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tuncayacelik · 8 months

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thread count: 3 | drafted: 3 | posted: 0/3 | replies: thursday

The Basics ~

name: tuncay ‘cay’ aslan çelik

dob: august 21st, 1987

sun&moon: leo&cancer

occupation: interior architect / celik design CEO

birthplace: adana, turkey

legal residence: east haven, vermont

gender identity: cisgender

pronouns: he/him

orientation: bisexual / biromantic

status: openly married

family: mehmet çelik (father), sevda çelik (mother), amman ulusoy (ex-partner - deceased), tbd çelik (husband), mehtap çelik (daughter - 12), ayah çelik (daughter - 3), minnoş (german shepherd).

Possible Connections~

business partners ~ while his best friend is his main business partner, Tuncay likes to dip his toes into promising adventures in many areas of the business world. He mainly focuses on architecture but enjoys the idea of providing affordable and sustainable housing to people. Your character could be a fellow architect, they could be currently working together on a build, they could work for or with him in any capacity. Perhaps, they only know of each other in the business world.

friends ~ Tuncay is career focused and likes to surround himself with like-minded people but he also loves meeting people with different perspectives and opinions than he has. He tends to listen more than speak and grows protective over the people that he harbours fondness for. Most of his friendships have been surface level up until this point in his life, whether they are old friends or new budding ones, your character may find it difficult to delve deeper into a friendship with him or very easy depending on the situation.

childhood friends

ex-partners / current partners

neighbours

pet-sitters / walkers

live-in nanny

assistant

Personality ~

positive traits: driven, philanthropic, kind, respectful, honest, family oriented, open-minded, critical, quick witted, playful.

negative traits: apathetic, blunt, sarcastic, noncommittal, over-protective, judgemental, critical, reckless, closed off, difficult, aggressive.

likes: learning, traveling, reading, music, exercise, health and nutrition, psychology, language, working, dark chocolate.

dislikes: disrespect (towards himself and others), feeling suffocated, itchy fabric, boredom, slow movement, small spaces, dull knives, disorganization, sleep.

hobbies: cooking, writing, pottery, volunteering, drawing, painting.

The biography ~

tw: transmissible disease (hiv), medical issues, partner death, brief mentions of internalized homophobia/toxic masculinity, fertility issues, infidelity, pregnancy/surrogacy, PTSD, Grief, and abandonment issues.

Affluence by default was the expectation for the first-born and only son of Mehmet and Sevda Çelik, a power couple of the Turkish high society. Mehmet, the heir of a chain of international hotels and Sevda, a fierce fashion designer held preconceived notions about the little boy who had changed their eternity of fertility issues. For a while after his birth, these preconceived notions were their reality, however, the undertone of Sevda’s concern for her son’s late blooming clouded some of the joy that she felt in being a mother. Tuncay didn’t crawl until 10 months, couldn’t stand for long periods of time until 22 months, and when he finally walked, his gait was wobbly and abnormal. Physicians assured them that their son was perfectly healthy, that he was simply a strong-willed boy who didn’t want to follow traditional standards.

It was late in the afternoon when he was three that things went awry. He had gone to bed early, had slept through the night and into the early hours of the morning but he was difficult to wake, lethargic, his fever so high that after refusing to eat his breakfast, he had start convulsing in the middle of the garden, attended to by one of the landscapers. It was at this moment that all of Sevda’s worries became reality. Her healthy baby boy was reduced to nothing, a consistent patient of the pediatric ward for two more years before her own medical emergency made them understand exactly what was going on with her child.

She had passed HIV to her son unknowingly.

Although putting a name to the reason that her son had gotten so sick in a rapid manner was a relief, the guilt that she felt for being the cause of it made it difficult for her to truly enjoy her son’s health when it finally came. After a couple of years of medication therapy and when Tuncay was old enough to understand his condition, Sevda was happy to learn that Tuncay, instead of hating her, started to open up to her more. They became closer than ever, made a routine of their medical upkeep, and in his teenage years, didn’t quite fall out as often as most teenagers and their parents did.

Moving abroad to Germany for university was harder than he thought. Although he saw his parents more often than most kids, being away from his parents affected him more than he supposed it affected his parents. As difficult as the change in culture, language, and society was, he found it fun and interesting and studying made it easy. What wasn’t easy, however, was meeting Amman Ulusoy, a Turkish-born student from Canada. Their ideas clashed, their cultural morals were vastly different, but their opinions on business, life, and art was where chemistry was born. Tuncay didn’t make it easy, his attitude toward his sexuality screamed internalized homophobia and Amman called him out every time that it came up.

He worked through it for years before he finally accepted him as a partner. By that time, they had spent so much time together that they decided not to wait - they got married in Canada, moved to Vancouver after graduation, and talked about children. Sevda was glad despite her apprehension, Mehmet became distant so as not to offend his son with his ignorance and even though he struggled, even though in the present day, he still made comments that made the architect internally cringe, his effort in acceptance was the most important thing for Tuncay.

Mehtap, their first daughter, was the consequence of a slight misalignment between Amman and Tuncay. His infidelity weighed heavily on him for a long time after Amman passed away from an accident on the scene of one of their new constructions. Mehtap’s mother decided that it would be best for their daughter to live with her father, her intention being that having an infant to focus on would help him through the grief that came with the loss of Amman and it worked for the most part; the only issue was the distraction of tending to his daughter kept the grief away.

He moved back to Istanbul very quickly afterward, hoping that being near his family would help ease some of the pain, he started treating life as if it was normal but once again, he used the distraction of building his own architecture company as a way to prolong dealing with the grief of losing his partner.

There was something about grief that made his art better.

He gained notoriety, his designs were admired, his opinions were sought after, and when an opportunity to take his work to the U.S came up, he decided that he was ready to face his demons head on; they had always talked about living in the mountains and raising their children there, whether those mountains were in Canada, Turkey, or anywhere else on the planet they felt drawn toward.

And as if the universe was playing with him, while designing the project that he'd been brought in specifically for - he met a man who saw his demons and still took his hand with the excuse that they would face all of them together. The unfortunate bit was that losing his first husband created a lot of problems for him; he'd grown over-protective, anxious, and when their daughter came into the picture, it got even worse.

#c: tuncay çelik #easthavenintro #ptsd tw #grief tw #death tw #illness tw #accident tw #injury tw

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let-them-read-fics · 3 years

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Requested By Anon "King" -- Cooking au, enemies to lovers, inspiration from Hell's Kitchen

Pairing: Lisa x Fem!Reader

AU: Chef (Lisa & Reader are chefs)

Word Count: ~ 5,904

Warnings / Misc. -- Bickering / Rivalry, Fluff, Suggestive Scene

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Helllloooo, peeps! I hope all of you are taking care of yourselves and having great days / nights, wherever you are :) Special thanks to this anon for being so sweet in their request -- I love cooking shows, too, so this was a fun one to write. Thank you for requesting! You're welcome in my inbox anytime ❤ Hope you guys enjoy this one :)

♡ Happy Reading ♡

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

"Three sirloins, dying on the pass!" You shout out to your fellow chefs, shaking your head in disapproval. Service has been running fairly smoothly tonight, but a recent influx of celebrities coming from a nearby award show is slowing things to a halt.

You give attention to the pans in front of you, stirring each of them in the pattern you've set and keeping a steady rhythm. Consistency is key, and you're one of the only chefs who hasn't lost focus yet.

The other? Lisa Manoban.

"Side dishes heading to the pass," she announces, setting the pans down for your head chef to plate and approve of. He does so without a second thought, and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

The cocky smirk on Lisa's lips soon falters, though, when he gives her a warning. "You were almost too late, Manoban. Speed things up. Y/N is keeping the pace set, and you need to follow suit."

Checkmate.

"Yes, chef," she nods, though you can tell she's annoyed. You snicker quietly, and thankfully the sounds of the kitchen conceal your little noise. If your manager were to hear you you'd surely get reprimanded, and Lisa doesn't deserve the satisfaction of seeing that.

She returns to her station across from you, briefly meeting your gaze as a competitive fire flashes in her eyes, ignited by the comment from your higher-up.

This is the routine that the two of you have settled into ever since you were hired five months ago. Both of you had applied for the same position, and you quickly worked your way up to where you are now. Every time you were promoted, she was never far behind. The tense nature of your relationship (if you'd even call it that) is rooted in who can put out the best tasting dishes and receive the most recognition and praise for their work. It's childish, but you'd be lying to say that part of you doesn't enjoy it.

Especially when you win.

Tonight is shaping up to be one of those nights, and your confidence builds with every compliment you receive. You don't let it go to your head, though; if anything, you use it as a reason to push yourself harder.

Lisa isn't discouraged in the slightest, and she produces some of her best work right alongside yours.

"Chef, table 15 has requested for the cooks who prepared their dishes to come out to their table. They want to thank them properly," the server informs your manager, cocking his head to the side to motion towards them.

After recognizing them as a pair of world-renowned fashion designers, he decides to sacrifice some of his best cooks' time on the line and grant their wishes.

"What dishes did they have?"

"Both ordered the sirloin and asparagus with potato purée, sir."

Your head shoots up at that, excited by the confirmation of what you had been hoping for. Your senior nods to the server, turning around at the pass to look at you.

"Y/N, Lisa; head out to greet our guests, please."

"Right away, sir."

"On it, chef."

Both of you inform your assistants of the time left on your respective components before following after the waiter. Lisa not-so-subtly elbows you in an attempt to walk in front of you, but you step on her foot to prevent her from doing so.

Pushing and shoving each other like schoolgirls until you're in line of sight of the customers, you follow the waiter up to their table. He leaves shortly after dropping you off.

"Good evening, ladies," you greet with a smile, watching as their faces light up.

Lisa steps forward and extends a hand to one of them, making a crimson blush rush to her cheeks. A new feeling blossoms in your chest at their interaction, and you don't know how to take it. Deciding to just move on, you ask about their meals.

"I hope dinner was everything you wanted it to be."

"Oh, absolutely. The sirloin was cooked perfectly. Which one of you is responsible for it?"

A proud smile forms on your lips at that, and you bow your head lightly. "Me, miss. I'm glad you enjoyed."

"I'll have to come back more often, then. Cute and skilled? Count me in." She smirks at you, eyes taking in the sight of you in your uniform as she shamelessly flirts. You blush under her gaze, but hide it with a smug smile of your own.

"We'd be lucky to have you back anytime."

You shoot a glance at the other girl as well, making sure to keep her feeling included. Lisa's eye roll goes unnoticed by you, as does the dejected look that threatens to show on her beautiful face.

"My favorite part was the side dishes. The sirloin was great, but that purée was delicious. And don't even get me started on the risotto from earlier," the other woman gushes, praising Lisa's work for the night. The Thai girl perks up at that, her confidence on its way to being fully restored.

"Ah, you're too kind." She attempts to sound humble, but you know the truth; she lives for this sort of thing. The rush of cooking and serving up dish after tasty dish is thrilling, but nothing compares to getting compliments from the customers.

"I'm just stating facts..." she leans forward in her chair, obviously eyeing Lisa's chest as she reads her name off of her chef coat, "...Lisa."

"Oh, yeah? How about I whip you up another batch, then? Any side you want." Your rival offers, a bruisingly sexy smile on her face as she gazes down at the woman. It isn't new for either of you to flirt with the customers and schmooze your way into their hearts (and wallets), but something in the way Lisa admires the diner makes you jealous.

Her eyes scan over the menu as if she's looking through the options again, but she turns back to bite her lip and toy with Lisa some more. "Are you on the menu?"

She chuckles at the line, clearly not expecting that; she should've, though; it's one of the most overused pick-ups that you've ever heard.

"I can be--"

Just as Lisa goes to lean closer to her, the waiter comes back. For some reason unknown to you, you release a breath of relief, thankful for the interruption.

"I hate to break this up, but our chefs are needed back in the kitchen." He informs, linking his arms behind his back respectfully.

"Ah, that's too bad. Maybe we'll stick around until service is over." Lisa's fan says, looking to her friend with a shrug of her shoulders in a silent request for her opinion.

"Maybe, if that's alright with you."

Your customer looks up at you with hopeful eyes, though she attempts to hide it to some degree; she's not as brazen as her counterpart.

"Of course, darling," you decide to play into it. "You're welcome to stay as long as you'd like. I do recommend getting some dessert, though; pass the time a little faster. I'll be making the sweetened soufflé, if you're interested."

"Sounds delicious; I'm sold." She smiles at you, looking you up and down one last time.

"Enjoy the rest of your evening, ladies." You nod, bidding both of them farewell as you turn to follow after the waiter. Lisa does the same, and you can feel her hot on your trail shortly after.

"Back to your stations, both of you," your executive chef says upon your arrival, as if you had other intentions.

"Yes, chef," both of you respond, heading back without a second thought.

After pushing out a few more main dishes, you're instructed to rotate positions as the desert course kicks off. Other chefs will handle the remaining entrées now and allow you the opportunity to take over with the sweets.

Once you've buttered and coated the soufflé dish with granulated sugar, you combine the appropriate ingredients in the bowl that rests on the countertop in front of you, making sure to keep an eye on the milk as it heats up on the stovetop. Once both tasks are completed, you stir some of the milk into the batter you made, tempering the mixture. After you're satisfied with the consistency of it, you add the rest of it back to the pot on the stove and carefully whisk the ingredients together.

As that mellows out, you beat the egg whites required for the dish and add in the different extracts that the recipe calls for. Before long, you've folded both components in with one another and the dessert is ready to be baked.

"Nice work, Y/N. Keep it up." Your head chef encourages, making pride swell in your chest again.

You continue on with that steady pace, and all of your soufflés come out as tasty as ever, receiving plenty of praise from your happy customers. Lisa works just as hard, though, and her toffee puddings are a major hit with the diners.

Two hours later, dinner service is finally over.

Lisa finishes cleaning up her station as she sneaks a glance over to you, feeling her heart beat a little faster at the way you push your hair out of your face. A few drops of condensation tumble their way down the bottle of water that you're drinking from, clearly exhausted and hot after working so hard for so long, and she bites her lip. You're too attractive for your own good, and Lisa reprimands herself for admiring you in such a way.

You're practically enemies, after all; constantly striving for better positions and more attention, it's a never-ending battle of who can come out on top. She loves the game, if she's honest; keeping you on your toes is one of her favorite pastimes, and the banter is always a plus.

Especially when it gets heated.

She loves the way your brow twitches and your lips press together when you're forced to bite your tongue and keep the bickering to a minimum. You're too mature to play into her games most of the time -- not wanting to piss your head chef off -- but sometimes she gets you to break and fire off another reply, not caring what he'll say.

She loves it. Nothing will ever compare to getting you riled up like that.

"How's my girlfriend doing out there?" Lisa asks the server with a smile, tilting her head forward to motion to the dining room.

"They're the only ones still here. I have to hand it to them; they're dedicated." He chuckles, clapping Lisa on the back as he passes her. "They've been talking about both of you all night." He concludes, looking between the two of you before retreating to the break room to change.

Lisa laughs at that, and you curse yourself under your breath for enjoying the sound.

"Come on, let's go see them before they storm the kitchen," she plays, winking at you as she pushes the swinging door open.

At The Table, A Few Minutes Later

"I saved you a bite," your customer says, smiling at you as she reaches for a spoon that hasn't been used yet. Her friend catches the uncertain look in your eye, and she decides to ease your fears.

"Don't worry, she didn't slobber all over it. She cut that piece out before she started eating earlier."

You nod, thankful for the clarification. The woman turns back to Lisa, satisfied with her good deed for the day, and the two begin flirting again.

After the woman in front of you scoops the tasty dessert up, she holds the spoon out in front of your lips. A knowing smile spreads across your cheeks, and you open your mouth for her to feed you.

She's cute, you must say. Her auburn hair falls across her shoulders in perfect waves, complementing the velvety color of her leather jacket wonderfully. A pattern of freckles runs across the bridge of her nose, and a single, deep-set dimple presses into the soft skin of her right cheek.

The sound of her laughter carries out across the room as you attempt to take the whole piece in one bite -- she offered way too much at once for a single bite, but you never back down from a challenge.

Lisa subconsciously grips the tablecloth a little tighter when she sees her put a finger to your lips, preventing the food from spilling out and making a mess everywhere. You giggle and chew it up, eventually managing to swallow it without getting choked. Your fingers wrap around the customer's wrist, gently pulling her hand away from your lips as you rub her tender skin.

The woman in front of Lisa sighs, clearly wanting attention.

"Sorry, what were you saying?" She shakes her head, willing her envy to go away so she can flirt some more.

"I was asking if you have plans tonight. You're probably tired from working, so I figured I could treat you to some R&R." Her tone drops lower than normal, and a suggestive look shines in her eyes as she gives Lisa another once-over.

"Hmm, sounds like just what the doctor ordered," she leans in a bit closer, egging the girl on. They don't call Lisa a playgirl for nothing.

"Your place or mine?" She whispers into her ear, sounding desperate to get the chef alone.

"M-"

Lisa's response is abruptly cut off by the sound of a muffled noise of surprise from you, and she looks across the table again to find the other customer's lips pressed against yours. Your shoulders relax after a second as you return the gesture, but you eventually pull away to put some distance between the two of you.

Fuming, now too jealous to think straight, Lisa unceremoniously stands from her seat and steps around the table to you. The fact that she was just a few minutes away from taking her customer home and doing much more than kissing is lost on her -- seeing you in such a position with the other woman sparked something in her.

"If you'll excuse us, my colleague and I have to get going." She announces to the women, gripping your arm to pull you up from your chair. Her hold is firm, and the way her fingertips dig into your forearm sends a chill down your spine.

"Don't wait up." She adds, dragging you behind herself as she slams the kitchen door open. She's much more bold now that the head chef has left for the night -- clearly she pays little mind to being loud or rough.

"What the hell, Lisa?" You bite back, attempting to shake free of her grip.

She only tightens it, saying, "Quiet, L/N."

After stepping out into the deserted hallway and ensuring that the coast is clear, Lisa opens the door to one of the utility closets and pushes you inside. You stumble a bit, feeling the unforgiving edge of one of the metal racks dig into your back as you collide with it.

"What is your problem?" You hiss, spurred on by the stinging sensation radiating across your back.

"You," she says, turning around to lock the door behind herself. Your brows furrow, but she's quick to explain.

"Out there kissing that customer, letting her put her hands all over you… it's pathetic."

You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief. "Pathetic? Look at yourself, for Christ's sake; two minutes later and you would've been screwing that girl in the back of an Uber."

She tuts at you, stalking closer. "Don't go telling lies now, Y/N/N. You know I would've taken her home on my motorcycle and then got her in bed."

You groan at her cockiness; it exudes from her in waves, irking you to no end. Sometimes you wonder if she was made to annoy you.

"Whatever, Lisa. I'm leaving," you shoulder check her on the way to the door, but she's quick to react. Before you can move to unlock it, she has your back up against the door and her hands on your hips, keeping you pinned there. Her lips are on yours in a flash, urgently working against them in a show of how eager she is for you.

You worked her up out there more than you realized, and she couldn't take it anymore.

You mumble against her mouth in shock, taking a second to decide what to do with your hands. Should you push her away, or pull her impossibly closer? The choice is made for you when she parts your legs with her thigh, sliding it between them and pulling your hips forward so that you brush against it.

A groan slips out of your mouth at the new sensation, though it's muffled against her lips. She smirks, letting go of your hips to reach around behind you and untie the apron that's secured around your waist. She praises you as you rut against her leg again, sliding her tongue across your bottom lip to ask for entrance as the material falls to the floor with a quiet noise of impact.

Her fingertips undo the buttons of your top with haste, and she helps you slide it off your arms. It remains pooled at your waist, still tucked into your pants.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," she whispers against your lips before pecking them one more time, leaving a trail of kisses down your jawline and towards your collarbone.

Asking for consent is sexy as hell; especially coming from the goddess in front of you.

You curtly nod, bringing your hands up to her back. Your nails drag along the material of her uniform, encouraging her.

"Not so vocal now, are we?" Lisa teases, tilting your head back to grant herself more access to the sensitive skin of your neck.��

"I can walk out this door right now, you know?" You say more than ask, the syllables mixing with moans as she leaves yet another darkening love bite on you.

"We both know that isn't true," she chuckles lowly, making you weak in the knees. You'll be damned to let go of your pride, though.

Gathering up all of the self control you possess, you shove her away and pull your shirt back over your arms, beginning to redo the buttons. You suppress the smirk begging to make itself visible when you notice the smug expression on her face fall. Smoothing the material out, you run a hand through your hair and readjust it before unlocking and opening the door.

The second your left foot makes it through the threshold, she's wrapping her arms around you and tugging you back in. A wave of relief washes over you at that -- you were praying she'd do exactly what she did. You hadn't imagined yourself making it down the hall, and you're not sure if you would've had the self restraint to do so.

"How the hell are you so stubborn?" She asks, letting you take over now. You drag over one of the folding chairs you spotted earlier, commanding her to sit in it with a mere glance.

"Letting you win isn't an option, Lis. Somebody has to wipe that stupid grin off your face and put you in your place; it might as well be me."

"How selfless," she holds her hand over her heart, face shining with mock proudness. "I'm touched."

"Shut up already," you laugh, straddling her waist as you sit on her lap. Her hands instinctively go to your thighs, running up and down them to get you going. She can feel your warmth through the material of your pants, and the feeling is intoxicating.

You cup her jaw and pull her closer, kissing her at a slower pace now. This one isn't as rough; it holds a whole different type of sensuality, and the occasional roll of her hips lets you know it's doing something to her, too.

"I've wanted this for so long," she says in between kisses, gently undoing the fasteners on your jeans.

"Really?"

"Really." She confirms, untucking your shirt now and running her hands up your back. The cold air of the room slides under the material, ghosting over your newly exposed skin to make goosebumps appear.

"I'm surprised I held out this long," she admits, remembering all of the times she's had to stop herself from making her feelings known.

You kiss her again before leaning back on her thighs and taking your coat and shirt off, left only in your bra. The lacey material begs to be touched, and Lisa traces the intricate patterns with her fingertips after receiving a nod from you.

"Jesus," you moan, feeling her other hand palm your ass as she keeps you steady on her lap.

"So beautiful," she sighs, admiring the way your cheeks have gotten flushed and how your chest rises and falls at a quicker pace now. Her hand guides the movements of your hips, and she can feel her own arousal spread to her thighs at the sight of you.

"Who's capable of doing this to you? Making you such a needy mess?" She asks, clearly wanting an ego boost, and she squeezes your breast a little harder when you take longer than she likes to answer.

"Y-you, Lisa."

"That's right, baby." She kisses you again, a silent action of approval. Your movements stutter as she moves her hand to the inside of your thigh, slipping past the material of your open jeans.

"Stop teasing already," you huff, resting your forehead against hers as you reach down to lead her hand closer to where you need her most.

"Fine, but under one condition," she quickly caves in, sliding the thin material of your panties to the side in order to appease you.

"Shit," you both say at the same time. In any other circumstance, you probably would've laughed at something like that, but now the atmosphere is entirely different.

Your slick coats her fingers, and she moans at the feeling of what she's done to you.

"What's your condition?" You husk out, pressing your hand to the door behind her to give yourself better leverage to rock against her.

"Come home with me after. I don't want to stop anytime soon." She kisses your jaw as she waits on your answer, feeling her warm breath fan out across your already heated skin.

"Deal. Now come here."

She meets you halfway, angling her head up to capture your lips in a searing kiss as she increases the intensity of her ministrations. The sound of the chair's legs squeaking against the floor with every combined roll of your bodies makes you smile, and soon the room is filled with filthy noises of pleasure from the both of you.

The Next Morning

The sound of your phone ringing abruptly pulls you from your dream, making you blindly reach for it. Not daring to expose your eyes to the harsh morning sunlight that's pushing its way past the curtains, you stretch your arm out until your fingers brush against the smooth surface of your screen.

You shield your eyes as you check the caller ID, only to nearly have a heart attack when you read it.

"Good morning, sir. I'm sorry for making you wait so long." You apologize, cringing at the fact that you almost missed a call from your manager. It was probably only one or two rings away from going unanswered.

"That's alright, Y/N," he says, sounding generous. He must be having a good day. "I'm calling to ask if you can come in. I have something I'd like to discuss with you."

Your heart drops at that, irrationally thinking he must've somehow caught you and Lisa at the restaurant last night without you knowing, but you try to remain calm.

"O-of course, sir. I'll be there in 30 minutes." You respond, already throwing the cover off yourself and moving to stand.

"Thank you, Y/N. See you soon."

He ends the call, and you try to decipher his tone. It was level and calm, holding no quality to tell you if he was angry or happy. You sigh, hoping it's nothing bad.

You stand up and stretch the remaining tension from your body, attempting to work out the kinks Lisa made in your muscles during your tiring night together. It was everything you'd ever hoped for, and your inability to walk properly is a testament to that.

You find a note waiting for you on the countertop in her bathroom, complete with a lipstick stain kissed onto it. You smile, picking it up.

Morning, beautiful

I had to leave early to take care of some business, but there's some toast waiting for you in the kitchen. It's all I had time to make.

Help yourself to anything else you want in there.

Xoxo, Lis

In an attempt to rid yourself of the annoyingly giddy feeling warming your heart, you take your clothes -- more specifically, the pajamas that Lisa gifted you -- off and step into the shower. The steam doesn't take long to fill the room, fogging up every surface in sight.

You look down at yourself, watching as suds trek their random paths down to your legs, and you see just how many marks Lisa really left. Your inner thighs are covered, as are your hips, neck, and abdomen, all painted in beautiful shades and designs. She was an animal, and you lived for every second of it.

Now that you think of it, though, you'll have to dedicate a good chunk of time to covering them up with makeup before you go to the restaurant. You vow to kill her if she makes you late.

At The Restaurant

Releasing one last, steadying breath, you knock on the door to your boss's office.

"Come in," he says, sounding pleasant.

When you walk in and find Lisa sitting in one of the chairs in front of his desk, you do a double take at her. She sports the same confused expression, but you hide your surprise and shut the door behind yourself before sitting in the seat beside her.

"Right," he starts, linking his fingers together authoritatively as he nods. "Now that you're both here, I'd like to discuss the latest promotion available."

Is he really going to make one of you watch while he hands the position to the other? That'll be torture -- especially if you lose. Having Lisa win like that would surely only make her teasing worse.

"You know we need strong leadership here, and I see those qualities in both of you. I'm willing to offer you both the position of sous chef, if you can agree to work together and continue keeping your standards high. If you get too busy bickering with one another, I'll be forced to choose. You're both talented, so don't make me do that."

Lisa looks over at you, and you smile, completely taken aback. To say you're surprised is an understatement.

"Thank you, sir." You say, snapping back to reality as you extend a hand for him to shake.

He smiles back, looking proudly between the two of you.

"You're welcome."

He shakes your hand before giving the same treatment to Lisa, making her look like an excited teenager with the way her cheeks pull back in a wide grin. After talking a bit longer and working out a few specifics, the two of you leave, allowing him to attend a phone conference in peace.

"Eee!" Lisa squeals the second you're out the door, picking you up in her arms to spin you around. You laugh at her sudden outburst, happy to have another sweet moment like this and break the tension that always seems to be swirling around the two of you.

"I'm gonna kick your ass during service tonight," she says, smirking evilly as she sets you back down.

"You wish. I'll wipe the floor with you."

"Oo, kinky. I think that's the only thing we didn't try last night," she teases, tapping her chin as if she's actually thinking about it, causing you to roll your eyes and blush.

"Shut up, Manoban. I'm sore as hell today, and I still haven't forgiven you yet."

"Aww, does my girl need some TLC? I can help you with that, you know."

You try not to think too far into the titles she's been giving you, but that one stands out for some reason. She likely doesn't mean anything deeper by it, but it doesn't stop you from pretending.

You're tired of the knowing look she's sending you, so you decide to do something about it.

Sneaking a glance around the two of you, you push her against the hallway wall and kiss her. You thread your fingers through her hair, pulling on the strands to give yourself more access to her mouth, just as you did last night. She enjoyed it then, and you're hoping she likes it just as much right now. Clearly, your plan works; as you pull away from her, you're rewarded with a view of her dilated pupils, blown wide as her arousal comes back without warning.

"That's cruel," she pouts, knowing full well you have no intention of finishing what you started.

"Think of it as retribution." You cheerily nod, ignoring the heat pooling in your stomach at the way she's eyeing you.

"See you tonight!" You blow her a kiss before walking away, hearing her frustrated sigh bounce off the walls.

Dinner Service

"Risotto to the pass, please!" You shout, practically begging for the line cook that you're now overseeing to do his job properly.

"I'm a minute out, chef."

You shake your head, but choose to ignore his incompetence for the time being. You're keeping things running smoothly, but they can easily be stalled by people like him.

You focus on plating the entrées of another table while you wait for him to finish, and Lisa slides over the side dish that you need to add. "Thank you," you say, totally in the zone.

"Welcome," she responds, equally as focused as you. It's definitely a quality that you admire about her; she's playful and fun, but she's serious in the kitchen. You'd clash and this whole arrangement would fail if she were any other way.

"Risotto approaching, chef."

"Finally," you clap, ready to approve of it and send it out. Thankfully it's cooked well, and the line chef is saved from your wrath -- at least for now.

"Service!"

Two waiters step forward following your call, and they load the large trays into their arms before heading to the dining room.

You get back to work on the next set of orders, reading the new tickets off to your cooks and listening for their confirmation of hearing you.

"Try this, Y/N. I think it's missing something." Lisa says, grabbing a plastic spoon to allow you to taste test the soup waiting to be sent out. She brings the utensil up to your lips and throws it away once you gather up the liquid.

"Basil. Tell Amanda it needs basil."

Lisa nods, listening to you for once without question. She barks the orders out to the young chef, and the girl fires off a couple apologies as she brings the missing ingredient over.

"Thank you, Amanda. Get back to work, I know you can do it," you encourage her, not wanting to crush her spirits too badly in the first week of her job. She's a newbie, and you remember being in her shoes once.

Pierre, your host and main waiter, approaches the side of the pass that borders the dining room. You raise an eyebrow at his sudden presence, wordlessly asking what he needs as you stir some pasta in the pot in front of you, twisting it around your tongs to plate it.

"We have a guest requesting to see Lisa."

Confusion flashes across your face for a moment, but then it sinks in. Your eyes land on the woman from last night, finding her standing near the front door with her arms crossed and a smirk on her lips. She waves to Lisa in greeting, and you bite your tongue to stop yourself from saying something out of line.

You can feel Lisa's gaze trail over to you, but you don't look up.

"Tell her I'll be there in a minute." She orders Pierre, quickly thanking him as he heads off to do as she asked.

She wants to say something to you, but she doesn't know exactly what. Her feelings are still jumbled from last night, and she's not too entirely certain on where you stand with one another.

You subconsciously hold your breath as she approaches the girl, getting pulled in for a tight hug as if she's known her for years. Was that the "business" she had to take care of this morning? Who knows.

They continue their conversation for a few minutes, and you distract yourself by focusing on pumping more food out.

"Good job, team. Keep it up," you praise them, happy to see everyone working well together. They thank you for the encouragement, and promise to keep their momentum going.

A few minutes later, as things begin to get a little hectic, you sneak a glance up at Lisa. She locks eyes with you, as if on cue.

You can see her trying to politely leave, but the woman puts a hand on her forearm, stepping forward to flirtily whisper something in her ear. She eventually manages to get her to back away, and she points at the door. The customer glares at you over Lisa's shoulder, leaving you confused but delighted. Seeing her unhappy is a treat in and of itself.

As Lisa turns around and starts to walk back to the kitchen, you quickly jump back into action, narrowly avoiding getting caught staring. Lisa has a sneaking suspicion that that's exactly what you were doing, but she doesn't speak on it as she rounds the corner of the pass.

"Well?" You nonchalantly ask, glancing at her in your peripheral. Your hands arrange a new set of plates on the tray between you, and her fingers brush against yours as she adds a side salad to it.

"She wanted to finish what she started last night." She informs, pausing before she finishes telling you what happened in order to build suspense and torture you some more.

"I said no, of course," she assures you, smiling when she notices you sigh in relief. "I've got my eye on someone else now."

"Yeah?" You ask, turning to look at her with a soft smile. Her change in demeanor makes your heart flutter.

"Yeah. Amanda's looking pretty good, isn't she?"

"Hey!" You shout, a little too loud for your own good, making Lisa laugh. You apologize to the guests and staff before punching Lisa in the arm, ready to get revenge later.

"Kidding, babe. You think I'd let you go after last night?" She cocks her head to the side, sounding genuinely confused that you could think such a thing. "Not a chance," she smiles, leaning to the side to kiss your cheek and bump your hip with her own.

Who would've thought you could end up here with her?

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hellyeahbakubby · 3 years

Text

“fem s/o with speech impediment" | shigaraki & dabi

♔ - headcanons of shigaraki and dabi with a female s/o who has a speech impediment.

pairings - shigaraki tomura x fem!reader, dabi x fem!reader

a/n: thank you for requesting @occasionalgarbage ! I hope you enjoy this and please lemme know if there’s anything awfully wrong with this :)

masterlist ▬

dabi ▪︎ ✝️

Despite being a murderous villain Dabi is extremely accepting of people’s differences,

He doesn’t bat an eye when you stammer, and despite his impulsive nature he hasn’t an ounce of impatience when it comes to you. He’s decidedly respectful to you, which to the rest of the League is more unexpected than Twice training his sanity. To be honest Shigaraki is almost insulted by how pleasant Dabi is to you in comparison to how he treats his boss.

Dabi doesn’t care enough to know what the League thinks though. He’s more focused on you. This pretty girl who’s willingly hanging around with the likes of him. You’re cute and you can actually stand being close to him without being repulsed by his appearance (he nearly thinks you find him kinda hot which only fuels the smug bastard’s ego),

He also feels lowkey protective of you. It’s no secret that in the past you’ve been the punchline of mockery and jokes and the thought of it quite literally makes his blood boil. If he so much as heard a whisper from anyone ridiculing you they’d be a crisp instantly. While he’s known to find glee in the deaths of his victims, Dabi will take a much higher sense of satisfaction from murdering anyone who dares to mock you.

Given he hasn’t felt that strong about anybody before he knows almost instantly that he likes you. He also knows that he’s not one to shy away from things, and his typically straight-forward mindset doesn’t fail him here.

If he’s honest with himself he’s been flirting with you since you met. Any chance he gets it’s a sly comment purred into your ear or a hand pinching your waist lighting. And given that you haven’t yet told him to “back off” you aren’t opposed to his advances.

In fact if he remembers correctly you’d been engaging with the same energy, except you were much more subtle about it, snorting at his jokes and holding his eye contact as well as complimenting his villainous efforts. If he didn’t know better he’d have thought you were sucking up to him.

But now he knows that there’s mutual feelings and while he isn’t a big ‘feelings’ kinda guy this is something entirely different. But he does know better and he also knows better than to just sit around waiting for you to confess your overwhelming adoration of him.

Now, as already discussed, Dabi shows the human decency of respecting you but there’s one occasion where he takes advantage of your impediment. He’s kinda a terrible person and although relationships are built on trust and respect and he does respect you, he takes the smallest amount of glee in that you won’t be able to interrupt him like he’ll interrupt you.

You’re probably in the middle of a conversation with Toga or Twice, talking about whatever, and while Dabi would normally wait for you to finish instead of interrupting, that time he didn’t. With your mouth open as you struggle to find the right words, he slid onto the couch next to you, an arm swung around your shoulders.

“How ‘bout we stop playing this little game of ours?”

Now you really have no words. He could see it in your eyes that you had no idea what he’s talking about. He’s almost disheartened by that but his overconfident ass and overt ego won’t let that happen.

“Oh, c’mon doll. You and I. We’re a match made in hell.”

You blink a couple of times before you grin at him. You can be your ass he kisses you right then and there.

shigaraki tomura ▪︎ 🌌

When he first meets you he probably has no idea that a speech impediment is something a person can have, in my eyes he just doesn’t know much about, or considers what goes on in the other 7.8 billion people’s lives unless they directly affect him and his actions. Because of this I’m sorry to say but he’s not going to be extremely sympathetic or understanding.

Almost certainly tells you to “spit it out” the first time he has a conversation with you. He just doesn’t understand why you don’t just make your point. Given that he’s definitely the most ignorant out of the League, Compress or Spinner probably inform him afterwards that you have a speech impediment and that you’re not just scared of him.

The next time he engages with you it’s almost like he’s a different person. Although his patience isn’t exactly his greatest virtue, out of the few he possesses, he tries incredibly hard to be patient with you and (probably out of Kurogiri’s wishes) he begrudgingly offers you a “my… apologies… for the last time we interacted.” It’s almost a sneer but something about the fact that he said any semblance of an apology makes you think it’s not lacking in sincerity.

The man may be a villain and may not be overly fond of his fellow humans as a collective but he’s loyal to his allies, so long as they obey him. The League is his ‘family’, or the closest thing to it, and his pride is not too big to allow a measly little apology to damage it. Plus he was only apologising to you, it wasn’t like Dabi or Toga were the ones on the receiving end.

To tell you the truth, ever since your arrival in his field of vision he’s found something fascinating about you. It might be the fact that instead of being terrified you’ll face some grizzly death at the League’s hands, you’re more nervous that it’s members won’t like you. It might also be that for the first time in his life he actually likes looking at someone.

He almost certainly doesn’t really comprehend that there’s a term for what he’s feeling but you can be sure that he’s going to act on it. When it comes to planning a big mission or the like, Tomura is calculating beyond belief but when it comes down to his ‘personal’ life (if you could call it that) he’s as impulsive as they come.

He might not know exactly what he’s doing but you can bet your ass that he’s gonna flirt with you like crazy. Except instead of trying to make you like him he borders on trying to make you squirm. (He has no idea about how to make you like him back mostly because he hasn’t realised he likes you)

“Hiya there, princess.”

The pet names are the first thing you notice. The first time he addressed you as ‘sweetheart’ you blushed so hard it took half an hour for your face to cool down. Although it’s sorta(?) endearing, he can’t help but flush with pride when you struggle to respond (he’s a sadistic bastard who doesn’t quite understand his own feelings), almost as if he delights in being able to ‘take your breath away’.

The compliments that come after are almost more disconcerting.

“With eyes like those you could lure sailors to their deaths.” He’d just finished reading one of the books lying around about sirens and mermaids.

You’re sure to utter a soft, “Thanks,” anytime he ‘compliments’ you.

It’s all about control for him and although the idea that he likes you hasn’t been breached to either of you, he becomes highly possessive of you. Not in the sense that he’s taking control of your life or you but if anyone so much as looks at you funny it’s an insult to him. He’s childishly prideful and he now takes pride in you.

“Do you… do you… do you like… me?” you ask him.

He probably stares at you for a long time, mind churning away. You’d asked to talk to him in private and he’d be lying if he said a flash of excitement didn’t enter him. But he also couldn’t deny that your question didn’t stump him a little. He hadn’t thought about it like that till now.

“Yes…”

The smile that graces your lips after his answer is something he didn’t realise he’d been looking for but now that he’d had it once he wanted it again and again.

The change was instant. To say that he’d claimed you would be the most accurate response. You’re never further than an arm’s reach from him.

The longer your relationship stretches on for the more patient he’d become. He knows that you’re capable of getting your point across in a conversation regardless of how long it takes or if you stammer or anything else. He’ll happily wait for you to get your words out on your own whereas others might grow impatient and try to finish your sentence for you.

He might be patient with you but if anyone else disrespects or mocks you there is no second chance. His lack of remorse only makes it ten times easily to turn any offenders into dust.

He’s an awkward and slightly obsessive s/o if we’re honest but for the first time in his life he cares about someone and I’ll be damned if he isn’t going to treat you like an angel and anyone who doesn’t do the same better wish they’d never been born.

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hankwritten · 3 years

Text

The Weight of Other People’s Thoughts

Demoman/Soldier, 2k

Request for @lilythedragon05, Scotland

It was a bad idea to follow that tugging cord at the center of his being, the one that called him to Ullapool, and he never would have dared to entertain it if he knew it would have brought him here.

Jane sat by the ocean, stone’s throw from the town, but his distasteful frown kept his eyes locked firmly ahead instead of gazing dubiously at it. What had he been thinking? Coming to Ullapool had only make him feel worse, not better, a smirch against Tavish’s memory if there ever was one. Rubbing in Tavish’s face that he’d never go home again—and here Jane was, free to frolic across the whole damn planet, even if it took him to stupid countries ending in ‘land’.

He leaned further over his knees, barely feeling the sea breeze as he thought about his dead friend.

His murdered friend, he reminded himself. Murdered by someone who he thought he could trust, who now had to carry that guilt with him for the rest of his life.

Everywhere Jane looked it reminded him of Tavish. Maybe that’s why he’d come: self-flagellation. Appropriate punishment. Or maybe he was so desperate not to forget, he’d take the pain that came with remembering. Torturing himself truly, since he could look on the hills and surrounding coast that he had once only known through enthusiastic descriptions, see for himself the places where a young Tavish had played with dummy-grenades. He could imagine him talking to the local shopkeeps. He could practically see him walking up this very path, groceries in one hand, a newspaper filled with fried fish in the other as he took a large bite out of it-

Wait.

Tavish stopped dead, his face enveloped in utter shock. Still mid-chew, he said, “Jdra-ne?”

Jane leapt to his feet. “Apparition!” He pointed an accusing finger at the offending spirit. “Do not think for a second I will be cowed into repentance by the spectral manifestation of my guilt!”

Tavish nearly choked as he tried to swallow his bite of fish. “I…what?”

“Ghosts serve no purpose on my journey to recovery,” Jane continued. “Not even ones that look like my dead friend! Be gone creature of the other world!”

“What I- I’m not bloody dead.”

Jane squinted at him. He definitely didn’t look dead, totally opaque, no fettered chains representing his sins in life and his guilt over failing to help his fellow Man.

“…Are you sure?” Jane pressed.

“You’d think someone would know if they were dead,” Tavish grumbled poignantly, now glaring at Jane for some reason.

“I killed you though. It was-” -pickaxe right through the sternum, crushing, all the red bits coming out when they should have been in- “That was definitely fatal.”

“Aye, was, but I managed to limp my was back into Respawn range. Took a better part of an hour, but I made it.”

There was something odd to Tavish’s voice, something he wasn’t saying, but the realization that he might actually-seriously-really be alive was starting to set in and Jane was too afraid to believe it.

He took a step closer, past the bench he’d been enjoying his solitude at and completing a full circle around the Demoman. Tavish’s head followed him all the while, up until Jane came to a stop in front of him. “…Promise you are not a ghost?”

“I’m not a ghost,” Tavish said, as convincingly honest as he’d always been. Not that his acting skills hadn’t covered for his mendacity before-

-no, no that was a trick, it all turned out to be a lie a damn lie-

“Fine then. You’re not.” Though Jane would keep his eyes peeled for phantasmal anyway. “What the hell are you doing here then?”

“I live here,” Tavish huffed. “Gravel Wars are over, wasn’t going to spend the rest of my years in some blighted desert. Better question is what are you doing here, yank?”

Crap. Well, maybe a half-truth would suffice. “You always talked so much about Scotland I thought…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

Tavish stood there, one hand still clasped around his groceries. The moment dragged on, vast seas of unsaid things between them, of regrets still festering, to which he ended with, “would you like me to show you around?”

Jane looked down, trying not to stare at his shoes but instead at the foreign soil around them. “…Sure. Why not.”

“Everything is incredibly vertical,” Jane complained as they climbed up yet another hill Tavish insisted was part of the journey.

“Aye, that’s why they call it the Highlands, BLU.”

Jane hated how fucking smug he sounded. Hated, and missed it all the same, missed how this bastard could set a fire in his gut just with one of his damn smiles.

“And there she is,” the Demoman said proudly as the crested the final ridge.

“Damn. Really went to crap in the last couple centuries.”

“Oi, don’t point fingers at me! I’ve only been around for forty of those.”

DeGroot Keep was shriveled and hunchbacked since Jane had last seen it, folding under its own legacy as ages had eaten the tallest spires first and chewed its way down to the cob. Still, he could just make out the choke points, the parapets, the places he used to go charging into with his mêlée weapon held high—all sanded down by the years, the vaguest memories of control points where a portal in time had briefly allowed Jane to witness their existence.

“So what,” he asked, following Tavish into the slight dip in the Highlands where the Keep nestled, “you live in here like some sort of anti-Italian?”

“An anti- what now?”

“Anti-Italians! Despises sun, allergic to garlic, doesn’t show up in mirrors, no sex life. Basic literary reference, RED.”

Tavish rolled his eye. “No, I’m not squatting in the dilapidated castle. Got a perfectly nice home down in the village, I just happen to have inherited this along with…all the other crap.” He waved his hand. “I’ve considered shelling out to having it restored but…dunno. Seeing it go from its heyday to this makes me think that in another couple hundred years it’ll just fall apart again.”

He sat on a piece of tumbled rock, one that used to hang over the Keep’s gate, a bright and shining keystone now used as a stool. Jane joined him.

“Don’t get much of this at home, do you? Old crap. Yer country’s still a wee babe you know, nothing’s even falling apart yet.”

“Incorrect!” Jane amended. “There are plenty of old things in America!”

“For last time lad, Thomas Edison wasn’t immortal, and he didn’t be build a second Shangri-La under Pennsylvania Avenue.”

“Your statements reveal both your ignorance and your compunction, but I was actually talking about mounds.”

“Mounds,” Tavish repeated dubiously.

“Yes! Mounds! Fourteen hundred years ago Americans were building ceremonial mounds in order to track celestial events! They look like animals from the top, lynx, bears, fish, all that crap. I used to walk next to this bird one every day on the way to school.”

Tavish blinked at him, tilting his head. “No offense Jane, but including Native people usually isn’t in your worldview. Where’d you even learn all ‘o that?”

“My mother taught me, so think insinuating more cyclops—lest you show disrespect against her memory and I am forced to take out your other socket!”

Tavish raised his hands defensively, but there was a smile creeping at the corner. “Alright, alright, I get ye. A Mum’s honor is a serious thing.”

“Hm. Good.” Jane glanced ahead, suddenly afraid of lapsing back into silence, as though Tavish would start to slip away from him if they did. “How is your mother?”

“Ah…she passed some years back.”

“…I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s alright.” Tavish paused. “I still see her sometimes.”

“Metaphorically or…?”

Tavish glanced at him, but then away just a quickly, as though frightened of what he might see. “I’d rather not talk about it, if that’s alright with you.” Instead, he stared ahead, the sun setting between its cradle within the mountains. “Heh. At least there’s something that’s the same no matter where you go. Always a sunset.”

“Guess so.”

Still, Jane found he liked this one better than the ones back home. At least, better than all the ones he’d seen before he’d met Tavish.

The next day was spent in the village, and Jane couldn’t help but yearn for more of Tavish’s time, more of his attention. His friend. His friend who was still alive. Tavish had a kind word for every person they passed, all of whom didn’t seem to notice Jane at all, simply starting up a conversation with their fellow local and submitting to the rhythm of the morning. Breakfast was some sort of potato scone, but Jane wasn’t hungry, so he just walked beside Tavish as the other man ate. They found themselves at the same bench where they’d first run into each other.

“So,” Tavish asked. “Ullapool everything you thought it would be?”

“Hm. It’s…nice. It is obviously not perfect for geographical reasons entirely outside of its control, but. I understand how it made you the man you are.”

“Me? Nah.” Tavish wiped off his mouth with his sleeve. “I made myself like this.”

Again, he wouldn’t look at Jane, wouldn’t say what they were both thinking. That things had gone wrong, that they had both fucked up. One of them more than the other, but Jane had found him again, and maybe they could still figure something out, still have time to unearth all that they had deemed too dangerous and buried in the sand.

Jane reached forward, and put his hand over where Tavish’s was resting on the bench.

And watched it pass straight through.

Jane sprang away. “I knew it! I knew you were a ghost!”

Likewise, Tavish stood up sharply. “I am not. I bloody told you I was’t.”

“Liar! I will not be swayed by any more perjury from your ethereal mouth!”

“I’m not lying!” Tavish snarled at him, his eye dark and narrowed, burning hotter than the words would imply. “I never lied. I never wanted any of-”

“Blasphemy!”

“Would you just listen for-!”

“You cannot guilt me apparition! For I know that-”

“Shut up! Just fucking shut up!” Tavish’s fist closed around the neck of his scrumpy bottle, half drained before noon, and threw it full force at Jane’s head.

Jane raised an arm to block the incoming blow, but the impact never arrived. A second ticked by, then two, then three, and slowly he lowered his forearm to reveal the panting Demoman behind it, shoulders heaving and an inscrutable expression tearing across his features.

“How’s that for the truth you bleeding idiot,” he said.

Jane looked to Tavish, then rotated his neck slowly, staring at the bottle that had landed in the grass behind him. He blinked, willing what he was looking at to make sense, to suddenly disappear and go back to where things were a second ago. To believe he hadn’t seen that bottle connected with his own nose.

There was something he didn’t want to do, but he did it anyway, turning his gaze forward inch by agonizing inch, staring down at his own hands. Fully taking how translucent they were.

The moment shattered, Tavish tore his eye away. “Fuck. Fuck I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve…”

Jane was still looking at his hands. There was panic, deep and overwhelming rising within him, but there was no raised pulse to accompany it, no sweat on the back of his neck.

He lifted his chin to Tavish. “What? I don’t…”

“I didn’t die,” Tavish said thickly. “You did. I killed you and I walked off and you just bled out for who knows how long and-”

-the pickaxe but also a sword, just as deadly buried two feet into his chest and the man above him trying to shove it in a few extra inches, strangled screaming as it pushed deeper-

Jane hadn’t been paying attention to the last half of Tavish’s muttered confession. The Demoman was crying now, pawing furiously at his one lone eye as stared out valley below them, looking anywhere but at Jane as his sclera turned red.

“I’m sorry,” he sputtered. “Christ Jane I’m so fucking sorry. If you came to haunt me or whatever I just- I just want you to know that you can’t hate me more than I hate myself. That it’s been killing me every day since.”

He collapsed on the bench, curling away from Jane as he buried his face in his hands.

It could have been some sort of trick. A ghost bottle or…no Jane wouldn’t even try. He attempted to remember what flight he had come in on but couldn’t. He grasped for how many years since the Gravel Wars had ended, and couldn’t find the answer.

Jane was a ghost, yet everything still hurt as much as it had when he had lived. Immaterial, and he still so badly wanted to touch Tavish’s hand.

He sat on the bench next to him. “I didn’t come to make you feel bad, Tavish.”

“Then why did you come?” It sounded like it was meant to be venomous, but instead it only sounded empty—empty and wet with tears, like a plastic bag trampled into a puddle.

Jane looked down at his hands. His useless, ghost hands that he could still knit together. “I…I wanted to see you,” he said truthfully. “I missed you.”

Tavish looked at him, bleary-eyed. He whispered, “I missed you too. So damn much.”

“Whatever I was doing before, I missed you enough to come here. To someplace I thought you would be.”

A panicked jolt crossed Tavish’s face. “You’re not leaving, are you?” The same man who a moment ago thought Jane had come to smother him with guilt was despondent at the idea that Jane might go after all, that he wouldn’t get a chance to hurt himself with his own regret anymore.

“No, no not yet,” Jane said. He tried his best to wrap and arm around Tavish’s shoulder. The mortal shivered where their skin met.

“Okay,” Tavish said quietly. “Okay. Good. Thank you. I don’t think I can…When I saw you sitting up here I couldn’t believe it could be fore something good. That the only reason you’d want to haunt me would be because you hated me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

It was true. Even though he remembered now, remember lying there, thinking how they’d killed each other, Jane had only ever hated the man who’d believed the TV’s lies.

“I really did come because I was thinking of you. Missing you.” Jane paused. “Today was fun. I’m sure you have a lot of other places to show me, right private?”

“…Sure. Sure whatever you want.” Tavish wiped at his nose. “I’m sorry Jane.”

“It’s alright Tavish.” He held his head in the crook of Tavish’s neck. “I’m sorry too.”

#demosolly #boots n bombs #tf2 fanfiction

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aricazorel · 3 years

Text

"Are you jealous?" "No...Maybe." suggested by @russian-dumpling

pairing: Kaidan Alenko x Rebecca Shepard; set during ME1; word count: 1759

Noveria was cold. There was no doubt about that. It was a planet full of constant snowstorms. Nearly an ice planet.

Just like Hoth, Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko thought, unable to help the Star Wars reference. He glanced up at the thick transparent steel windows above that kept the raging winter storm out and the heat in. At least it was warmer than the Rebel Base…

“Hey, Alenko! You still with us?” Shepard’s voice called from beside him.

He glanced over at his CO noting that Ashley and Garrus had disappeared. “Don't you mean you, ma'am?”

“Oh for crying out loud! Don't ma’am me when we're alone,” she chided, a hand on her hip.

“We're still on the job, Commander.”

“Kaidan, is there a reason you're always so formal?”

“Habit it, ma'am, and it keeps me out of trouble.”

“Trouble? You, Alenko? Never.”

The Lieutenant snorted. “You don't know everything about me, Shepard.”

“Not yet,” the red head smirked with a wink.

***

While waiting to meet up with Gianna Parasini, Shepard unsurprisingly had elected to visit a few of the shops for tech and weapons mods. In truth it was the weapons mods that the Commander was really interested in. She only mentioned the tech mods to entice the Sentinel to tag along. In reality she didn't need to bribe him with anything other than herself.

He knew shortly after the Eden Prime mission that he was in trouble. Romantic entanglements with anyone he served with had always been a no no in his book. Falling for a superior officer was definitely not something he had ever seen himself doing. Yet there it was or rather she was standing outside yet another shop staring at the display in the window.

The Lieutenant was definitely in trouble.

He'd once told her he liked adventurous women. Kaidan would be lying to himself he didn't admit that Shepard fit that description to a tee. And that taste in the opposite sex is what would land him in trouble by the end of their current mission. Especially if the glances she was throwing over her shoulder towards him were any indication of things to come.

And there it was. The flirting grin she'd shoot him when she thought no one was looking. Of course Ashley had caught glimpses of it and teased the fire out of him about it. Despite his misgivings about the feelings he knew he was developing for his CO, Kaidan returned the smile as she motioned for him to join her at the display window. And of course he did.

As the Lieutenant walked over to her, Shepard motioned to a cluster of omni tool mods and one very specific omni tool. His eyes lit up as she casually mentioned, “I can open a line of credit with this store. You know. Get the license for the Normandy’s requisition officer so we can access their inventory anytime we want.”

“Really? Alenko asked excitedly as he looked from the Logic Arrest omni tool to Shepard.

With the amused look on her face he couldn't be sure if she were serious or not. Remembering himself he said, “I shouldn't ask you to use Alliance resources or your Specter status just to get me a new ‘tool.”

“But you didn't ask, Kaidan. I offered,” she corrected as she entered the shop. “Besides they have weapons mods too.”

Alenko cocked an eyebrow as he followed. She was his CO, a fellow officer, a friend. Yet he couldn't help but think she might harbor some feelings beyond all of that for him just as he did for her. Should he say anything? Should he let her make the first move? Should he see how things played out?

He sighed as he watched a salesman approach Shepherd with a broad grin. There were regs against fraternization. They were on a mission to stop a rogue Specter and his synthetic army. There was no place for romance, yet his feelings remained.

In an effort to distract himself, he focused his attention on the Logic Arrest Shepard had pointed out. In truth he did need a new omni tool, especially with the current mission. A part of him however couldn't shake the feeling that if he had said yes just a few minutes ago he'd already have a new ‘tool instead of looking at it in the display.

Kaidan let out a low growl. He should be able to focus on things without his thoughts circling back to Shepard. On a mission, in combat, doing his duties. Those instances were too problematic to allow that. The only acceptable exception was if Shepard was in danger.

But his down time? Sure she was nice to look at, athletic, red hair, nice smile, gorgeous eyes, great personality, honest, compassionate, amazing sense of humor, humble, firm. Anyone would be lucky to be the focus of her attention. Yet in the reflection of the display glass he saw her glancing at him as the salesman went on about various mods for her weapons the other man had were noticed Specter issue.

Apparently her status as a Specter had made the rounds rather quickly. Of course salesman wanted to land a large purchase from her then. Either way the Lieutenant could have sworn he saw the Commander wink at him in the reflection before she turned her attention back to the very friendly salesman.

“I can see the Specters have outfitted their newest agent with the latest weapons. Of course you can never go wrong with modifications,” the blond-haired man said smoothly. “Surely having the best mods on the market would help keep your lovely self safe.

“They certainly wouldn't hurt,” Shepard replied an even tone.

“Well, what is your primary weapon?” the man asked. “Maybe your favorite?”

“Those are two different things,” Shepard smirked with her arms folded across her chest.

“Really? For most customers those are one in the same,” the blond man muttered.

“I'm not most customers,” the Commander assured him confidently.

“I see,” the salesman muttered as he opened his ‘tool, showing the inventory available. “Perhaps something for your assault rifle first. We can't have our first human Specter being mowed down by rogue Geth. Protection is everything especially for a beautiful woman such as yourself.”

Kaidan rolled his eyes at the man's blatant attempt to flirt with the Commander in order to make a sale. Fundamentally the Lieutenant knew why the other man was doing it but that didn't deter the desire to tell the man off for disrespecting his CO. If he was totally honest with himself he had to admit that it wasn't just the man's lack of professionalism that bothered him.

He shifted, resisting the urge to go to Shepard’s aid. If she needed help, she would say so.

“I have plenty of protection already,” Shepard said as she gestured towards him. “My Lieutenant over there is an accomplished soldier and biotic. He's covered my six more times than I can count.”

Kaidan knew he was smirking as he caught her eye in the reflection once again. Whether she had intended to or not she had just padded his ego though he would never admit that. “Biotics will only get you so far,” the salesman muttered, his mood souring much to Alenko's delight.

“Oh but you haven't seen the Lieutenant train with his biotics,” Shepard mused with a big grin. “It's …quite the sight.”

Kaidan knew he was blushing as the salesman said, “I can provide you with top-of-the-line weapons mods. I'm afraid I am not licensed for biotic amps.”

Shepard made a noise of acknowledgement before she said, “You know what? I think I'll take that Logic Arrest in the window…and any mod you have for it.”

“Oh well, what about the weapons mods? Surely you need –“

“I already have the most advanced. Me being a Specter and all. But my Lieutenant needs the best omni tool available,” she insisted as she turned to Kaidan.

“I understand but you are his superior. Doesn't that mean –“

“If you can't sell me what I want, I am sure another shop can,” the Commander interrupted as she walked over to the Lieutenant.

“No. No. I can accommodate that,” the salesman said conceding that his sale to the first human Specter would not be as large as he originally thought.

Kaidan couldn't help the shit-eating grin as the salesman was forced to wait on him instead of Shepard.

***

Half an hour later Kaidan sat on the retaining wall of one of the many reflection pools near the shopping promenade as he fiddled with his new omni tool. They were waiting for Ashley and Garrus to rendezvous with them before taking the next step of their mission. For whatever reason, the Commander had spent her time watching him program his preferences into the new Logic Arrest.

He did his level best to ignore the attention until she said lightly, “Are you jealous?”

The Lieutenant paused in his motions as conflicting emotions demanded his answer one way or another. “No …maybe.”

She crossed her arms as she asked in surprise, “Really, Lieutenant? Of a weapons mod salesman?”

Kaidan knew he was blushing as he glanced at the nearby fountain. Was he that obvious? Was she going to give him a dressing down or just tease the crap out of him? Maybe even enlisting the help of Ashley and Joker?

“Hey, Kaidan?” Shepherds voice call to him as he felt a light pressure on his forearm from her hand. The use of his first caught his attention more than her touch.

He glanced back at her, seeing a tender smile. “I can promise you there is nothing to be jealous of. All my attention is on a certain L2 biotic. You might know him.”

Kaidan smiled as he replied, “Yes ma'am.”

Shepard opened her mouth to say something else when she heard Ashley and Garrus call out to them. She shrugged at him as she turned to greet them but not before she winked at the Lieutenant.

He watched as she walked over to their teammates as he finished setting up his tool. Any doubt he had about being more than comrades-in-arms or friends had evaporated. He was more certain than ever that things between them were more complicated than the mission parameters allowed.

But he didn't care. He was definitely in trouble, but he found himself not giving a damn about that either.

He liked adventurous women, and Shepard was definitely that. And so much more.

#trilogyappreciationweek #mass effect #kaidan alenko #rebecca shepard #f!shenko #femshep

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floridasimp · 4 years

Text

How they first met their black S/o Dabi, Tomura, and Hawks

Dabi [Ashtray]

This motherfucker is on a whole new level. 👀

The boldness of this mans is beyond you.

Of course japan have night clubs that you go to every now and than.

Just so you can get drunk, dance, and live free.

In a villain club the heroes don’t even know about.... Like really. 😬

But you didn’t know.

What you were not expecting was a hot sexy villain from across the clubs to be eyeing your peaches 🍑.

Nor did you expect his to place his hands on your hips while his 🍌 rubbed really close.

“Dabi likes.” Was all he moaned before full on grinding.

You were fucking hammer to the brim and didn’t care either.

If you thought those tiktok girls dancing the wap shook their ass hun you should have see yourself.

Dabi that night at the club found a new fetish. . . Big, Black, and juicy girls. The wilder the better.

He also liked digging his thumb inside the softness of your ass. The thought of doing bad things to your body got him hot and horny.

He don’t know what it was. All he knew was that black girls are naturally born as sexy with bodies like that.

He. Wanted. To. Ruin. You. 🥵

And gentle was not a word in his definition.

His only hope was that you could match his sex drive.

Tomura [Crusty Dusty lips]

He got his legs shot the fuck out. 😂

That’s fucked up to laugh at, but he’s a villain so it’s okay 👌🏾. Right?

He didn’t want anyone who he felt like would be associated with the heroes in anyway.

So... They brought you.

Freshly graduated from a Nursing school exchange student top of her Japanese nursing class.

Trust me you were kicking and screaming, uppercutted Dabi twice, got another guy in the dick. 💅🏾

“Rejected ass Deadpool motherfucker!” You shrieked.

✨ You go girl. ✨

“If you don’t calm the fuck down I’m going to burn you alive.”

Dabi could have sworn you stopped for that split second to cut your eyes at him. Right before all hell broke out.

Again.

Tomura was fed up and tried to dusk you.

Bet. You didn’t send your right hook him diagonally and sent him flying back.

If he wasn’t mad he got real fucking mad now.

He succeeded in dusting you.... Is what he would like to say, but that didn’t happen. Cause it didn’t work on you.

You laughed out loud. The sound of his pride shattered into pieces.

Now he got an angry black bitch locked up in his room ready to throw some hands the moment he opens that door. 🙌🏾

Hawks [Keigo Takami]

Let be honest.

Hawks has a seventh sense for detecting a juicy thick with three C ass.

He saw that butt and was like “Damn, I need that ass.” 👀 and “Thick thighs save lives.”

You’re school was doing a training session with Pro Heroes. Nursing of course.

The only problem is not not many Heroes wanted to pair up with you because..... You’re different.

Hawks. Happily. Obligated.

Maybe this will be her chance to prove stereotypes wrong? Nope.

“Is it true that your people are loud and aggressive?” He asked with balls of steel. 🤨

You can bet your ass he didn’t have a fun time with you. ✨

“That thing you said was so disrespectful.” You smiled (innocently?) I think not.

Normally you would hit him, but you got to represent your fellow black people. 😤✊🏾

He wasn’t aware on how much he fucked up. He was going to find out for the next hour and thirty minutes. 😂

When he was fake drowning you basically said, “My J’s arent worth sacrificing over your life.” Preceds to look at nails. “Sorry boo.” 😙💅🏾

She wasn't even warring Js though.

He tried again.

Only for you to tell him “Just give up and drown.” Maybe possibly pushing his head underwater out of spite. 💀

Hawks - 0, You - 1

#tomura x reader #hawks x reader #black reader #blacktober #Villains #MHA #Bnha #Anime

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fortisfiliae · 4 years

Text

Promised Part 3 - Tom Riddle x reader

Summary: In this story, Tom didn’t grow up as an orphan, but with his grandfather and uncle. Reader’s sister got very sick and the Gaunts offer their help. But not without asking for something in return.

Disclaimer: Please be aware that I don’t condone any of this in real life.

Warnings: Arranged marriage

Word count: 2k

Part 3 - Parallels and Potions

You found yourself in a corridor. It was dark. So dark, you could hardly see anything but the low light on its end. The light was subtle, yet it pulled you towards it. As you started walking, you noticed that you held something in your hands. It was quite big, but not too heavy and you couldn’t see enough to detect what it was. So you kept on walking towards the light. Although it seemed so close, it felt like you had walked for hours on the spot.

Finally, you reached the exit and entered a small room. It was bright and made you squint your eyes. Dozens of chairs were lined up left and right from you, with a path in their midst. The seats were all empty, but there was one person standing at the end of the path. Tom. He wore a black suit and tie, his hands intertwined on his back as he watched you walking towards him.

Now that you could finally see, you looked down yourself and saw what you were wearing. A floor-length, white dress. A wedding dress to be precise, classy and modest. The lace fabric wrapped around your arms perfectly. You also saw the thing you had brought along with you. A bouquet of flowers. Red roses, each one flawless and beautiful.

Tom smiled at you as you were slowly approaching him. He turned around and you saw his grandfather Marvolo standing at the podium. The light suddenly went out and it was dark again. You heard a scream. Elsie. Her voice echoed in your ears as you were turning to find her, stumbling in the dark again. You knocked over a chair when the lights went back on and her voice fell silent. She was nowhere to be seen.

Only then you looked around and noticed how Tom’s smile had turned into a grotesque grimace. The floor had turned red and your feet were wet. Blood. All over the floor. It was soaking up on the fabric of your dress.

Hissing noises came from the bouquet in your hands. The roses had turned into snakes. You shrieked and tried to throw it to the ground, but your hand didn’t let go of it, no matter how hard you tried. Marvolo’s scornful laughter got louder and louder until you couldn’t hear anything else and you fell to your knees and screamed.

You sat up in your bed, your forehead covered in sweat. A nightmare. Just a dream.

The poor sleep had drained you. You slouched in the great hall during breakfast, nibbling on your second cup of tea, when headmaster Dippet placed himself in front of the teacher’s table.

“Good morning students,” the Professor spoke. “Just a brief announcement for your information. I’m aware some of you have already eagerly waited for the reveal of this year’s head girl and boy. Well, it’s my pleasure to tell you now.”

People had stopped talking and the great hall turned quiet. Dippet looked through the rows of students with a big smile on his face. He was probably more excited than anyone else in the room. Head boy and girl. Wow. You hadn’t even thought about that yet. Naturally, your mind had been somewhere entirely different.

It would be someone from your year, though. Those were the school rules. The headmaster chooses two students from year seven. And, although most students didn’t care that much about the title, you knew that head girls and boys had always had an easier start into the world of employment after Hogwarts. It was a boost. An unspoken recommendation.

Dippet had always chosen students with top grades and little to no detention records. Mostly prefects, but not exclusively. For just a second you wondered if he had thought about you while making his decision. You had good grades. Nonsense, you had great grades. You never got in trouble, you were respectful, reliable, punctual and maybe a tiny bit full of yourself in just this moment.

What were you thinking? You didn’t have the nerves or the time for being head girl. But it would feel so good to be valued this way.

Dippet cleared his throat and all eyes turned to him.

“This year’s head boy, fellow witches and wizards, is,” he announced blissfully. “Tom Riddle.”

A murmur went round the hall when Tom arose from the table until Professor Slughorn, head of Slytherin, applauded for his student and the crowd joined in. Tom went up to the teacher’s table, where Dippet congratulated him.

It was quite clear why Tom was granted this title. He was Dippet’s showpiece. Always had been. Top of the class in most subjects, quiet yet observative, intelligent and he came from a well-respected family.

“And now to our head girl,” Dippet said.

No, this couldn’t be. It would feel like some sort of mockery if he would say your name. First the engagement and now this? No, no. Or maybe? You would make a great head girl, now that you thought about it.

“This year’s head girl is,” Dippet went on.

Tom looked at you. Maybe he knew. Could it be?

“Freda Morris.”

Oh. Your heart sank more than you liked to admit. Tom’s gaze went right to Freda when the crowd applauded for her. She stood up from the Slytherin table and clumsily walked to the front as well. Freda… What a swot.

“Congratulations you two,” Dippet said and shook both of their hands again. “I’m sure you’ll make a great team.”

Yeah, great. Superb.

Freda and Tom shook hands as well. A wave of anger burned through your chest when you noticed how awfully sweet she smiled at him.

“Two Slytherins as head boy and girl. Now that’ll be fun,” Camille said when you walked to your Potions class together. “Totally fair Professor Dippet, as always. Thanks for acknowledging the other houses.”

You smiled. “I know, right? And Freda Morris? What was he thinking?”

“Well, I don’t know. But she seems quite okay, doesn’t she?”

“You think so? She’s such a muppet.”

“Oh,” Camille laughed. “You wanted to be head girl, right?”

“What? No, I…”

“Come on,” she grinned.

“Yeah, maybe. I hadn’t even thought about it until today. And then I thought well, I would make a great head girl. Then Tom got picked.”

“And you thought it was destiny,” she enthused.

“Something like that,” you said and shoved her playfully.

You entered the Potions classroom and went over to the table Camille and you always shared. When you turned around to check where she was, you saw Tom talking to her. Camille nodded to him and then shot you a look. She winked at you and went to another table. Tom walked over and sat down beside you. Oh Merlin.

“Um, hello,” you said, still wondering what he was doing here.

All it took was Tom raising his brow to make absolutely sure he didn’t like you one bit. He even seemed appalled that you had the nerve to talk to him. Why on earth would he sit next to you then? Alright, no small talk. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

Professor Slughorn entered the classroom and started his lesson by congratulating Freda and Tom once more. Your eyes too rolled once more.

He then instructed everyone to brew Moonseed Poison, just like he had taught you in last week's lesson.

“And as always, help each other out,” he said and sat down at his desk.

Fantastic. You took a gurdyroot and started cutting it into small cubes, making sure not to breathe in right above it, as the fumes would burn your nose.

When you picked the knotgrass, Tom cleared his throat. You resisted looking over to him and kept on picking carefully. He cleared his throat again. And again.

You turned your head. “Are you trying to talk, or are you choking?”

“I…,” his eyes went wide. “Excuse me?”

“You’re the one looking at me weirdly when I greet you. So you probably don’t want to talk to me, do you?”

He sighed and started picking knotgrass as well. “I did… want to talk to you.”

“About what?” you asked and rolled the grass to make it cork-shaped.

“I wanted to apologize on behalf of Lestrange and Avery.”

“Oh,” you mumbled and finally looked at him properly.

“They won’t trouble you again. And, if it makes you feel better, they’ve learned their lesson.”

“What do you mean by that?” you asked and leant forward to put ten drops of leech juice into your cauldron.

“I punished them.”

You almost dropped the flask. “Punished?”

“Nothing too bad. Although I think you wouldn’t mind, would you?”

“Not really,” you grinned. “What did you do?”

“Just excluded them from our group for a little while. Separation is the greatest punishment for the spineless.”

He really was a ruthless leader. And they weren’t his friends. They were his inferiors.

“Wow,” you breathed. “And you did that for me?”

Tom crushed a toadstool and smiled. “I did it for myself. And you. If they disrespect you, they disrespect me. And I can’t let that happen.”

“I see,” you said. “Oh, don’t put the toadstool into your cauldron yet.”

“Why not?”

“It’s better to let the leech juice simmer for a little longer.”

“It makes no difference.”

“It does make a difference. And you need to grind it some more. It has to be really fine.”

Tom dropped the toadstool into his cauldron without batting an eye and looked at you provokingly. “I know what I’m doing. I’m good at Potions.”

“Yeah, I know. But I’m great at Potions,” you said and watched Tom’s grin dropping with delight.

“I let Slughorn be the judge of that,” he said and you laughed.

Tom stirred his potion while you kept on grinding the toadstool. “Oh, congratulations on becoming head boy, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

“Were you expecting it?”

“Not quite,” Tom said. “I mean, I have been thinking about it last year and was sure I’d make it to Dippet’s top three. But then I didn’t really think about it until today.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“I thought he would make you head girl, to be honest.”

“Really?”

“Only for a moment. But then he said Freda’s name.”

The toadstool was as fine as sand already but you ground it even harder now. “Uh-huh.”

“She’s a git, isn’t she?”

“You think so too?”

Tom chuckled lowly. “As spineless as Avery and inane as Lestrange.”

“At last, we agree on something,” you said and put the toadstool dust into your cauldron. Perhaps hating other people was what you two had in common. “Don’t touch the moonseed. It’ll burn your skin.”

“I know,” Tom sighed. “I’m not daft.”

You smiled to yourself as you levitated the poisonous plant into your cauldron.

“There was something else I wanted to tell you,” Tom said after he had done the same. “My uncle sent an owl. Your sister. She’s better.”

“What? Really?”

“Yes. Still not cured he said, but she’s gaining weight again and has an appetite.”

“That’s great news,” you said and had to suppress the urge to hug him out of pure joy. “Merlin, I’m so happy right now. Thanks for letting me know.”

Tom stirred his potion and nodded. “It’s ready. Professor!”

Slughorn walked up to your desk and examined both of your cauldrons. “Oh, would you look at that,” he cheered. “Tom, yours is excellent.”

You could tell how proud Riddle was, especially after you had lectured him.

“But yours Miss,” Slughorn turned towards you. “Yours is perfect. Outstanding that one! Very well done.”

Even though you had known yours was better, you were afraid to look over and see Tom’s reaction. He wasn’t one to mess with. When you finally took a glimpse, you noticed him staring blankly down at the table, yet with the tiniest smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t say it,” he mumbled. “I get it, you’re great at Potions.”

Please consider leaving a comment and tell me what you think so far :) They motivate me so much to keep writing!

Permanent tags: @geeksareunique @ren-ela @marauderskeeper @way-obsessed5 @oreofrappiewithblueberry @draqcnheartstrinq @dogfatherpads @obscurilicious @maralisa124 @theseuscmander @siriuslyimmoony @theboywhocriedlupin @igotmadskills @jamcspotters @thisismysecrethappyplace @vulpecula-minor @snarledblack @swellwriting @fandomtravels @heartbeats-wildly @clockworkherondale @aikeia @i-padfootblack-things @emmamass24 @sleep-i-ness @miss-theya

Promised tags: @superblyspeedydragon @angeli-fucking-cat @and-drew-101 @hp-slaps

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goldenlaquer · 3 years

Note

This isn't a rq but I had this dream and had to tell someone. Basically, Hijikata is chasing Zura again when Zura decides to fake his death (like Kagura faking her illness) I woke up before it could continue past Hiikata's shocked face but it got me thinking what would his reaction be if he thought he actually killed Zura, and what would Sougo do if Hijikata decided to play the same card and fake his death for a while to teach him a lesson and it seems like he actually was killed by Sougo

If i may give my two cents (again, how tf y’all be getting dreams about hot men? how how how how) Sougo’s reaction to Hijikata’s prank may go two ways. Really doesn’t matter how it goes down, I guess. These two ways have the same results anyway: Hijikata getting seriously maimed by the end of the day.

The first way is Asshole Sougo doing what he did to Kagura; putting on a elaborate show of crying over his deathbed, blocking off any attempts of miracle revivals, instigating a funeral parade of opulent means to blow things way out of proportions, blah blah blah, all the way from the Shinsengumi compound to the cemetery we go-- Hijikata’s in a very tough spot, how can he speak up now when there’s a line of his men saluting and bawling their eyes out with Kondo bravely sucking in his tears at the front of the procession? Everyone was invited, of the savory as well as the unsavory sorts too. Even the Yorozuya’s there, spitting on the procession ground and taking advantage of the crowds to try and illegally sell lemonade without a permit. Sougo’s giggling behind his palm; his tears are tears of laughter, of course. How dare Hijikata try the pull a prank over Sougo’s head? What a fucking amateur. Might as well take this opportunity to make sure his position as new vice-commander is set in stone while he’s teaching Hijikata a lesson.

Way #2: Sougo is completely had. This is a bit harder, but if anyone could pull it off-- can’t Hijikata? The man knows Sougo (well he doesn’t know everything about Sougo because Sougo’s a freak, but he knows a lot about Sougo), he could probably do a convincing enough death that’ll fool even Sougo. Well, I think Sougo goes through the stages of grief; the first step-- denial. Staring down at Hijikata on the cold, metal autopsy table and shaking his head because there’s no way an idiot like Hijikata could ever die such a pathetic death. He’s gripping the lapels of Hijikata’s jacket, tugging him up-- get the fuck up, Hijibaka, stop playing on work hours. Anger. Get the fuck up! Sougo kicking a leg. The table rattles and Hijikata’s still not getting up. Get up! Kondo orders two members (in the end, it takes eight men) to haul Okita out of the room. Bargaining and depression are quiet affairs (If I just did this... If I, If I, If I); Okita says nothing but he doesn’t have to say anything-- it’s plain for everyone to see. Acceptance comes in the form of Okita sitting down at the food bar, a steaming pile of mayo dogshit in front of him, the Hijikata Special. The patroness is sending him looks of concern but Okita ignores it and takes his chopsticks. Itadakimasu. He takes a bite and manages to not gag. This is his last tribute to Hijikata. He looks so pitiful, forcing the mayo down his throat, that Hijikata decides that the lesson has been learnt (with mixed feeling of affection and guilt) and he can conclude it by showing up then, taking the chopsticks away from Okita and telling him ”moron, don’t disrespect the mayo gods if you’re going to eat it all disgusting like that”, and scarfing the bowl down. Okita stares. There’s something shiny in those large eyes.

“Hiji...”

Hijikata smiles and scratches the end of his nose. “Yo, Sougo. Didja miss me--”

Okita whips out his bazooka. “Like hell. Die.”

To be honest, I feel like Hijikata would be more straightforward fellow when it comes to teaching Sougo a lesson. I don’t think he’d take an extreme approach like faking his own death, but what the hell, comedy and contradictions go hand and hand in Gintama. Anything goes! This was simply lovely and stimulating-- thank you Anon!

#gintama #okita sougo #hijikata toushirou

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lonelyreputation · 4 years

Text

The Optimist (Baker AU)

A/N: Hi! Hi! Baker!Shawn is here and as soft as ever! My mind is a bit scattered at the moment, but I can promise you it’s throughly edited!! Anyway…How is everyone doing?! I hope you had an enjoyable weekend!!

Annnnd thank you for 100 followers! I've only returned to writing a couple of months ago, so thank you!!! You all are too kind and sweet :’) I have a lot of things written in my docs that just need some editing––so stay tuuunneed

THANKS A MILLION for all of your support! Your kind words are music to my ears and really encourage me to write more!! Reblogs are never expected, but always appreciated!! 😌💞🌻

REQUEST/PROMPT: Night wind carrying the scent of freshly baked bread

Let’s Chat!! | MASTERLIST

Warnings: none :)

Word Count: 3.6K

You leaned your back against the brick wall, resting your head against the cold brick as you looked up at the stars twinkling in the sky. Seven minutes, I’ll give you seven minutes, your manager had said to you after you begged to have a little bit of a break after you had just finished serving a rude table.

In through your nose––don’t cry–––Out through your mouth.

You hated waiting tables. You hated having to plaster on a fake smile at every table. And you hated having to walk with an extra pep in your step when you were on your feet for four hours. Most people you waited on were generally pleasant, but there would always be a table or two during a shift that would be act absolutely monstrous.

You pinched your eyes shut––don’t cry––as a soft breeze made its way down the little alley way you had escaped to. You were sure that at least four minutes of your little break had passed and you dreaded having to walk back in with a sickeningly sweet smile on your face.

“Are you alright?”

You opened your eyes and turned your head to the right. Standing inside the doorway of the building behind yours was a tall boy with curly brown hair. He was wearing all white, but the apron tied around his front was stained with various shades of tan, and like the swipe of flour he had on his cheek, his apron was also dotted with spurts of flour. He smelled of burnt sugar.

“Yeah, I’m––“ you sniffled as you brought the sleeve of your forearm to wipe under your nose, “I’m fine! Don’t worry.” You had put on your well-trained fake smile in front of the boy.

He wrung out the white towel he held between his hands, he didn’t look convinced, “I tried walking back in, but then I thought you were gonna cry so I came back out.”

An awkward silence filled the air around you as you continued to study him. He looked unsure of himself. He seemed as if he wanted to help, but had no idea as to how to help you.

“You work at The Optimist?” You recalled the name of the bakery that was located behind the restaurant you worked at.

He nodded his head with a genuine smile, “Yeah––I’m Shawn, by the way,” he took a few steps forward, crossing over from the bakery’s domain of the alley way onto the restaurant’s side and stuck out his hand for you to shake.

Scrunching up your eyebrows you hesitantly reached your hand out to connect with his. He looked to be around your age, early twenty’s, and you didn’t know the last time you had shaken hands with someone your age when introduced.

Shawn dropped your hand, “And you work at The Sunflower?”

You grimaced and Shawn took notice; his smile dropping into one of a sympathy. You were about to introduce yourself, but one of your fellow waitresses skidded out the back door with wild eyes.

“Y/n,” she sounded like she was relieved to have found you, but her tone was urgent and her eyes held terror, “You were supposed to be back two minutes ago, Diane is going insane looking for you.”

At the warning your friend gave you, your eyes doubled in size as you quickly tightened your pony tail––that no doubt had tiny strands flying about that didn’t make it into the hair tie––and bid the baker a quick farewell, “It was nice talking to you, Shawn.”

“Nice meeting you, Y/n.”

You didn’t get to see him as you quickly rounded the corner and rushed back inside before your manager, Diane, laid into you for taking a longer than necessary break.

•••

Two days later, you found yourself back in the alley way. And this time instead of begging for a break, you were allowed a whole hour to yourself since you were working a double shift. You spent the first thirty minutes eating a dinner you brought for yourself, the next fifteen minutes sitting and staring at a wall, and then something in the back of your mind kept nagging you to head to the alley way.

The alley way smelled sweeter than the last time you were here. The back door to The Optimist bakery was propped open and you were able to smell the aroma coming from inside. You took a deep breath, hypnotized by the scent of yeast, and let it out only to take another deep breath in.

The smell was stronger than before, hot baked bread must’ve come right out of the oven, you thought. It reminded you of your grandmother’s house where she was constantly baking loaves sourdough; warmth, comfort, and full of love.

You caught a whiff of rosemary and closed your eyes in satisfaction. Whatever bread they were baking in there was full of herbs that flowed out into the street. If Heaven was on Earth, it would be in this alley way; just you savoring your time alone as the smell of bread breezed out into the night.

“Y/n?”

You opened your eyes to see Shawn standing in the doorway, wearing a concerned face much like the one he wore two days prior when you first met.

“Shawn, hey,” You greeted him with a genuine smile.

He returned his smile as his eyes lit up; he noticed your mood was considerably better than when you first met, “How are you?”

“Really good,” he tilted his head and squinted his eyes at you silently asking you if that was a real honest answer. You let out a sigh and rubbed your hands over your eyes, “Kinda tired, I’m working a double today but I’m on a break now.”

“You seem better than a few nights ago,” he picked his next words carefully, “Are you feeling better?”

“I don’t want to bore you–––“

Shawn shook his head with a soft smile. He sat down on the curb and patted the spot next to him for you, “Tell me all about it.”

You crossed over from the restaurant side to the bakery and sat close to your new friend. You were only sitting about an inch away and you were able to catch a sniff of the sweet smell of the bakery from his apron, “Just some people being rude, it happens a lot so I’m used to it, but like when they start to question my capabilities? And talk about me when I’m serving their food as if I’m not there?” You sniffled as the memory of the dad of the family made a passing comment to his kids how if you don’t have any aspirations in life, you’ll end up like her replayed over and over.

“Hey,” Shawn curled an arm around your shoulder and pulled you in close to his side, “Some people are jerks, it sucks, but you’re a better person than they are,” his hands started to rub up and down your arm in a comforting manner, “Because it would never even cross your mind to disrespect someone right in front of you, and that says a lot about your character.”

You took a chance and leaned your head on his shoulder, “I think everyone should have to wait tables at some point in their life,” you sniffled out a laugh.

“That,” Shawn agreed with you, “or work in retail.”

You let out another laugh in agreement and the two of you stayed snuggled up next to each other. Shawn continued to rub a comforting hand along your arm, pulling you closer into his side, and it was almost as if your head fit into his shoulder like a puzzle piece. Shawn knocked your knees together which caused you to let out a giggle and a small smile.

“What time are you done?” He questioned.

You scrunched up your eyebrows and bit the inside of your cheek, thinking about his question, “Around eleven or eleven thirty? Depending what time the last table leaves and we have everything stocked up for the morning shift,” you lifted your head off his shoulder, already missing the close contact with him, looking into his eyes, “Why?”

He wore mischievous smirk, “Do you want a loaf of bread?”

“What?”

Shawn leaned his head back as he laughed at your confused face; eyebrows tightly pulled together with your eyes slightly widened. He squeezed your shoulder tight, “I uh––I get a free loaf every shift, and I––Do you want it?”

“You don’t want it?” You questioned him, not knowing why any twenty-something year old would pass up the opportunity of free food, “You don’t have like a family to feed or anything?”

He shook his head, a long curl falling covered in flour fell out of place and dropped in front of his forehead, “I’m twenty-one, so I don’t have a family––or anyone––to share a loaf of bread with.”

He tacked on that he didn’t have anyone in a rushed tone, almost scared that if he didn’t get that part in, you would assume that there was someone else he would rather share his bread with.

“What bread did you just make?” If he was offering up his shift loaf of bread, you desperately wanted it to be the sweet herbal bread you had the pleasure of smelling all through out the night.

Shawn nodded his head with a smile, “Focaccia,” he said it as if he was reminiscing his favorite memory, “I’ll have a loaf of that out at eleven thirty.”

Before you could say anything else, your phone alarm rang, notifying you that you had to get back to work. You let out a soft groan and rested your head back on Shawn’s shoulder, eyes closed, “I don’t wanna go baaack.”

“C’mon working girl,” he squeezed your shoulder one last time before pushing off the curb and reaching a hand out to you, “The sooner you’re back at work the sooner you can get your bread.”

You reached out and took his hand; it felt different than when you first connected hands in a handshake when you first met. His fingers curled around your hand with care, his calloused hands from kneading dough were surprisingly comforting, and they were warm.

“I expect to be given nothing less than the absolute best loaf.” You held onto his hand for a bit longer before dropping it and walking over to your side of the alley.

Shawn let out a hearty laugh, “They’re all the best loaf,” he shot you a wink, “because I bake them all.”

You felt a blush creeping up on your cheeks, but decided not to face Shawn; you didn’t want him to know the affect he had on you at only your second conversation. You shouted a see you later tonight over your shoulder and walked back into work with not so much of a fake smile, an actual pep in your step, and a little bit of flour on your uniform shirt.

When your shift was over, you raced back down to the alley way, quickly saying your goodbyes to the kitchen staff, busboys, and fellow waiters. You were out the back door in no time and were met with the sight of Shawn holding, what you assumed to be the focaccia bread, wrapped in brown paper tied together with twine.

He handed the loaf of bread to you as the two of you made small conversation, him offering to walk you to your car. Wanting to spend as much time with him, you accepted his offer, as he asked you questions about your day. Unfortunately the walk to your car wasn’t very far, so the conversation was cut short, but Shawn promised to have another loaf of bread for you tomorrow night.

Once you were in your car and saw Shawn walking in the direction from where you had just come from––I swear my car is parked around yours, let me walk you, it’s no big deal––you rolled your eyes at his blatant lie and placed the bread in your passenger seat. But what you hadn’t noticed before was a little message written on the brown paper with black sharpie.

Let’s get this bread! Haha, but really, I made this loaf extra special just for you :)

•••

Every other night you had worked for the next few weeks ended in the alley way with Shawn delivering you a loaf of bread and walking you to your car at night. You had come back to your apartment with loaves of rye, ciabatta, baguettes, and even a Portuguese sweet bread. With every loaf of bread you brought home, your roommate raised an eyebrow, her interest peaking with your new fascination for carbohydrates.

It was your day off, and while you normally spent it lounging about or going for a walk, you decided to pay a visit to Shawn at The Optimist. While you normally would avoid the area where you work on your days off, you found yourself excited to be there for once.

You parked your car in front of the bakery and flipped down the mirror to make sure you had nothing in your teeth before walking in. Once you were out of your car and locked the doors, you threw your keys into your canvas tote bag and walked toward the navy blue front doors.

With each step, your heart rate began to increase. You told yourself to calm down, that it was only Shawn, but for some reason that only made you even more nervous. Nervous, but excited to see him.

A little bell chimed when you walked in and a voice as sweet as the pastry selection smelled, greeted you, “Welcome to The Optimist!” She looked to be about seventeen; her uniform had her name stitched in cursive on the left side of her black collared shirt, Amelia, “What can I get started for you?”

“Is uh––Is Shawn here?” It didn’t hit you until you were up at the counter that Shawn might also have the day off.

She seemed skeptical to give you any information about an employee, which was fair, working as a waitress you’ve had people come and ask if a specific person was working. And it was company policy to not give that information out.

You didn’t know if it helped your case, but you started explaining how you knew him, “I work at the restaurant behind you guys and I’ve struck up a friendship with him and I wanted to see if he was at work–––“

“Oh,” Amelia’s eyes widened as a smile blew up on her face, “You’re the girl he brings bread to.”

You felt your cheeks get hot, “Uh…Yeah, it’s nice that he––“

“He’s so sweet!” Amelia gushed as she rested her elbows on the glass counter top and folded her hands together to rest her chin on top of them, daydreaming off into the distance, “He stays so late to buy you a loaf of bread and give it you.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t really have to––Wait,” You tilted your head, “He stays late?”

Amelia nodded her head, “Way late. Like sometimes I wonder if he just doesn’t want to go back to where he lives––But his roommate has come in every now and then and he seems really nice so––“

“What time do you guys close?” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“Eight or nine? Our store front closes at eight but then we have to clean and that usually takes us until around nine––“

“Is he here?”

“Shawn?” Amelia asked as if he hadn’t been your topic of discussion. You nodded your head slowly, “Yeah, he’s just in the back. I’ll go grab him!”

Amelia skipped away and called out Shawn’s name in a sing-song voice, “You have a visitor!”

You were only waiting at the counter for a few minutes before Shawn and Amelia came out from a back room. You instantly smiled when you saw flour dusting on the tips of Shawn’s curls.

“Y/n, hi––Wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

You picked at a loose piece of skin by your thumb, second guessing yourself if this was actually a good idea, “Yeah, it’s my day off and uh––I didn’t really have anything to do.”

Shawn let out a chuckle, “No, no…I’m glad you’re here,” his smile was infectious. He brought his hands around his back to untie his apron, “I’m gonna take like a ten minute break, is that alright, Amelia?”

He ducked his head to lift the strap of the apron above his head and hung it on a hook by the door the two of them had just come from. Amelia started to ramble again, nervous that Shawn was going to go off far, but he quickly reassured the teenager that he was only going to be sitting at one of the little tables in the bakery.

Amelia seemed calmer and Shawn grabbed two paper cups, filled them with black drip coffee, and rounded the counter to you. He handed you one of the cups of coffee as you followed him to one of the small circle tables in a little alcove that granted you some privacy.

It was the first time you and Shawn were hanging out not in the alley way and while it was nice to see him not in the middle of the night, it felt a bit out of place. But you enjoyed the way the sun shinned through the windows and hit his face on all the right angles. You even noticed a little scar on his cheek.

“Amelia likes to…Talk,” Shawn started off, “But she’s really sweet, real nice girl.”

You nodded your head and let out a laugh. Her liking to talk was the understatement of the century, “She seems nice,” you took a sip of coffee, “But she also let me in on some details.”

“Did she?” Shawn smirked as he leaned back on his chair, setting his cup of coffee down on the white table. When he crossed his arms over his chest, you looked down briefly to see how large his biceps really were; it seemed as if his white shirt was constricting his flexed muscles. He seemed almost too muscular to be a baker.

You rolled your eyes at his nonchalance, “Yeah, like how you stay late?” Shawn’s smirk dropped, “And how you pay for the loaf of bread?” You waited to see if he would interject and say how she was lying, but he stayed quiet, “Why?”

Shawn shrugged as he avoided your gaze and looked out the window, “Dunno.” You brought your foot up to his shin and gave it a small tap, edging him to say something else, “You seemed so…sad that first night and I wish I did something more so when I saw you the second time, the only thing I could offer you was a loaf of bread.”

Your heart melted at him expressing his want to cheer you up. But little did he know, he offered you more than a loaf of bread that night. He offered you an ear to listen to, then the next time he offered his shoulder, and now he offered you a friendship. The loaf of bread was nice, but the non-physical possessions Shawn offered meant more to you than fancy bread.

“But staying nearly three hours or more after your shift has ended?” You picked at the top lip of your coffee cup, the white paper spiraling a little, “You could’ve been asleep, Lord knows how exhausted you must feel after working.”

You were waiting for another answer from him and you weren’t going to talk until he offered something––other than a loaf of bread––up. He finally shrugged and reconnected his eyes with yours, “I like seeing you.”

It felt as if the sweet smells of the bakery infiltrated your body. You felt warm, like hot bread that was just pulled straight out from the oven. You felt comfort, like how the smell of sourdough bread reminded you of your childhood. And you felt something else; not quite love, but more of an adoration for the baker sitting across from you.

“You could’ve just said that,” You said as Shawn twirled his foot around yours under the table. A sheepish smile made its way onto your face, “I like seeing you too.”

Shawn’s smile shined brighter than the sun through the window, “That’s…Cool.”

You bit your bottom lip, trying your hardest to conceal the laugh that wanted to escape, but you also wanted to hide your growing smile. All you seemed to do was smile around him.

“How about…” Shawn started speaking but his words trailed off as he looked at you. His smile brightened when he saw your rosy cheeks, “How about I make dinner for you? I’m no chef, but I can cook a mean pasta.”

You let out a fake gasp of surprise, “You mean you’re not a cook?!”

Shawn tsked himself, “Just a baker, sweetheart.”

Butterflies erupted in your stomach; sweetheart. You wouldn’t mind if he called you that a million more times.

“But this time,” you gave him a pointed look, “I’m buying the bread.”

#woot woot some baker Shawn!!#didnt know this was a need until the thought popped into my head😌#im also at work so I'll just be popping in and out of Tumblr at random times of the day skdfjksdlfj #didnt think I would be ~in the office but here we are #hope you all enjoyed it!!#let me know your thoughts!!#I LOVE to chit chat!!!!#Shawn mendes #Shawn mendes x reader #Shawn mendes x y/n #Shawn mendes imagine #Shawn mendes writing #Shawn mendes blurb #Shawn mendes fanfiction #Shawn mendes fan fiction #Shawn mendes ff #Shawn mendes fan fic #Shawn mendes fanfic #Shawn mendes oneshot #Shawn mendes one shot #Shawn mendes fluff #Shawn mendes au #Shawn mendes imagines #Shawn mendes writings #Shawn mendes oneshots #Shawn mendes one shots #Shawn mendes fic #shawnblr #Shawn Peter raul mendes #again!! tags will be the DEATH of me!!! you're all invited to the funeral!!!

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wickedmilo · 3 years

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SOUNDS LIKE A YOU PROBLEM | MILO & CHLOE

PLACE: A dive bar TIMING: 10:49 PM SUMMARY: After realising he has run out of money, Milo approaches Chloe and asks her to pay for his drinks. WRITING PARTNER: @chloeinbetween CONTENT WARNINGS: Addiction, alcohol, references to emotional abuse, drug manipulation (Leanan-Sidhe kiss), chronic illness

There were a lot of things Chloe hadn’t done for years, banned because the only thing allowed to be a detriment to her health was the fae feeding on her. There were a lot of things she wasn’t supposed to do now either, against medical advice or the general opinions of the town on what wasn’t and wasn’t safe. Drinking a glass of whiskey by herself in a bar that was too dingy to have a crowd on a weeknight probably fell into all of the above. Which was why she was doing it. Her fingers drummed against the sticky linoleum of the bar, looking at messages on her phone that she had no plan of answering. Her old messaging app had kept all the old messages from before she’d been taken, so in her worst moments she scrolled through the texts she’d received demanding to know where she was, and why she’d abandoned them.

It was hardly surprising in pits like this that she didn’t notice the young man sidling up to her curiously. Not until he was much too close. “Can I help you?” Chloe asked, looking him up and down.

Until very recently, Milo had no reason to concern himself with boundaries. The circles he usually ran in had far more important things to worry about, like who had the drugs, and where they were going to use them. He was too used to stumbling, getting close to strangers, or sharing paraphernalia with people he didn’t recognise. Being forced to avoid people, Humans, was new. A habit he was being forced to form. That didn’t mean his other habits, the ones he had been establishing for years, weren’t demanding his attention though. Which was why he had made his way over to a quiet bar, a bar he knew didn’t often draw in the crowds. As depressing as it was to drink alone in a shadowy corner, that’s exactly how he had been spending his night. Up until the moment he had reached into his pocket for the crushed bills he usually kept there and realised they were no longer present. He shouldn’t be surprised, he had been handing them over for hours. But everybody knew running out of money was anxiety inducing, even when you didn’t have habits to maintain.

His bank account was empty, that had been the last of it. He wasn’t stupid enough to assume he counted wrong when he had withdrawn the remainder of his funds. And he hadn’t been to work since his official time of death. He could make a run for it, but even in his inebriated state he knew being chased down and potentially tackled by a bartender would only end in said bartender being drained of blood. There didn’t seem to be many options ahead of him. So instead of eyeing the door, he began to eye his fellow patrons. It was very easy to single out the person least likely to punch him in the face, and he pushed himself out of the booth he had been slouching in, getting far too close before he could hold himself back. His limbs felt heavy, his entire body clumsy, and uncoordinated. But he pushed on. “Yeah, actually-” He insisted, a familiar rush of longing creeping up on him as her scent began to permeate the space. Taking a hesitant step back, he swallowed his craving, willing himself to stay where he was. “You can pay for my drinks.” Maybe it wasn’t the smoothest way of asking the woman for money, but his brain wasn’t functioning at full capacity and pathetically, it was the best he could do. Maybe she would take pity on him. “I mean- I’ve probably had the worst fucking month of my life, and I… shit, I mean I have no money. What do you want me to say?”

“Excuse me?” Chloe replied, twisting in her seat to look him over. There was a buzz in her head, but it did nothing to numb the immediate annoyance at his request. If anything, it removed any social insecurity, Chloe was no longer interested in being careful with her words. A fae would be more eloquent than that anyway. She pushed her drink further onto the counter so that she would not knock it, and looked him up and down. There was a loose, chaotic way of his movements, like he didn’t quite know how to hold himself together. He was drunk, drawling, obviously. Her lip curled in disgruntled annoyance. “Why the hell are you at a bar if you haven’t got any money?” Chloe snapped back, looking right back up at him.

“I really don’t see how that’s anyone’s problem except yours. And the bartender’s. How disrespectful do you need to be to expect something like this from other people?” She rolled her eyes pointedly at him. There was another thought, biting at the corner of her mind, after another moment of looking at him, the sentence slipped out before she could stop herself. “Can’t have been too shitty a month if you still have the capacity to make bad life choices.”

Milo knew the moment the woman turned to face him that she wasn’t about to hand over her credit card. Even if it hadn’t been obvious in her tone, it would have been obvious in the way she was looking at him. Letting out a huff of breath in response to the question, it was a sharp reminder of how important it was to take shallow breaths. He didn’t need the oxygen, and breathing in too deeply was only going to put her in danger. Each intake brought with it a wave of tantalising scent. “I had money.” He countered, an edge to his own voice. “I drank it.” Honestly, he wasn’t sure what he would do if somebody approached him and asked him to pay for their drinks. Maybe in the morning her reaction would feel reasonable, and valid. Right now though, in this moment, it was infuriating. It didn’t make any sense.

“And it isn’t disrespectful to be a total dick when somebody asks you for help?” He demanded, twisting the situation to frame himself as someone to sympathise with, someone to feel sorry for. He fell silent again, his eyes narrowing as she carefully observed him. Even with so much alcohol in his system, it made him feel vulnerable, and exposed. He didn’t like it. Shifting awkwardly on the spot, he felt a spark of genuine anger when she eventually commented on his life choices. Did he really look that bad? “Oh, yeah?” He snapped. “You’re here drinking alone too, you know? Seems like we’re both making shitty decisions. I’d like to see anybody go through what I’ve been through and not want to drink themselves into oblivion. Haven’t you ever heard of coping mechanisms? Fucking crutches? Maybe I just need a fucking break.”

“Sounds like a you problem,” Chloe replied, matching his edge just as harshly, even though her voice croaked with the effort. There was a way he looked at her that made her skin crawl, like he knew more about her than he should, or that he wanted more than her money. Perhaps what was left of her life, she though, and shook the thought away. He didn’t have the charisma to be like Lydia. He was pitiable. Still a threat, maybe, but under her anger she understood just want this looked like.

There was a knife edge difference between drinking to cope and drinking to lose herself, and Chloe was terrified of landing the wrong edge of the line.

Then he opened his mouth again and her sympathy was quashed immediately. “Only if they’re not a dick in asking for it. You didn’t even ask! You demanded. You look young but not too young to know the difference.” If nothing, her barbed comment only seemed to raise his hackles even further, his voice raising. Her hands curled tightly around the edge of the barstool. “I’m not pissing off anyone else though, am I? I don’t think you’re in a place to throw rocks, dude. Oh fuck off, do you really think you have a monopoly on suffering?”

Milo glared at the woman, irritated by the tone she was taking although he had a feeling he might look back on this conversation and feel it was entirely justified. “I’m trying to make it an us problem.” He muttered, thinking of every time Dani had ever called him a smartmouth. “I didn’t ask for shit.” He added, his glare only growing in intensity. Clearly it had been a mistake to approach her. She must have known he was likely going to ask her for money regardless of how she chose to begin their initial interaction, but technically he was being honest. “You asked if you could help me, and I said yes, you could pay for my drinks. If anything, you offered.”

Noting her voice growing in volume, the last thing he wanted to do was cause a scene. But he also felt as though he had every right to be angry. He hadn’t done anything wrong. “I didn’t come over here to piss you off. I actually have better things to do.” He snapped, running a clumsy hand through his hair as he struggled to reign in his frustration. “You know what? Yeah, I really fucking do have the monopoly on suffering right now. Why do you think I’m even here? I had friends, and a fucking family, and I’m really fucking tired. So forgive me for not realising I was nearly out of cash. And forgive me for thinking that maybe someone might actually take pity on me and offer to help me out. It’s whatever, okay? I’ll fucking go-”

“I’ll remember next time to be clearer with my sarcasm as you don’t seem to get it. I fucking doubt that,” Chloe snarled back, eyes creased in a frown, back straight. She couldn’t say whether it was the alcohol or the attitude that was giving her a headache, but she was pretty sure he was the problem either way. But somewhere in his furious tirade, Chloe heard the hints of something that… well, nothing justified treating people shittily, but something awful, something Chloe understood a little too well.

No friends. No family. Alone in a dark place with an unhealthy coping mechanism and a need to drown your thoughts in a buzz. Chloe hadn’t had access to alcohol for the last few years, but… well, there had been something available to take the edge off. Chloe shivered. “Wait.” She said curtly, jaw flexing, unable to believe she was about to say this. Maybe because in the biting harshness of his features she saw snippets of Todd and Sammy, young lost men who had found the wrong source of comfort in their troubled lives. Chloe already knew it was fantastical to think she could fix things, but if there was a kindness to be offered…. On the other hand, he was an asshole who had pissed her off, so she almost let him walk away just to teach him a lesson. “Just this once, okay? So you don’t end up in jail on top of whatever other shit you have going on. Now get the hell out of here.”

“Maybe don’t engage strangers in conversation and you won’t have to.” Milo countered. She had spoken to him first. He wasn’t about to take responsibility for something that wasn’t his fault. He was just turning to leave, his hands balled into fists, when he heard the woman call out to him. Surprised, but too irritated to show any gratitude, he faced her once again, a frown still fixed firmly in place. He hadn’t been expecting her to change her mind, and he was in too bitter a mood to be honest about just how much the gesture meant. Taking the bills she was handing out to him, he was careful to only take the amount he needed, leaving a few of them behind. There were other ways to find money if he became desperate. Right now, it seemed like the very least he could do to acknowledge she was offering him help. Crumpling them in his hand, he sheepishly caught her eye. He knew he should say thank you, but he was stubborn. Too stubborn to admit he might have been unfair to her. So he left, instead. Without saying another word. Maybe one day he might feel guilty about that fact, but it wasn’t as though he was ever going to see her again. Something, he thought, that might very well be for the best.

#addiction tw #alcohol tw #emotional abuse tw #drug manipulation tw #chronic illness tw #milo & chloe #alcohlism tw #c:chloe

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justicebled · 3 years

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@viivyre like’d for a cooking starter .

he’s quietly perusing the kitchen. for no real surprise, he finds that despite losing human form save the stalwart, true heart within; that servants, ( what a word of all things, but he supposes it’s no different than a sense of entrapment ) still clung voraciously to eating food just as they had in their mortal lives. it’s a trace of comfort from the rest long denied them. the clarity of farewell as the world either passed in darkness or light at the hour of their death, or something indescribable, like this, a cold brightness of calling upon the dead to perform a duty noble, but choice stolen from pallid lips.

to be at the age of a twenty two year old man; much less that he had lived as long as he did, granted what he had chosen in future’s betterment, was something yuri lowell still found his lips twitching quietly at as calloused hands weighed the tools.

“ ... not too bad. you can tell we really are at last resort with the rust on some of’em. should ask them to consider a good craftsman here. “ baritone rich and confident; the man returned to his youth can hear the clank of armor; but does not yet turn his head. it’s only after a brief pause that the woman drawing near; faced only with long sheets of violet hair and black-clad apparel shifts his weight to one strong foot and the fellow saber class affixes her with a casual yet oddly piercing stare. a brightness uncanny upon it. as if no doubt nor wavering touched his eyes. they were clean and they were bright. oddly enough...he sees it in her.

there is an unflinching clarity of conviction in his dark violet-grey; a light which burns in an odd purity that pierces like a blade as much as extends a hand. it watches her without judgment, but stares all the same. oddly benevolent, but still veiled.

ah, yes. her.

so evident from glances of her that her formality and demeanor belied a knight that would fit right in the world he’d left behind. but more than that, her regal demeanor, her posture...the stiff speech that flowed in eyes also flooded with a strange light. a shared purity of staunch morality. a low, smooth baritone spills from the throat; as if discussing the weather. he hardly seems intimidated by her, but nor does he greet her with disrespect. he simply takes her presence where it is lain before him.

“ morning , saber. you are a saber class right? we’ve seen each other around a few times but don’t mind me not getting used to all the rules i could have lived without. if you’re not you don’t have to share. let’s just say you look like a role familiar where i was from.” cryptic, but not unkind in his steadfast mien; traces of warmth in the corners of those dark, oddly pure eyes, does he nod once. hands on hips with an exaggerated; humorous sigh as if tasked with the hardest of burdens. cooking for starving servants.

“ i’m thinkin’ about what to make. lately people really are hounding me on cooking lately. i thought i was called here to stop some suffering but i’m getting double time. what a pain.“ a brief sigh; lips twitching to show he doesn’t really mind. more amused than anything.

he doesn’t know nor trust her just yet; so his casual features; untamed yet strong, peek through the cabinets, confident enough to turn his back to her. by how she carried herself, the woman was unflinchingly honest. he could ally with that, find someone who for different beliefs perhaps, something in her rang genuine.

“ got a lot of votes for mabo curry; others want steak; i think someone wanted stew, the list goes on. “ he flashes her a crooked, wry little smile; a mouth that seemed as if it had smiled many times, at times with the predatory teasing of a friend and big brother and so on, the other with the kindness of a man laden and seeping blood within the cavity of his chest from so much of it. hidden as he tried to make it known, who would take on atlas’ horrors willingly if they were not kind?

“ do you cook? or did you have somethin’ you wanted?”

#𝐕; 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄: the purity of justice; how he burns so bright! rise once more; and cleave darkness.#viivyre #𝐈𝐂 ✴ —— he walks the unbeaten path; bowing his head to no one.#hope this works!#i figure he kinda...has seen her around #him: she is probably a lot more than a knight.#also him: says nothing.#let me know if anything you want to be changed is known yeah?#let's gooo

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theres-a-goldensky · 4 years

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BL Show Review Series - HIStory 3: Trapped

My first non-Thai BL review is also going to be of a series that moves away from the university setting: the Taiwanese drama HIStory3: Trapped.

Disclaimer that these are my own opinions, and I don’t know where the BL community as a whole stands on these shows. If I disliked a show you loved or visa versa, no disrespect is intended!

MASTERLIST OF BL SHOW REVIEWS

MILD SPOILERS AHEAD!

HIStory3: Trapped Rating: 9.5/10

This series. This series. First, a little background if you’re unfamiliar with the HIStory franchise. HIStory is a series of unrelated BL stories. The first season had three hour-long specials. The second series got more ambitious. There are two different stories, each spanning four full-length episodes. Finally, by the time they reached the third iteration, the franchise had grown so popular that both of the series, Trapped and Make Our Days Count, were 10 full-length episodes. (Well, or 20 small episodes that were then condensed down to 10 larger ones, but semantics.)

If you’re interested, the HIStory series is available, in the US at least, on the website viki. It is a subscription site, but it gives you access to thousands of Asian dramas, including this series and South Korean BLs like Where Our Eyes Linger and Mr. Heart.

HIStory3: Trapped is a story about a mobster and the police officers pursuing him. But since this is BL, the mob boss has a heart of gold and is trying to reform the gang so that he and his ‘family’ can get out of the drug business and go legit. Meanwhile, the police officers are on the hunt for answers about a four year old incident that killed one of their own, but they are, err...not super effective.

Look, you just have to roll with the fact that this story is extremely lax about police protocol and the reality of being in the mob. It’s a set up for enemies-to-lovers and intense UST and that’s it. The police chief and other higher ups have no problem with one of their officers dating a well known mob boss who is suspected of killing a fellow police officer, for instance. So why should we? Just roll with it, ok? Roll like a bowling ball, where the pins at the end of the alley are super hot UST, pining, hurt/comfort, jealousy and bed scenes.

The mob boss in question is Tang Yi.

Since the death of his adopted father, he’s taken over the Tang operation and is dedicating himself to avenging his father’s murder and also following his father’s dream of legitimizing their company so that their family can be safe. He is...I mean. He’s gorgeous. Just, like, super super super hot. He is outwardly unflappable (unless you poke the bruise of his father’s death), dresses impeccably, and kills with these knowing smirks that get me every time.

His life is made very complicated by officer Meng Shao Fei, who has been obsessively following him around for years. The same incident that killed Master Tang and injured Tang Yi also killed his police mentor, and Shao Fei is certain that Tang Yi had something to do with it.

Shao Fei is impulsive and as straight forward as Tang Yi is oblique and mysterious. It’s clear early on that Shao Fei’s pursuit of Tang Yi is fueled in part by his attraction to him. Tang Yi can see this as well, and he uses Shao Fei’s crush to his advantage, ratcheting up the sexual tension to nearly unbearable heights in the early episodes and purposely provoking Shao Fei’s quick jealousy.

The jealousy is what brings this show’s rating down the half-point. Shao Fei is so transparent about his jealousy that it becomes uncomfortable to watch. I was cringing with secondhand embarrassment through a lot of the early episodes. However, that honest emotion works well for him once he figures out what he wants from Tang Yi.

This relationship has a TON of hurt/comfort for those of you interested in that particular trope. For Shao Fei, it’s physical h/c. The guy can’t stop getting hurt, and we get to see a lot of Tang Yi worried about him. For Tang Yi, though, it’s emotional h/c as he deals with the psychological fallout from watching his father die.

You might hear mob boss/police officer and think of, I don’t know, The Sopranos, or some other serious, dramatic show. While this story does have its dramatic moments, it is largely romantic and comedic in tone.

The plot surrounding the mystery of that mass murder four years earlier keeps things chugging along and takes some interesting turns, but the focus of the show is very much on the couples.

The main side pairing of the show is between Jack, Tang Yi’s right hand man, and Zhao Zi, another police officer and Meng Shao Fei’s best friend. This pairing is pure fluff from beginning to end. It’s where a lot of the comedy comes, and the two of them are absolutely delightful together.

The contrast set up by Jack’s dark, dangerous personality when he’s doing his job and his sweetness towards Zhao Zi is entertaining. He’s often seen idly flicking a switchblade and smiling in a way that makes it clear he has no problem using it. And then, on the other hand, he prepares Zhao Zi bento boxes and texts him cute bear stickers to make him laugh.

Neither of these sides of Jack seem fake. They’re both just part of who he is, and Zhao Zi gets the warm, domestic Jack, while the rest of the world gets the ruthless, efficient Jack.

Again, you might be asking yourself: isn’t it weird that a leather-wearing gang member who was recently arrested by that very police team could stroll into the station and hand an officer a homemade lunch and no one cares? And to that, I say, roll with it like you’re in one of those giant orb things and HIStory3: Trapped has just pushed you down a hill.

The character of Zhao Zi is adorable, naive and almost childlike. He looks like someone who has never even held a gun in his life, never mind actually shot one. That makes it pretty funny that he became a police officer. It seems to be implied that Zhao Zi is more of a tech / research guy than a field officer, but anyway, we’re rolling with it, so it’s fine.

He’s completely blindsided by Jack’s interest in him, but is easily won over through snacks, home cooked meals, and Jack’s genuine interest in Zhao Zi’s stories about his beloved, dead grandmother.

The other side pairing in this series is between Tang Yi’s adopted sister Zuo Hong Ye, who runs the legitimate side of the company, and their assistant, Dao Yi. Dao Yi is loyal to the Tang family, and is much older than Hong Ye. He has been her bodyguard since she was adopted by Master Tang, which makes his romantic feelings very uncomfortable for him.

Some people didn’t like this pairing, but I got into it by the end. The problem is that Hong Ye starts off seeming pretty unlikable, because she’s rude to our protagonist, Shao Fei. But then you realize that she’s doing it to protect Tang Yi from the police officer she thinks is gunning for him.

There may be a large age difference between the characters, but the actual actors are very close in age, so that part of the story line comes off a little weird. But I found them an engaging couple, in particular Dao Yi’s stoic pining for Hong Ye.

In conclusion: watch this series! It’s great! The bed scenes are hot, the characters are well drawn, the acting is good, the story is interesting. Big recommendation.

And if you’re interested in fanfic, I put together rec lists for multiple BL shows including this one that can be found here and here.

MASTERLIST OF BL SHOW REVIEWS

(Send me an ask if you have a show you’d like me to review - with the understanding that I will be completely honest - or if there’s anything you think I forgot or got wrong in this review.)

#history3: trap #history 3: trapped #history 3: 圈套 #tang yi #tang yi x shao fei #Meng Shao Fei #jack/zhao zi #bl review series #taiwanese bl #HIStory series

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hellfirenacht · 4 years

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Gio and Humanity

Gio is part of The Conglomerate, a Beetlejuice Mafia AU. For more info visit @beetlebitchywitch, @sofasmut, @realmonsterboyhours @do-ya-hear-that-sound and @beetlejuicebeadoll

Gio/Reader near the end.

The 1900s did a number on Gio with the advancing technology. He saw a lot of the worst of humanity so he closed himself off. It wasn't until the past decade that he started to try and interact with humans again and saw just how drastically the world was changing.

Gio was used to change being slow and steady, with occasional quick bursts of things that were inevitable, but now the world was so much different than he could have ever imagined. The conglomerate often joked about Zhuk acting like an old man, but Gio was something beyond that. Bajo, Cia, Zhuk, even Bee told him that he should stop hiding and try to spend time with humans again- or at least come spend time with them in human places. That's when Gio started seeing the beauty of humanity again; when the boys refused to let him read the depressing papers and make him talk to humans, he started to remember why he chose his human form to begin with.

Gio goes to one of Bajos night clubs and gets invited to dance over and over again. He's so used to people fearing him, but this generation is so different, so fearless. A group of humans, drunk and dressed in wild clothing say that they are "adopting" him for the night. They say he sticks out like a sore thumb with his super fancy suit, so they gotta take care of him. Gio doesn't dance, especially when Bajo is giving him such a shit-eating grin, but he does watch drinks and lets one of them try on his jacket. Even though his new... friends?... are drunk, they still are looking out for each other. He sees the other Dons in this group and thanks them for a nice time and orders them a limo to take them home safe.

He spends a few nights at one of Zhuk's luxury resorts, thinking that first night was a fluke. He spends time by the pool, he catches up on some reading when someone sits next to him and asks him about his book. They end up talking for hours, and the person asks if he has the next book in the series yet. Gio admits he didn't know it was a series and the person reaches into their backpack and hands him a well-loved copy of the book. Normally Gio would scoff at the idea of owning anything second-hand, but this is different. This is a gift from a stranger that wanted nothing more than to make sure he got to read it as soon as possible. For the next few days the two meet up and just talk about the book. There's clear passion in the persons eyes, and Gio is surprised that they hadn't made a move on him. They talk about how the series influenced them to become a writer, and how they've been trying to get published but it's hard. When Gio finally leaves the resort, he leaves a card for the person- a number to his own personal publishing company.

Ciarog's bar is.... far rowdier than he was used to. Even Bajo's night club had it's moments of calm between songs but Cia's bar was different. It was loud, and there was constant singing and fighting and more singing and more drinking. He sat at the bar, trying to hold a conversation with his fellow Don, but Cia was all over the place- mixing drinks, chatting with customers, flirting with patrons. Gio always felt that Cia was the least professional when it came to his front, but he was starting to realize that it was because he acted unprofessional that his fronts worked so well. He couldn't help but be jealous at how easily talking to humans came to Cia. Gio was about to give up on the night and leave when a man, much taller and bigger than Gio's current form, tapped him hard on the shoulder. The man said that Gio looked like "a right mean cunt" and Gio was ready to show this man what that disrespect was about. Then Cia puts a firm hand on his shoulder, laughter on his lips. He explains that this man was just saying that he thought Gio looked interesting and that he wanted to be friends. Cia hands the two a shot of his top-shelf Whiskey and, still confused, they do a shot together. The big guy laughs and pats Gio on the back and brings him over to his table filled with his biker friends. They spend the rest of the evening drinking, and Gio learns their gang's drinking song. He makes a note to get their information from Cia. These men were good, and would do well in their Mafia on a civilian level.

Gio has never been terribly fond of America if he was being completely honest, but he did love New Orleans and visiting Scarabee's casinos. Out of all the Don's fronts, this was probably his favorite. It was hot and muggy, and the bayou seemed so peaceful that night. Though he wasn't a huge fan of gambling, he did enjoy a good round of cards. The night was going well enough, though not nearly as memorable as the others had been. He was polite, made small talk, and was considering retiring for the night when he noticed a young woman by herself in the corner. She didn't seem interested in being there, and his curiosity gets the best of him. When he introduces himself, she's more closed off than the others were.

That was fine, he was used to that. Still, he wanted to know why she was sitting alone and after some prodding (he always did get what he wanted), she admits that she was kind of tricked into coming here. She was visiting family and her "family" had told her that they were going on a ghost tour but no, that was a lie and now she's stuck on a floating casino with nothing to do and gambling away her last paycheck didn't sound like fun.

Gio would normally call Scarabee over to entertain a lady with ghost stories but he was nowhere to be seen at the moment. So Gio just.. starts talking. Telling her the truth of the ghosts of NOLA, and the entire time she's rapt with attention and drinking in his every word. Occasionally she'd ask a question, but once or twice he found that he didn't have an answer. In those cases she's pull out her phone and they'd look together. It was.... refreshing to not have answers for once. It was simple. He didn't have anything to offer her, instead just making sure that he paid her tab.

Back at home, he wanders his museum and reflects on what the past few weeks have been. It's hard to be constantly having to change your mind about humanity, but there he was. He stops when he sees you, staring at one of his paintings. It had been a long while since he had seen a human as beautiful as the art that he surrounded himself with, he goes to introduce himself and asks if he can help with anything.

You smile and shake your head, saying that you just really love this piece based off of Beauty and the Beast. He raises an eyebrow, coaxing you to go on. You take a moment to think and tell him that it was never really about Belle, it was about the Beast learning to love again. Yes, Belle was pretty and it helped, but anyone can like a pretty face. You explain that the Beast needed to fall in love with humanity before he could fall in love with her for real.

Gio stares hard for a moment, wondering what kind of on-the-nose bullshit that was. Did the universe just enjoy calling him out like that? (Yes). He offers you his arm, and tells you that he'd love to hear more about what you think of the paintings and other works of art in his museum. You agree happily, and he walks off with you, starting to fall in love with humanity again

#beetlejuice x reader #the conglomerate #gio x reader #gio #mafia au #nacht fic

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