go for a walk with me. We can take a shortcut once we reach Waterfall, not a moment sooner.”

Sans took Grillby’s hand and stood, opting to hold his hand as they walked instead of letting go. “Wow, that’s sweet, Grillbz. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have a crush on me.”

Grillby rolled his eyes fondly. “Good thing we both know better.”

The two fell into a comfortable silence, walking side-by-side through Hotland. Grillby looked around himself as they did, smiling softly. Usually, Sans would be the one to break the silence, if it needed to be broken. Well, it had already been a fairly unusual evening, hadn’t it?

“I used to walk to school down this road,” Grillby suddenly commented, smiling fondly at the memory. “My brother Cole always walked with me, just in case something happened. Of course, the only time something did happen, he was at home sick and I was walking to school alone.”

“Oh?” Sans looked up at him, smiling brightly. Was he dreaming? Or was this really happening? “What happened?”

“Well,” Grillby began, “They had just started construction on a new steam puzzle nearby…”

Another day, Sans would sit down with Grillby and ask him why he moved to Snowdin. Another day, Grillby would be ready to tell him everything. For that evening, though, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was which book Sans would choose and how many pages Grillby could get through before they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

Thanks for reading! If you like this, consider reblogging/leaving a comment telling me your favorite part! If you want to send me a prompt, my ask box is open! I hope you liked this!

[berryscaryskies]

I love Shrew so Much. She's just a lil cottage core lesbian out here working the fields and tending to her chickens, with her cute writer wife Christie.

-I just called her Shrew on Luciano's post, but I like to think that Shrew was a nickname Justine gave her when she was little. Her birth name Also started with an L, as is the tradition Luciano tried to implement. But it didn't work. She just never felt super attached to it and then when she moved away and shunned vampire culture she just kinda... let go of that name too and officially and legally switched to Shrew because that was always way more her anyways. -For someone who doesn't like being a vampire and wishes she wasn't one she put in a LOT of effort and training into it so that she could fully master her thirst and eventually be capable of entering the sunlight. The stronger she became the more drawbacks she wound up with though, obviously. So she can't really eat human food without getting sick and is also constantly sad. It's pretty pathetic, especially since she Loves cooking. At the very least she can still cook for others and her wife and children all love it. -Okay so funny enough before Shrew met Christie, I'd actually really wanted her to get with Mik'la. Shrew already found her Extremely Attractive and they got along really well really fast! But Mik'la just wasn't picking up the vibes Shrew was putting down. She literally invited Shrew to the romance festival and then shot down all of Shrew's attempts at flirting. Shame. The reason I'd wanted her to get with the alien is cuz they met while Mik'la was in her human disguise and i just thought it'd be SO funny if neither of them knew the other was an occult despite having a whole life and family together. Alas, guess it wasn't meant to be. The two wound up discovering each other's secrets and decided to just stay friends. Mik'la is really the only person in Shrew's life that knows she's a vampire and what all she left behind. -That same Romance Festival is where Shrew met Christie though! And okay, so I have a bunch of like cc traits I guess. And Christie has two, Cute and Tender and oh I love her. At first I'd wanted to include a yellow streak in her hair as like homage to how when they first met Christie had some random cc accessory on that was glitching into her hair lol. They hit it off SO fast, even more so than with Mik'la and well Christie is just a normal human. Who I like to imagine is a bit of a romantic and oblivious so just doesn’t notice some funky things about Shrew and eventually she gets so accustomed to those traits she just... forgets to question it. She's sweet though, and I like to think she does sort of catch on that Shrew might not be human, but thinks she's actually some kind of alien like Mik'la or even a Fae creature of some sort. I mean Shrew spends like all of her time outside talking to her garden plants or caring for her chickens. -I love the idea that all the lil plants in her hair aren't like... diegetic? Like if she were a real person she wouldn't literally have those flowers all over her all the time, they're just a fun visual representation of her mood and personality. -Currently Shrew and Christie have had two kids! I'd only planned on having 1 kid, but then Shrew got pregnant with a 2nd which was odd cuz I don't Remember picking Try for Baby and i don't have risky woohoo on or anything like that. Nonetheless we love lil baby Terra too. Aeris though is going to be the gen 4 heir.

[tsunflowers]

this is the sewer freak romance novel we have all been waiting for but that I will never actually write

Ok so the setting is in what used to be America in the aftermath of what was probably a nuclear war but no one ever goes into it and they just call it The Blight. Humanity rode it out by living in underground bunkers but within living memory they’ve finally been able to build habitat bubbles on the surface and fill them with breathable air so they can at least see sun again. There are several bunkers which maintained digital contact the entire time and while they were underground they built tunnels to each other so they could trade but they’ve had to seal off the tunnels and now you have to travel the blighted landscape to reach other habitats. Bc years back a bunch of people were like “we’re not waiting for your pussy habitat bubbles we can hack it on the surface right now” so they went out and got irradiated and the bunker people wouldn’t let them back in. So they started living in the tunnels and became sewer freaks. The sewer freaks are known to eat people and everyone is convinced they’re just biding their time until they can storm the bunkers and take over the habitats so they have to take the overland path even though it’s objectively more dangerous. The habitats are largely self-sufficient but there are some specialty parts that can only be produced in one habitat… and they just ran out. Enter our heroine

She’s named Ticonderoga bc lots of people are named after silly things from the old world but she goes by Ty. She has pcos or another condition that makes it very unlikely that she’ll ever be able to give birth which makes her uniquely expendable among the young women of the habitat. There’s this huge push in the community to expand the population now that they have the habitat bubbles but she knows she can’t be a part of that and people actually warn the boys her age away from her bc she won’t be able to have kids. Bc in a closed society like this everyone’s medical status is everyone’s business. This combined with the fact that she doesn’t have a job lined up for when she turns 18 bc her mentor died and The Council silently got rid of the job completely means that she’s selected to join the expedition to the other habitat. Btw the job is the storage and maintenance of physical artifacts and documents from the habitats history and from before The Blight. Everyone else has relied on technology for so long that they’ve forgotten the value of Real items and they’re like “didn’t we digitize that ages ago? who give a shit” but ty is Retro and she knows that holding something in your hands gives it a totally different feeling. She also likes to draw by hand. I kind of want her mentor to be a cool lesbian but she does die. Wait I had a great idea I’ll get back to this later

The rest of the expedition team is like older guys who’ve done this before and they’re kind of hazing her and telling her scary stories about sewer freaks. The general vibe is like “if you can’t keep up why are you even here :/" and she’s like it’s not like I asked to be here fuckers. But she’s actually kind of enjoying it in a weird way bc there are all these mutant plants that she’s never seen records of before bc the habitat bubble people ignore the outside world as much as possible. One morning while the guys are breaking camp (she tried to help at first but they were like “don’t chip a fingernail girlie”) she sits down to sketch a mutant flower. Which is hard bc she’s in a hazmat suit but she wants to record it somehow. And when she looks up she realizes the guys left without her. It’s not like they left her for dead bc she has a gps and radio communication. She could call them up and be like “hey fuck you guys.” But it was seriously a dick move and she’s really upset about it. She turns off her comms to kind of process and figure out what to do to catch up/how she’s going to confront them when she does and then suddenly….:.. a sewer monster appears on the surface!!!

We get like two full pages describing the sewer freak’s physicality at this point so as a reader you’re like ok she seriously wants to get hot and heavy with this sewer monster. He has, you know, smooth translucent skin and huge dark eyes and delicate long-fingered hands and he might be bioluminescent although she probably can’t tell that during the day. And he is definitely like cut also. He is one ripped sewer freak

Ty has this emergency signal she’s supposed to set off if she’s separated from the group and something happens to her but she’s not exactly in the mood to get rescued by a bunch of guys who just ditched her for fun. And besides her analytical brain is whirring at the chance to see and interact with a real sewer freak. So she tries to greet him. They have some trouble interacting bc sewerspeak (the language of the sewer freaks) diverged from English some time ago but they manage to communicate that he thought she was hurt but it’s only her feelings that are hurt. Btw sewer people can sense radio waves or some shit so he got concerned about her when he noticed hers cut off bc he knows habitat people always have radios on. So he thought maybe her suit stopped working. He acts like he’s gonna leave and she’s like “no wait!!” bc she wants to make a tangible connection with him bc that’s her thing. So she gets him to stay long enough for her to sketch him. He’s clearly super impressed by the sketch so she hands it to him and he indicates that he wants to borrow her pencil. He adds his own sketch on the corner of the page, a stylized drawing of the flower she was just drawing. She’s like “oh you draw too?” but he points to the flower drawing and then to himself and she understands that it’s a glyph representing him and he’s named after the flower. (This means the habitat people are named after relics from the old world while sewer people are named after things from the current world. Do you get it) They trade names and then he leaves. She’s like wow! Maybe everything everyone said about sewer freaks was wrong, bc clearly some of them are kind of sexy and intriguing. So she heads off to meet up with her party with a spring in her step. The party actually felt guilty and turned around for her bc they saw her gps signal didn’t move at all and she disappeared from comms but when they see her they’re like wtf why is she is such a good mood?? but something tells her she should not brag to them about her freak encounter so she pretends she encountered mutant wildlife and scared it off and they’re a little bit impressed

I just realized if they’re so paranoid and their technology’s so good they could probably invent some vehicles to go between habitats so they wouldn’t have to walk it. Pretend I have an explanation for that one

She gets to the habitat with the group. It has the exact same layout as her home but she can’t stop noticing all the things that are subtly different. They have different slang, and the food they grow and cook is different bc of the backgrounds of the people in this one, and stuff. Also the pregnancy thing is probably more intense compared to her home. Like in her habitat there’s social pressure but here it’s a civic duty. She sees a lot of really young moms and people who clearly don’t want children. She realizes that her infertility actually gives her more choice and autonomy than most women in her society and it’s an uncomfortable realization. Can I have uhhh, unsubtle grappling with conflicting feelings about motherhood as a prerequisite for adulthood using a sci-fi setting for 600, Alex?

Ty wants to get Out Of There and maybe see that spicy little sewer freak on the return trip but there are all these protocols and rituals they have to observe. They have to formally trade. They have to spend the night. They have to accept a meal and travel provisions. Since I guess this is the shitty evangelical Christian habitat the meal is probably like, unseasoned chicken and green bean casserole or something

Idk if Ty has any friends back in her home habitat. I kind of want her to have a gay guy friend who shares her reproduction related struggles bc he’s like “can I live openly as a gay man knowing that people will judge me for not Doing My Duty? even if I go to the medical center and donate sperm am I comfortable fathering children I will never actually be a father to?” so in that way her mentor could be a mentor to him as well since she’s an example of an adult lesbian in their society, and maybe that’s how they met. So she’s also like "man I wanna get back home and hang out with my bff again"

when shes home her parents are like omg we were so worried about you out in the Blighted landscape. while you were gone The Council gave us some of your mentor's stuff that she wanted you to have. and it's like a very tender handwritten note about how much she meant to her mentor that makes her cry and also some blueprints of the now-sealed tunnel opening?? basically her mentor left a coded message telling her to go down to the tunnel opening. she and her bff figure it out together and he's like Uhhh I dont want to go down to the tunnel with the sewer freaks??? but she tells him she met a sewer freak and not only did he not eat her he was smokin hot. if the sewer freaks are like cave dwellers they probably shouldn't have hair but I can't. I need them to have hair. sorry it's not Scientifically Accurate. so anyway she's like "listen it's not like we're going into the tunnels. we're just going Next to them. it's fine"

so they sneak down into the tunnels. it's kind of sad down there. ty's been down there before to cross-reference documents and just to see where her ancestors lived but it's totally different to be down there with just one other person and confront the reality of living in cramped quarters underground. kind of makes her empathize with the sewer freaks as well. when they get to the location the mentor marked they realize that there's a sealed hatch with a broken lock and inside it are mysterious items that were deposited by the sewer freaks! their mentor must have been in contact with the sewer freaks all along and she knew they weren't evil monsters! some weird shit she said starts to make a lot more sense. if ty kept the drawing she puts it in the hatch to try to make contact and if she gave it to him she sees it in the hatch as an attempt at contact

so ty and the sexy sewer guy strike up a gift cache based friendship. they don't meet in person but every time she manages to sneak away to the tunnel he's taken her gift and left something new. she's having to train in a new job that she's not that interested in but knowing that she'll have sewer presents makes her everyday life exciting. this goes on for a while and then one day she receives a drawing of a person crawling through the hatch and she's like omg. I could crawl through the hatch. there's also a drawing of a sunrise so she's like does that mean I should do it at sunrise...? will he be there....? and she decides to fucking go for it. her friend stays behind bc he's scared and also she needs him to cover for her but she has a radio. she wiggles through the hatch as early as possible in the morning and who is waiting for her but the handsome sewer freak!!

he brought a light bc he knows habitat people need them but he personally can see in the dark. she sees his bioluminescence for the first time and is like Wow.... and on his side he’s like amazed and totally hot for her once he sees her out of the hazmat suit bc he wasn’t 100% sure she was human until then. All the adults say habitat people are like humans under the suits but he had never seen one in real life so in the back of his mind he kind of doubted it. Both sides have the thing where they’re like “we’re the only People.” But actually he knew she was a People the moment she drew for him bc spontaneously creating art and then freely giving it away is such a uniquely human gesture

he takes her down through the tunnels and she sees that they've been decorated and added to and the sewer people have a whole civilization down there. they can also go onto the surface freely but they get sunburned real fast so they try to limit it. but the tunnels are now dotted with surface exits and that's how he seemed to appear and disappear when she was on the surface. they just kind of explore for a while bc she's so curious but he clearly wants to lead her somewhere. they get to a large but cozy room full of bioluminescent moss and mushrooms and a ton of sewer freaks just hanging out and who is there but... her dead mentor?!

It turns out The Council actually tried to kill her mentor for being pro-freak!!! They were like “see how much you like those sewer freaks when they’re eating you!” and left her for dead in the tunnels. but since she was friends with the freaks they did not eat her, they took her in and healed her using sewer freak blood and now she has some powers and she’s married to a lady sewer freak

The eating people thing IS true but listen. It’s hard to get protein as a sewer freak ok?? So they’ve been practicing endocannibalism all along (eating the dead members of their community). And they’ve eaten some habitat people who they killed in self defense, and maybe way back in the first few generations of sewer people they did kill and eat habitat people for no reason. But they don’t do that anymore and they feel really bad about. Actually they don’t even do endocannibalism anymore bc they raise cave fish and hunt surface animals but it’s ceremonial

so ty is like whoa i can't believe it, but I do believe it, and her mentor is like "you can't tell the habitat people. they're not ready to accept it. but you can change that. your generation needs to be open minded and accept the new earth and the new people and I think that you are a special girl and if anyone can change minds you can" and she returns to the habitat bubble with the gears in her mind turning over and over wondering how she can possibly accomplish this mission...

I said she would my fair lady the sewer freak but maybe thats book two. and I decided while writing this that the sewer freaks do have their own culture so it's not like he needs to be taught to be human. but I still want her to dress him up in normal clothes and take him home to her parents