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idunnoanymore7 · 10 months

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Freezer

Description: If you get locked in the walk-in freezer with your hot boss, you need to warm up somehow.

Content: carmy x reader (no use of y/n), injury(cut finger) and mention of blood, sort of enemies to lovers, oral f!receiving, fingering, unprotected piv sex, dirty talk, use of pet names

Author’s Note: I need him IN MY BONES. i wrote this before watching the ep when this happens LOL. also i love feedback if you want to leave it! <3

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It started as a normal day of work-as in Carmy was yelling, Richie was an asshole, and Sydney was solving everything.

It ended up being an intense day for an unofficial kitchen assistant. There was a large rush of customers at lunch, leaving Carmy’s veins to protrude as he yelled at everyone to make more food.

“50 more beef, 20 veggie, 16 everything chefs!”

“Heard, chef!” The kitchen chorused back.

He called your name.

“Yes, chef?”

“I need the two slabs of beef left in the fridge, and then you need to go drive and get more.”

“Heard, chef,” you say, writing the instructions down quickly on your notepad.

Carmy was already gone, at his station picking up the pound of beef. You stared as his bicep curved out, his hand flexed and gripped the bag. You were interrupted by-

“Chef! I need those tomatoes!” Sydney said. “They have to be in the pot in 5!”

Fuck-the tomatoes you were chopping for Sydney’s sauce before this meeting started.

“Yes chef!”

“And we’re talking about whatever that was later!” she said. You tense as you realize she saw you gawking.

“Syyyyd!” You whine. She grins.

“Get to work!” Carmy hollers from around a corner, and you dash back to the sink.

You had finished half of the ten tomatoes sydney requested. You picked up the knife and got to work on the 6th of the bunch.

You were mindlessly chopping for maybe a minute before someone slammed into your back, knocking you forward and causing you to slice your finger.

“Fuck!” you gasped. You whirled around to see who it was. “Say behind!”

Of course. Richie. He looked down at you and his lip curled.

“Not my fault! Pay more attention next time.”

He stalked off, rolling his eyes.

Whatever, you didn’t have time for this. Luckily no blood got on the tomatoes, so you wrapped the cut in paper towel and got back to work careful to keep that finger away from the food. You slid the cut up food into a bowl and carried it to Sydney, placing it next to her.

“Thanks, chef,” she said, checking the tomatoes.

“Of course, chef.”

“Whoa, you good?” she said, noticing your finger.

“Yeah, I’ll fix it after I finish,” you said.

“Okay..” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Be careful.”

“I will, chef!” You say, already heading to the freezer. “Corner!”

You reached the freezer and pulled open the door to slip inside, looking for the beef Carmy had asked for.

“Ah!” You jumped, shoulder blade hitting the metal shelf. Carmy startled from the racks he was leaning on.

“What the fuck?” He leaned on the door to steady himself; pushing it closed.

“Fuck-sorry chef,” You said quickly. “I didn’t know you were in here.”

“Clearly,” he groaned, tipping his head back against the shelf. You could feel the shame burning up your chest and sternum.

“Just get your stuff and go, okay?”

You nodded and leaned over, right hand on the metal coils as you looked for the beef on the bottom shelf.

“It’s right there,” he said angrily, gesturing to the slab. Great day so far. You cut yourself and now your workplace crush was yelling at you. Like you could focus when he was right there. You could feel his body heat.

You gripped the plastic and lifted the meat into the crook of your left arm. Hefting it up, you turned and reached for the door handle, avoiding eye contact with Carmy.

You pulled the handle. Nothing happened. What?

You tried again. Still nothing more than a slight jiggle, and the door didn’t budge.

“What the fuck?” You mumbled.

“Let me try,” he said, moving into your space. His wide shoulders brushed against you, reminding you of all that manliness and what you wanted it to do to you.

You stepped back, the weight of the beef (and your attraction to Carmy) already starting to burn. You switched arms as he yanked hard on the handle, bicep and shoulder muscles flexing. He added his other hand and pulled down and back. Nothing.

This could not be happening. You can’t be stuck in here with Carmy. He’ll eat you alive, and not in the way you wanted. You couldn’t stand the thought of the cause of that twist in your gut hating you.

“Fuck!” he yelled, slamming his fist against the door. “Richie! Syd!”

You both knew the door was metal, several inches thick. They’d have to be close to hear him.

You gasped and set the beef back so you could curl your arms around yourself. Carmy whirled around.

“You fucking locked us in here!” he said, pointing at you.

“Me?!” You yelled back. “It’s not my fault the door jammed!”

“Yes it is!” he fired back. “This wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t come in here!”

“I was getting the fucking beef you asked me for!” You screamed back.

He was about to respond when you heard muffled voices outside.

“Syd!” You called out.

“Cousin!” He yelled at the same time.

“What’re you guys doing in there?” you hear Sydney say through the door.

“The fucking door won’t open!” Carmy exclaimed. “Get us out!”

The handle shook, then shook more violently.

“I think it’s jammed!” came Richie’s yell.

“No shit, Sherlock,” you mumble.

Carmy looks at you out of the corner of his eye before turning back. “So can you fix it?”

“Um, not sure,” came his cousin’s reply. “I think we need to get Fak…”

“Fuck!” Carmy exclaimed louder, pushing his tattooed hands through his hair. “It’s lunch rush! I cant be stuck in here!”

“I’d also like to be outside!” You add.

“It’s okay chef,” Sydney’s voice responds. “I’ll keep us on task while Richie works to get you out. We won’t fall behind.”

“I got this, cousin!” Richie says.

Carmy sighs and leans his head against the freezer door, resting his hands on it.

“Good, chef. You’ll have a limited menu since our meat is in here.”

“On it Chef. We were due for a shipment anyway.”

“Thank you chef. An-“

Sydney cuts him off saying your name. “Just breathe, okay? We’ll get you out as soon as possible.”

“Thank you Syd,” you reply, feeling grateful for her ability to take charge.

“Oh! And I’ll slip a bandage under the door!”

“Ahhh thank you,” You respond with relief, looking down at the paper towel that was almost completely red.

That caught Carmy’s attention. His head whipped around to look at you as her footsteps pattered away.

“You good?”

You looked at him in surprise. “Yeah…just cut my finger.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “You have to be careful. We can’t be losing manpower.”

You glared. “Richie slammed into me. My carefulness didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Here you go,” Syd said as she slid the bandaid under the door. “Fak will be here in an hour or so.”

“What?” you exclaim at the same time.

“Apparently he likes to go to a specific movie theater an hour away. I don’t fucking know.”

You groan along with Carmy.

You slid down to sit on the cement floor and set about trying to open the bandage, but hissed when it slid across your cut.

Carmy sighed. “Let me help you with that.”

“I got it, thanks. Isn’t it because I wasn’t careful enough, anyway?” You say.

“You can’t blame me for trying to keep the restaurant running.”

“Thanks for the sympathy.”

“Just let me do it.”

Carmy lowered himself to the floor, leaning back on his haunches. The image of this larger-than-life man on his knees for you made you slow, handing over the bandage.

He took it and began to unwrap.

“I know you’re careful,” he says into his hands.

“Huh?” you ask in surprise.

He looks up at you, those beautiful blue eyes upping your heart rate. “I know you’re careful. I shouldn’t have yelled.”

Oh fuck. New reason why you couldn’t stay in here. You were gonna fall in love with him.

The praise makes you smile, and his face seems to lighten at that. “Thanks,” you say. “I assume it helps my case that Richie has a reputation for being not careful.”

He huffs a smile. “Maybe a bit.” He reaches his hand out gently. Seeing the veins and tattoos on the backs of his hands were not helping your heartbeat. Your nerves shake as he takes your hand and undoes the paper towel with the other.

His face hardens and you look to see why. The gash was deeper than you realized, but nothing new to kitchen staff.

“Fuckin’ Richie,” Carmy grumbles angrily.

“It’s fine,” you say reassuringly. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

He makes eye contact again. “You shouldn’t have to. Not in my kitchen.”

Your lips part in surprise, and you think you catch him looking at them a beat too long before returning to your hand. The fact that such talented, skilled hands were working on your little cut was wild to you.

A curl fell in his face, and you had to resist the urge to push it back for him. He was finishing up the bandage, and your mind screamed keep him over here.

“How are we gonna keep from freezing to death in here?” You ask, half joking.

He moves back to lean against the shelves on the opposite wall, legs crossed at the ankle. You immediately feel the absence of his hands on you.

He shrugs. “I’m used to it.”

“All that means is you won’t notice when the hypothermia kicks in.”

His eyebrows furrow. “That cannot be true.”

“Yeah, I have no idea.” You respond, stretching your legs out so they’re parallel to his.

He chuckles, louder than you thought he would.

“How is the job so far?” He asks.

“Good,” you say. “Better than a lot of kitchens. Except when I have to sit in a freezer with my boss.” You nudge his knee with yours.

“C’mon, is he really that bad?” Carmy teases.

You think for a minute. “No, honestly. He’s pretty fantastic at everything he does. In appearance, too. I don’t know how he keeps those white shirts so clean.”

“I meant to be in a freezer with,” Carmy responds. There’s a shameful beat.

“I-“

“I’m just messing with you,” He smirks.

You roll your eyes, still embarrassed for your lovey rant.

“I look fantastic, huh?”

You squirm. “I didn’t mean it like that-“

“How did you mean it then? Don’t hurt my feelings.”

“Can they be hurt?” You ponder. “I’m sure many women have told you similarly.”

He shakes his head. “That’s probably the only personal compliment I’ve gotten in years. They’ve all been about my cooking.” His face is a bit pink now.

You rub your arms, the goosebumps a combination of the freezer and Carmy’s gaze on you. Speaking of, his eyes follow the movement of your arms and his jaw ticks.

“That’s almost unbelievable to me,” You begin. “That no one tells you you look good.”

“Do people tell you that?” He asks.

“Sometimes, I suppose,” You say. “When I look nicer than this.” You gesture down at yourself.

“You still look nice,” He says gravelly, crossing his arms over his chest. You have to tear your eyes away from his forearms to respond.

“Thanks, so do you,” You say lightly, hoping it’s not obvious how much you mean it.

You can tell from his eyes he sees through you, though.

“I know you think so,” He says lowly.

“Oh yeah?” You ask nervously.

“Yeah,” he almost groans. “The way you look at me when I cook-it’s so distracting.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whisper.

“Yes you do,” he says, eyes hard. “But you’re so focused, and careful, that you never see when I’m looking the same way at you.”

You swallow hard. There was no way this was real. Carmy being into you? Impossible.

“Yeah, right,” You respond.

His jaw ticks. “What, you don’t think that’s true?”

“Carmy, look at you. Then look at me. Of course I don’t think that’s true.” You shake.

He pushes his hands through his curls again. His shirt rises up an inch when he does, and you can’t help but glance at the bit of happy trail-

“See,” He groans. “I cant think straight around you. Especially when you look at me like that. Like I’m worth your attention.”

“Of course you are, Chef,” you say, looking into his eyes as your voice went lower.

The name seemed to do him in. His frazzled look shifted to feral, eyes bright and hair in every direction.

“You never answered my question,” You said lowly.

“What question?”

“How are we gonna stay warm in here?” You say, tone suggesting there was more to what you were saying. “Because I can think of a few ideas…”

“Oh, so can I,” He said gravelly, dragging his eyes down your body as you rose up on your knees. “All of them require you getting over here.” he said.

Didn’t have to tell you twice. He uncrossed his legs, his perfect thighs framing a seat for you. Before you could sit, his large hands crept onto your back, grasping you as he put his face onto your belly.

“Is this okay?” He asked, tone serious.

“Yes, yes,” you almost whine, hands reaching the back of his head.

When you run your fingers through your hair like you’d been dreaming about, he groans.

This giant, muscled man groans into your stomach. You feel like jelly.

“Fuck,” he mumbles. “I haven’t done this in a long time.”

You had heard about his nonexistent dating history. But you didn’t care.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want,” You say, looking down at him.

“No,” he groans, looking up at you, the angle of his eyes and his hands gripping you making you even wetter. “I want.”

You gasp and that reaction seems to spur him on. He slides his hands down your thighs and pulls you into his lap.

You groan quietly as you feel his cock through his pants, already hardening just from you being close. You couldn’t believe it.

“You feel that? What you do to me?” He asks, tucking your hair behind your ear. “You think it’s true now?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you gasp. “Wanna feel what you do to me?”

He groans in your ear. “Oh, we’ll get there.”

Then, he kisses you. And not a polite one. He kisses you like you’re a new recipe he made: new and delicious and ready to be devoured whole.

You moan and his grip on your shirt tightens like you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on. You tug on his hair and your hips involuntarily buck against him.

He pulls back and moves his mouth to your neck. “Needy little thing, aren’t you?”

“I could-“ His teeth scrape your neck. “I could say the same thing about you.”

His hands grasp your face and kiss you again, holding you and taking you.

You reach your hands for the hem of his shirt, needing something to ground you with the heat running through your body. As soon as you reach your hands underneath his shirt and scrape your nails up, he seems to go haywire.

His hands grip anywhere they can reach, your back, your hips, your shoulders, your hair. Not quite where you want him.

You pull back and he looks worried. But that look dissipates when you reach for the bottom of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head.

“Oh…pretty girl…” he mumbles, hands sliding up from your hips and across your stomach.

You smile and reach your arms to the back of your bra.

“You want this off too?” You ask.

“Yes, oh god, please-“

Your thighs try to squeeze together from his desperation, but his hips are in the way and he notices.

“You like that baby? You like when I beg?”

You whimper. Oh god. And he heard it.

“I can do that, pretty girl, I can beg,” He says, his blue eyes in yours.

“Fuck, Carmy-“ You groan.

His hands move up, sliding seductively up your skin. “Can I take it off baby? Want it to be me that gets to undress you.”

“Yeah, you can,” You nod, unable to form sentences. He was gonna kill you.

He undoes the clasp on the first try, and his eyes get wider as the bra falls away. Your nipples turn into points from the cold freezer.

“Ohhh pretty girl, look at these,” he says in fascination, running his thumbs over your peaks.

The rough skin against you makes you moan, head falling back as he grasps your tits in his hands.

“So, so pretty,” he says, and then he scrapes his teeth against them. You gasp, as he continues to suck and bite at your breasts. “Wanna hold ‘em every day-“

“Fuck-so glad you like them Carmy,” you groan. “Please, please can you take this off?”

You grasp at his shirt. “Of course, baby,” he says, hair even crazier than normal from your tugging. He helps you lift it up and over his head.

“Oh, god,” you say, eyes widening as you finally see him in his full glory. Seeing his defined biceps next to his pecs and happy trail might knock you out cold. “Oh Carmy you are fantastic.”

That makes him laugh, and you grab his neck to kiss him again, and he moans into your mouth. Your other hand runs down his chest, dragging along the waistband. His hands grasped your boobs, and it felt better than you thought it would.

His desperation and muscle was making you soaked. You needed him to touch you.

“Carm-“ You squirm in his lap, looking for friction.

“I know, baby, I got you,” he says. “C’mere.”

He holds you into him with one arm, and you bite at his shoulder as he looks for the shirts on the hard ground, making a makeshift pillow for you.

He lays you back, and you watch him as he slowly kisses and nicks his way down your body, getting more teethy and possessive as he gets lower.

He reaches the waistband of your pants, and looks up at you for assurance. You look at the door nervously, and he catches it.

“I’m not gonna let anyone see you,” He says. “This is for me,” he grabs your ass. “Understand?”

You nod desperately and wiggle your hips.

“I wanna hear you say it.”

“Heard, chef,” you tease, and he tsks at you, smirking.

He pulls your pants down and over your ankles, adjusting himself to breathe over your thighs.

You inhale sharply as the cold hits your legs, goosebumps forming. Carmy’s hands soothe you, running up your thighs slowly.

He rubs his thumb over the wet spot on your underwear and looks up at you. “All this for me?”

“Told you you’d feel what you do to me.” you say.

“Ugh, pretty girl, you’re gonna kill me.” he groans into your thigh, biting down and you whimper.

“Please, Carm, don’t tease-“

He pulls your underwear down in one swift motion, looking at you for reassurance before pulling your thighs over his shoulders and diving into his meal.

You can’t help your load moan as he licks a stripe all the way up your folds, circling your clit when he gets there.

Your hands twist into his hair but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, his hands clamp harder into your thighs as your taste spurs him on.

“Fuck,” His nose- that perfect nose- rubs your clit over and over and you almost squeal just from the visual: his tattooed hands on your thighs, his curls in your fingers, his blue eyes looking straight into yours.

He pushes his tongue into you and your hips buck as you moan when he curls it up. The absence of it inside you makes you whimper, until his middle finger enters you and you really do squeal.

“Carmy- ah-“

“Yeah, baby, lemme hear you.”

He curls his finger and hits that spongey spot inside you, making your hips buck again. His eyes look scoldingly at you before he removes his right hand and presses down on your lower stomach.

“Shit-!” Your head lolls back. “That’s a nice trick, Chef-“ You can feel him smirk.

The pressure makes the finger pumping inside you pleasing in a whole new way. Still sucking on your clit, Carmy curls another finger inside you.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna-“

“I got you, c’mon, come for me, wanna see you come all over my fingers,” Carmy says desperately, and you listen, snapping loose and releasing all over him.

Your boss made you cum. Hard. Did you need to call HR?

Nope. All you needed was to see him rising back over you, kissing up your stomach and over your breasts.

His mouth was covered in your wet, and you grabbed his jaw hard to kiss him, your tongue in his mouth to taste yourself on him.

“Fantastic?” He asks.

“Fantastic.” you respond, meaning it. “Let’s hope Fak gets stuck in traffic,” you whisper into his lips.

“Why?” he responds, teasing. You slide your hand down his chest and over his ass.

“Because I want you inside me,” you say. He moans and kisses you again, hard, whilst reaching for the fly on his jeans.

“I was thinking the same thing,” he smiles into your lips. “Hands, chef, hands.”

You giggle and go to help him pull his pants down his legs and over his feet, kissing his jaw. You run your fingers over the happy trail you had been ogling, and grasp his cock over his boxers. He grunts in your ear, and takes your hand away.

“Gonna come too fast,” he says, holding your hand above your head and kissing you. “You make me crazy.”

“Same here, Carm.” You say, nipping at his neck. Your other hand teases at the waistline of his boxers.

He looks into your eyes. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes, Carmy, fuck, please.”

“Good.” He says, tugging his boxers down and you finally get to see him in all his glory. God, you didn’t think he could get more beautiful. Seeing him entirely naked sent another wave of wetness between your thighs.

“You’re so pretty, Carmy,” you mumble. He slid his hands up the outside of your thighs, keeping his eyes locked on yours.

“All for you, baby,” his hand goes to his cock, and as the head slides inside you your head lolls back and groan.

“Hey, look at me.” You look back up to stare into his icy eyes. “Don’t stop.” He says.

He slides further into you and your jaw hangs open, trying so hard to keep eye contact with him.

You both groan as he bottoms out, every vein and ridge of him inside of you. Your pussy is still sensitive from the previous mind-blowing orgasm, and-

“God, pretty girl, you feel so good,” he groans in your ear. “Taking me so well.”

You pulse at the praise, and he feels it. You feel his smirk on your jaw. “You like that?”

“Yeah,” you gasp, your nails find purchase on his back.

He rolls into you, and it has your thighs squeezing around his hips immediately.

“Shit, pretty girl.”

“Fuck, Carmy, feels so good,” you moan as he starts his rhythm, every ridge of his cock dragging inside your walls. The cold of the freezer vanishing against the hotness of your bodies.

His forearm is on the floor next your head, his other hand grasping your ass as he pummels into you.

Your back scrapes on the floor, to match the marks you’re making on Carmy’s back.

“Look so good with me inside you,” he grunts and you choke. His hand on your ass moves between your thighs and he circles your clit.

“Fuck- too much,” you gasp, clit sensitive.

“You can take it.”

“Ah- Car- I’m gonna-“

“Me too, pretty girl, cmon-“ The nickname gets you every time, and you gush over him, squeezing around his cock.

He makes a choked sound and falls over the ledge after you, collapsing on top of your chest.

You both breathe heavily, you rubbing up and down his back.

“That might have been more fantastic than your cooking,” You smile to the ceiling. He chuckles into your neck.

“Heard, chef.”

You were both dressed by the time Fak finally arrived, half an hour late complaining about unmissable after-credit scenes.

Parting, you had gained a cell phone number and an address from Carmy, a kiss goodbye, and a “see you later” that promised many more.

#carmy berzatto smut #the bear #the bear smut #jeremy allen white #jeremy allen white smut #carmen berzatto smut #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader smut #carmen berzatto x reader smjt #the bear x reader #shameless #shameless smut

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 3 months

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twst special courses at empire grill🤤

WHAT THE HECKIE 😭 Why does only Disney Japan get the really cool stuff...

Disney's Ambassador Hotel in Japan has a restaurant called the "Empire Grill"! Beginning in April 2024 and going until the end of the year, they will be serving limited time Twisted Wonderland themed Special Courses. 1 Special Course costs 13,000 yen, and the drinks are a separate cost of 1,600 yen per glass.

From my understanding, there will be 8 periods total, each period lasting 1 week in duration per month. For each period, a different dorm's Special Course will be offered. Each Special Course meal comes with an exclusive charm that incorporates the respective dorm's emblem and colors in the design. For the final period, a super special themed menu will be offered.

To get priority seating, you must first win a lottery. After lottery seats are claimed, then they will take customers on a first come, first serve basis.

Right now, we have glimpses of the first three dorms' menu items. The rest will come later (and you can bet I'll drool and share pictures of them when they come out):

Hearslabyul will be served from Monday, April 1, 2024 to Sunday, April 7, 2024. It seems to be very whimsical, incorporating fruity elements like strawberry into gazpacho, and berry sauce to top off your own yogurty white rose—just as though you’re a card solider painting a rose red!

Savanaclaw will be served from Monday, May 13, 2024 to Sunday, May 19, 2024. The menu has a focus on meat and heartiness. They tried to cater to the dorm leader’s tastes/j

Octavinelle will be served Monday, June 24, 2024 to Sunday, June 30, 2024. The menu has plenty of seafood in store for you. It feels like something the Mostro Lounge might serve, no?

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wisepuma23 · 8 months

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Knives and forks clink against the dinner plates, metal scraping and laughter, their base drips with water from above. Drip, drip, drip. Impulse watches. It seeps into the center of the table, a growing patch on the wooden grain. Right between the steaks and loaves of warm bread. Nobody pays it any mind. Drip, drip.

(…Nobody but him.)

Etho says something he doesn’t catch, a bark of laughter from Tango. Beads of water splash onto the surrounding food.

Impulse’s hold on his fork goes tight.

He needs to fix that.

“Impulse buddy, you with us?” Skizz shakes his arm, “You agree Scar’s acting weird right?”

“Yeah yeah,” Impulse answers on auto-pilot, “I heard rumors he’s been trying to get kills. Yellow Scar, man.”

Tango cackles and the conversation cycles on. Impulse steels his jaw, he can’t zone out again. Keep pretending, he reminds himself. It wouldn’t be good to stab his teammates at the dinner table. He’d have to clean the table out. Maybe pull out the entrails from the cracks in the grain of wood.

(Drip, drip.)

No, focus.

Focus.

(A faint, metallic scent permeates his senses– gone in a moment.)

Impulse bites into a piece of steak. Buttery juice slides over his tongue and between his teeth. The taste of blood makes his grip on the fork creak. For what feels like the first time in millenia, his glamor itches at his skin. The careful control over his form twitches and squirms like a coiled snake poised to strike.

Show them what you really are, hums in his mind. The dripping echoes like a wardrum. Show them your true face.

Impulse licks at his lips, “You did a nice job, Tango. It’s delicious!”

“Aww!” Tango coos, his flames crackling a soft orange-red, “Etho lent me some seasoning but he won’t tell me where he got the happy happy sauce.”

Impulse takes another bite, canines digging into flesh and bone, and the rip is loud. Or is it loud for him? Again, infernal magic bubbles at the back of his throat. He swallows, appraising the flavor. It doesn’t drown out the sickly sulfur like he hoped.

“Bdubs?” Impulse guesses with a tease.

“Oh come on,” Etho groans, “Ah I guess that was way too easy.”

“He married me too, remember?” Impulse laughs at Etho’s expression, “Can’t blame me for forgetting the best meals I’ve ever had! Bet he’s feeding his family around now.”

Etho waves him off as they cackle at the blush rushing up past the mask. Impulse cuts another piece off the bone. Rip, snrk, clink. Idly, he wonders if human skin still made the same noise.

The clink of metal against the plates, the dull pounding of water. The snap-crackle of Tango’s fire. Buttery-sweet blood coats his tongue.

He remembers the musky smell of Etho's burning hair and flesh, his screams turned into bloody gurgles as he flailed in lava in the first game. Just minutes before everything ended.

Impulse tears off a chunk of meat.

(Snrrk, clink.)

People die in so many ways. It’s why he loves the variety poison provides— stomachs twisting and lungs seizing— and yet he wonders if anybody’s tried skinning someone, if the server would even allow it.

Impulse swallows a dark laugh, is vivisection on the table? His glamor shivers.

Metal catches the light, the smooth shimmer taking him back. To sharp arrowheads and snapping magma, to a castle reaching into the sky.

He remembers a golden clock.

(Rip, snrk, clink.)

Impulse remembers the way Bdubs’ flesh bubbled and blistered from the Wither. The way his Red bloodlust sang at the way his corpse crumpled to the ground. Bdubs’ skin growing dark, mottled with blackened streaks and bruised from the Withering and regular battle.

The worst of it healed over, scars stitched into flesh. But he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t revel in it, the stained canvas left on Bdubs’ face and arms.

He kissed that face. Peppering them along wither-cracked ribs and arms, tracing every dark and poisoned line with a smile. I’m sorry, he had said. I’m sorry.

He meant it. (Yes, really.)

Impulse hadn’t meant to curse Bdubs with chronic pain and scars, especially since he had to feel the echoes of it through the soulmate bond. He loved Bdubs. Loved him since the beginning.

And he remembers the rip-schk! of the ax in his back.

The way his blood pooled on the grass as everything went dark.

The phantom feeling of Pearl’s wolves tearing flesh from bone in long strips and bites. Riiiip-snrk-crunch.

Blood dripping from between their teeth.

(Drip, drip.)

Impulse stabs his fork a little harder into the next cut, picturing a handsome face with a cute and crooked grin. Damn him. He glares down at his plate. No, focus. Pretend, he tells himself, you’re good at that, aren’t you?

There’s a hand over his, warmer than it should be. He looks up.

Tango has cocked an eyebrow up with a cute little nose crinkle, “You in?”

Impulse blinks, the words registering in his head.

“Yeah, sure,” He grins, “A walk sounds great. I think I’m tired of Skizz’s stink overpowering the place. We really need to install some ventilation.”

“Hey!”

And they laugh, bright and loud as Skizz pouts, checking his armpits. The glasses shake as Tango rattles the table with a smack, a cackle on his lips. Etho’s eyes twinkle with amusement.

Impulse’s focus drifts. Back to the present, away from the blood.

(Drip, drip.)

And yet.

(Rip, snrrk, clink.)

…The hunger prevails.

#impdubs #ethubs #trafficshipping #impulsesv #limited life smp #demon impulse #my writing #puma writes #trafficblr #trafficshipblr #for anyone that's confused this is about Boogey Impulse #im truly so insane about his pov in limlife about it #he's soooooo fucked up and I love the idea that the boogey curse directly taps into his demonic urges #which he only shows in N&S and ZITS #impulse is sweet bc he wants to survive as people do kill all the “evil” demons they come across and that's in the past now haha #ANYWAY impulse struggling to keep his glamor on when he usually forgets its there and just hhhh #tangpulse

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thursdayisfriday · 7 months

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ꜰᴏᴏᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ⋆˚✿˖°

⤑ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Kyojuro Rengoku x GN! Reader

⤑ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: Fluff (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

⤑ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Cooking with Senjuro and Rengoku, short dabble

Senjuro stared at the boiling rice sitting in the pot, watching it bubble up. The hot heat from the fire heated up his face. “Staring at the pot won’t make the process go faster,Senjuro” You chuckled lightly. Senjuro looked back at you, turning his focus away from the pot. You were holding a rather large green basket that looked quite heavy. Senjuro shot up from his seat, jogging towards you quickly. “Let me help you with that”.

You shook your head and grinned. “I got it you know”. Senjuro pouted “Please, I'm tired of just sitting here and not doing anything” You smiled softly and thanked him. “Just put it in the kitchen” You said, handing it to him. He nodded quickly before speeding off inside. The pot steamed, you walked over watching the rice. It looks soft enough to make the treat. Humming you grabbed the rag from your pocket and picked up the hot pot. Just in time, Senjuro ran back out the house. “Is it ready?” he asks, excitedly. You nodded and smiled. “Do me a favor and take out the fire”. He nodded, quickly making his way to the water pump while you went inside.

Searching the cabinets, you looked for your strainer. Pans and pots clanged together making loud pinging noises, but you quickly shot up once you found what you were looking for. Taking the cloth in your hand again, you wrapped it around the pot and put the strainer on top then leaned the pot down. Hot water escaped the creases until there was only rice left in the pot. You sat the pot on the table behind you and washed out some of the dishes in the sink, humming to yourself slightly. You invited Senjuro over so you guys could make some onigiri. You knew that after all the cleaning he’d be hungry, plus Rengoku was supposed to come soon and you wanted to surprise him with a treat.

Speaking of the devil, you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist, making you jump a little. “Love?” You turned your head a little to meet the eyes of your reddish-yellowish haired boyfriend. He was smiling happily and planted a kiss on your cheek. “Yes honey?” in his boastrust voice. “Your back so early”

“Why yes I am. The demon didn’t put up that much of a fight” Rengoku grabbed the rag next to you and started to help you dry the dishes. “But how was your day, Honey?”. “Just fine, but I was hoping you’d come a little later. I wanted to surprise you.” You fake pouted and placed the dishes back in the rightful places. “Hehe..sorry about that” He rubbed the back of his neck embarrassed. “Rengoku!” Senjuro ran in tackling his brother, or at least trying to, “Senjuro!” Rengoku repeated, picked up his brother and swung her around in the air. The two laughed like a bunch of goff balls, They were like two peas in a pod. “Are you here to help us make the onigiri!” Your face palmed yourself and huffed. “Ah, Sen, that was supposed to be a surprise for Rengoku”

“Oh! Right.” He chuckled nervously. “Sorry”. Grabbing a few more ingredients, you signaled the boys to follow you. “Well you know what they say, the more the merrier '' placing some seaweed in front of Senjuro, you handed him a knife. “Here, Cut these into small thick squares,” Senjuro nodded happily and got right to work. Rengoku ruffled the little kid's hair, making Senjuro giggle. “Anything you need me to do, dear?” Rengoku looked around curiously. “Why yes actually. Here” You handed him (Meat of your choice) and your homemade teriyaki sauce. “Cut the meat up into tiny pieces and mix this in with the meat”. Rengoku hummed and started to work. You liked this.Cooking with Rengoku and Senjuro, or just cooking with anyone. The smell of the species, the laughter, the fun. It just couldn’t get any better than that. It reminded you of home.

“DELICIOUS!” Rengoku yelped once again. “My love, this is delicious!” Your face heated up from all the praise Rengoku threw at you. “Please, we all worked on this together. “Food is always better when you make it with family”, that's what my mom used to say”. You smiled lightly remembering her soft voice in your head. A warm hand covered yours, pulling you out of your thoughts. Rengoku raised your hands to his lips and kissed it softly, staring into your eyes lovingly. His enchanted smile made your heart ache and your face redden. He always knew what to do to make you feel better.

“Please marry my brother, (Y/N)”. Rengoku and you both utter an “Huh” as you looked at the boy who was currently stuffing his face with the onigiri.You laughed covering your mouth slightly. “Sen- wait right there” You got out in between your laughs.and went to grab a piece of paper. “What? What's wrong?” Senjuro was confused about the situation. Rengoku beamed, laughing rather loudly at his brother's antics. “Rengoku! Stop~” Senjuro whined, hitting his brother lightly for teasing him. You came back, wiping Senjuro's dirty face.

“Senjuro, you do know that the food isn’t going anywhere, right?”

“You don't know that…” Senjuro mumbled with his arms folded against his chest.

“Get home safely now, Love” You gave Rengoku one last kiss on his lips. He smiled against your lips, kissing you softly then pulled back. “I will, I promise”. You perk up and ran back inside then ran back out with a small wrap of food. “This is?”. “For your dad” You pushed the food near him and smiled softly. “I figured he might be hungry too”. You saw Rengoku smile drop into a sincere smile. “Thank you, really”. His hand rested on your waist as yours snaked around his neck. He gave you one last peck, before getting close to your ears

“Maybe we should get married. Think about it~♡”

I hope you enjoyed (⁠人⁠⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠ﾟ⁠+

#x reader #x male reader #fanfic #x male y/n #anime #anime x you #demon slayer x reader #anime x male reader #demon slayer #rengoku kyojuro #kny rengoku #rengoku x reader #rengoku kyōjurō #demon slayer rengoku #rengoku x y/n #rengoku x you #rengoku x oc #rengoku x male reader

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thoughtfulchaos773 · 10 months

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Season 2 & episode titles gives us a glimpse into Syd x Carmy's love story.

A dish is worth a thousand words

This is a theory of mine where season 2 had a focus on a dish name being the title of an episode. Episodes that connect Claire, Carmy, and Syd. But mainly connects Syd and Carmy and shows in an subconscious way, that Syd is always on Carmy's mind.

Pasta 2x2

Sundae 2x03

Bolgenese 2x08

Omelette 2x09

In Pasta 2x02 Syd and Carmy are sharing an intimate moment as Carmy makes pasta and learns more about Syd, such as her father and her past failure with her business. In this scene, I noticed that Carmen is invested in learning more about Syd. Was there significance to the dialogue when he wanted to know more about her father, but she changed the subject back to the menu? In this scene, we also see Carmen catching little glimpses of Syd as he focused between Syd and working the pasta dough, his eyes focused on his true muse.

When Syd makes an error with one ingredient, they learn a new way of communication (a theme of the show) the sign being, a significant gesture that keeps the relationship moving forward and striving for peace and understanding rather than the conflict Carmy is used to.

By the end of Pasta, we see Claire and Carmy bump into each other and Claire in a flirting tone asks Carmy if he's making a sundae- the following episode's name.

In Sundae 2x03 Syd and Carmy part ways--the episode previously shows Carmy meeting Claire and she mentions a Sundae, and we See Syd later on in the episode, eating a Sundae alone.

Another part of the Sundae episode is Syd questioning if she could trust Camy. By the ending Carmy and Syd have a misunderstanding but make up with their new way of communication.

Bolognese 2x08, the meat sauce that intertwines with pasta. Claire intertwining with Syd and Carmy's story. . Later on this episode, we watch Carmy making his girlfriend pasta and Blogonese with a love montage with Sydney in the middle. I see this as Carmy always having Syd on his mind even if he seems distracted as the show progresses, we know that carmy was right in some way, syd had his full focus but not the restaurant. Rather Sydney herself is a part of his life even while he had girlfriend.

Another mention of Bolognese is a reference to Sydney's dish, the ragu bolgenese without the pasta that contributed to the demise of her career.

So Maybe Carmy was subconsciously thinking of Syd when he made the dish for Claire. Celebrating as Syd once again is alone.

Also the lyrics during this montage from Syd to Carmy.

And though I try to forget it

You will make me call your name

As I shout into the blue summer sky

Last but not least, the table scene in 2x09 Omelette. Syd makes an exhausted Natalie a Omelette, in many moments of this show we witness Syd becoming part of the family. We get two moments where Syd and Carmy connect. The under the table scene. Syd tells Carmy about the Omelette like two lovers having pillow talk. Carmy then looks at her and tells her, "You love taking care of people."

Carmy gives Sydney the jacket, showing Syd has been on his mind since 2x02 in a more than friends way (again could be subconscious gestures for now)

The writers are playing in our faces. All roads lead to Syd and Carmy. A partnership. This is not platonic, this story is a significant part of the show.

#sydney x carmy #carmen berzatto #chefs kiss #the bear fx #sydney #sydney amadu #jeremy allen white #sydney and carmy #the bear #ayo edebiri #thoughtful chaos posts

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janetbrown711 · 3 months

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Tonight at Eight

Both Pigsy and Tang have blind dates tonight at eight, and there surely isn't anything suspicious about that at all

Ao3 Link

Pigsy dried off a chili-sauce stained bowl with a well worn washcloth and an eye heavy on the clock. It was barely 3:00 pm, but all Pigsy could think about was how he was closing up shop around 6:30 for a very, very important… date.

Heavens, it felt so embarrassing to admit to himself. Here he was, ill-tempered Pigsy, owner of the well-loved business Pigsy’s Noodles, father of a five-year-old, someone fully convinced his life had ended ten years ago, going on a date.

It felt childish, and it didn’t help that he’d basically dropped the idea of romance and love since Sandy–

No, he wasn’t going to think about that. He had something good to look forward to for once, and he wasn’t going to let the past ruin it… yet. Maybe. Who knows?

Pigsy sighed, adding the bowl to the clean pile and scolding himself for acting like such a teenager. He had work to do.

“You alright, Pigsy?” Tang asked innocently from his place at the bar.

Pigsy went to answer, but instead his grandmother laughed from the booth where she and Xiaotian were sitting.

“Jiejie is planning on closing early today for a ‘special event’.” She grinned at her grandson, who felt like he could just die at this point, but decided scrubbing the grill would be more productive.

“What? Psh, that’s impossible! Everyone knows Pigsy would rather die than close before ten,” Tang teased with a cheeky grin that made the chef roll his eyes.

“Bullying is reserved for family or paying customers, Tang,” Pigsy retorted.

“I’ll pay his tab then, Jiejie. Goodness knows that boy needs some meat on his bones.” His grandmother snorted and Tang turned pink, all while Xiaotian giggled.

“So– um–” Tang cleared his throat to ease off the embarrassment, “What’s this ‘special event’?”

His grandmother scoffed again and joined Tang by the bar, which Xiaotian was quick to follow with his crayons and coloring book in tow. “Good luck getting an answer out of him. He won’t even tell me.”

Pigsy rolled his eyes. “Can’t a man have privacy anymore?”

“Ahhhh, but if you don’t tell me, what will I talk about with the ladies at mahjong?” His grandmother shook her head, which made Xiaotian giggle more.

“Oh, does that mean it's something embarrassing?” Tang fully hopped onto the teasing bandwagon.

“No, it just means it’s personal, is all,” Pigsy huffed, eyeing a customer as they walked in, and made his way to the register.

Tang laughed before his eyes went to his book. “Well, if it helps, I’m going to do something totally stupid and embarrassing tonight too.”

At that, Pigsy’s grandmother’s eyes lit up, and she took Tang’s hands into hers. “Like what? Dancing? One of those American rodeos? What?”

“Ah, well–”

“Sir? I’m ready to order,” said the woman across the cashier, and Pigsy shook his head to focus.

“Right, right– what can I get for you?” he forced a customer-friendly smile.

The woman ordered some beef chow fun, and by the time Pigsy started cooking again, Tang was on the brink of a confession.

“Come on, after all the meals I’ve bought for you? To support that big brain of yours? It’s bad enough little Jiejie is acting like his father right now.” She shot a dramatic glare at the chef, before turning back to Tang. “Must you add to my pile of old-womanly misery?”

“Alright, alright, fine. I’m… Heavens, this really is stupid, Miss Xiahui.” Tang covered his face with his hands before taking a breath. “I’m… going on a blind date with someone I’ve never met, and I don’t know what they look like, or what their name is, or literally anything else. I’m going to get murdered, aren’t I?” Tang blurted out, making the chef’s grandmother laugh.

“I’m very excited for you, dear! You know, I’ve been trying to get Jiejie to sign up for one of those ever since he dumped Wujing, but does he take my advice? No!” She gave an exasperated sigh.

“Not true. I opened up this place because of you,” Pigsy retorted from where he stood by the stove.

“Oh, sure, but when it comes to clothes or photos or vacations or even a park I think Xiaotian would like it’s all ‘oh that’s too far,’ or, ‘I’m dressed fine’ or even, ‘this makes me look ancient’,” she snipped right back.

“I know you never left the forties, Lǎolao, but the rest of the world has.” Pigsy rolled his eyes.

His grandmother sighed again. “You see what I put up with Tang? No respect! And I actually deserve it, unlike some people.”

“R-right! Well– at least no matter what, we know that my night’s plans are definitely more embarrassing than Pigsy’s, so…” Tang fiddled with his sleeves like he always did when he was nervous.

“A night of romance is nothing to be embarrassed about. Why, my late husband used to take me out dancing at this old French-style café– I think it was destroyed by the Red Guard though, which is a real shame, you know, it was the romantic spot in the city.” She sighed dreamily.

“That sounds wonderful, Miss Xiahui. My date and I are just meeting at this one restaurant by the park” Tang smiled and got back to his noodles.

“If I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you’re ruining your appetite,” Pigsy’s grandmother chuckled.

“Can’t let him know I’m a complete mess, right?” Tang laughed pathetically.

Pigsy rolled his eyes and teased, “Don’t be so hard on yourself. I think it’s fascinating you can eat so much and manage to keep that whole ‘starving Victorian orphan’ look.”

Tang snorted. “Thanks.”

Pigsy winked and laughed before going back to check on how the noodles were doing.

“Oh, don’t mind Jiejie, he’s just jealous because he hasn’t had a date in six years.” The elderly woman patted Tang’s knee.

“For your information, I actually do have a date, and it's tonight, so you can cut out that whole teasing routine,” Pigsy quipped without thinking, and he could practically hear his Lǎolao’s jaw drop and eyes sparkle.

“You have a date tonight too?! Oh, this is just wonderful! Who’s the lucky person? Are they rich? Do they know you have your own business? Have you gone out with them before? Were they cute? Why wouldn’t you tell me about them! Jiejie, how could you not tell me you’ve been dating someone–! Are they actually ugly, and you were embarrassed to tell me? Look, it’s okay, Jiejie, sometimes it really is what’s on the inside that–”

“Lǎolǎo, please.” Pigsy turned and pleaded with her, pouring the customer’s noodles into a bowl and adding the vegetables.

“Oh, Jiejie, I’m just so happy for you, is all! My sweet little sunzi out in the world again! Maybe you can even find little Xiaotian a mother or another father! Oh, wouldn’t that just be lovely.” His grandmother hugged the coloring child, who looked around in confusion.

“Lǎolao, you’re going to crush the kid.” Pigsy’s face was dark red as he rang the counter’s bell and called out the order.

“Come on, I need some answers here. You know how boring my life has gotten since retirement,” his grandmother pleaded.

“Not much to say. It’s the first date, and I haven’t met them, either. Also, I thought you said you understood that I’m not Xiaotian’s–... you know,” Pigsy looked away as the customer took their food.

“Oh? A double blind date! Isn’t that lovely.” Lǎolao clapped her hands, completely ignoring his comment about Xiaotian. “Where to?”

“Some place they recommended.” Pigsy shrugged. “I don’t know much about it, but I don’t get out much.”

“Oh, this is so exciting! I almost wish I could tag along with both of you, but I have to take care of this little monkey man.” His grandmother smiled at Xiaotian and began to tickle him, filling the restaurant with loud squeals of delight.

Pigsy rolled his eyes with a chuckle, going to wash some dishes in the sink when he noticed Tang looking at him, tilting his head curiously. “What’s up?”

“Oh–! Nothing! I just– a date, huh? That’s huge, congrats.” The scholar smiled softly.

“Ah, it’s no big deal, really. I just… I don’t know. Heck, I don’t even know why I agreed to do this whole ‘blind date’ thing. It’s so strange not even knowing the person’s name,” Pigsy confessed.

“Hear you there. But in a way, I think that makes it easier to get to know them, you know? No images, fake names, it’s… comforting, in a way. Especially with the whole ‘background check’ feature so you know it’s less likely for anyone to be a serial killer, haha,” Tang rambled.

“Yeah, I guess that’s part of the reason I signed up too. I mean– that, and because I seriously never go out. Not that I necessarily want to go out more, but you know what I mean.” Pigsy snorted.

Tang laughed. “I do.”

Pigsy smiled before shaking his head and getting to those dishes.

“So… what’s your mystery person like?” Tang asked after a minute of dishwashing.

“Oh– well, you know… they seem real smart and stuff,” Pigsy hesitated to admit, glad to stay facing the sink, so Tang couldn’t see how red his face was becoming. “They’re kinda poetic too, but not in a traditional sense. I don’t even know if they know just how smart they are, it seems kinda natural to them. I dunno.”

“Oh, interesting.” He heard Tang laugh nervously. “I hope you have fun.”

After his face stopped feeling so hot, Pigsy finally asked, “What about you? What’s your mystery man like?”

“He’s really super sweet and considerate, you know? Not very technological, but– heavens, he always knows what to say. He’s also super funny and snarky, and he makes me feel all smart and important, which is crazy because like– it’s just me.” Tang blushed and looked down at his bowl. “He has no idea I’m practically broke. I’m kind of scared to bring it up, you know? Like– ‘hey, let’s go to dinner! Oh, and by the way I can’t afford anything so it’s all on you!’” Tang sighed. “I should probably just cancel…”

“What?! You can’t do that,” Pigsy immediately protested, getting his grandmother’s attention once more.

“What are you two talking about now?” She looked back and forth between the two of them.

“I was– ummm… considering canceling my… date?” Tang gave a sheepish smile, and Pigsy’s grandmother smacked him upside the head.

“Shǎchā! You are not doing that!” She scolded the scholar.

“Wha–?! Why not? I’m flat broke. I can’t even buy a garden salad,” Tang huffed, resting his elbows on the bar.

“So?” Pigsy snorted. “The payment is being lucky enough to enjoy your company, nothing more and nothing less. If he doesn’t accept, run out of the restaurant. Take his wallet if you can. Make him pay.”

Tang laughed. “That’s easy for you to say, anyone would be lucky to date a five-star chef.”

Pigsy rolled his eyes. “I am not a five-star chef–”

His grandmother interrupted him with a scoff. “My recipes are much better than anything that can be found in those froufrou places with the marble floors and glass ceilings– especially with your additions, Jiejie.”

“Gotta agree with your grandmother, Pigsy. Your recipes are one of a kind and anyone would be lucky to go out with a chef as amazing and talented as you.” Tang smiled with so much earnestness it made Pigsy’s cheeks flush again.

“Well, I think anyone’d be lucky to go out with anyone half as smart as you,” Pigsy countered, making Tang hide in his scarf a bit.

His grandmother had something of a smug look on her face when Pigsy glanced at her, but she quickly cleared her throat and started talking to Xiaotian about his drawing. The chef sighed, shaking his head and vowing to one day fully understand that woman.

“So… what time are you closing?” Tang ventured to ask.

“Around 6:30 to try and get some of that dinner rush money before kickin’ everyone out,” Pigsy glanced at the clock yet again.

“Smart. I’ll have to leave around 6 anyway to get ready and all too.” Tang fidgeted with his scarf.

“You going to want another bowl before then?” Pigsy couldn’t help but smirk a little.

“Har-har,” Tang rolled his eyes. “... but yeah, maybe.”

Pigsy laughed. “Don’t stress yourself, it’s a big day for us both.”

“Right, yeah.” The scholar smiled before going back to his current bowl.

Again, Pigsy’s grandmother looked amused at this, but when Pigsy looked, she acted like nothing was wrong and started complimenting Xiaotian’s drawing again.

Pigsy sighed, focusing back on his work as customers began to pour in once more. The chef managed to hold a steady pace that kept him fairly busy, though not busy enough to forget to make Tang another bowl of lo mein he teased him about. Tang ate, Xiaotian colored (even showed a handful to Pigsy when he could), his grandmother gossiped about some of the mahjong ladies, and overall it was a pretty solid work day. He wished Tang the best of luck on his way out, and wished some of that for himself when he closed the restaurant.

“So, you really are going on a date, aren’t you?” His grandmother teased as Pigsy locked the iron security shield.

Pigsy rolled his eyes. “I appreciate your trust in my honesty.”

“I’m just making sure before I get my hopes up. Heaven knows this only happens once in a blue moon,” she teased, making Xiaotian giggle.

“What’re you laughing at, mister?” Pigsy put his hands on his hips dramatically, making the kid laugh more.

“He’s laughing at the fact that you haven’t been on a date since before he was born, isn’t that right, my little dumpling?” Lǎolao pinched his cheeks, which made him whine and go behind Pigsy.

“Lǎolao–”

“I know, I know. It’s not my fault he’s as cute as a button, you know,” She defended herself before Pigsy rolled his eyes again and picked the kid up.

“Miss Xiahui is a lot like my mother, you know? No respect for boundaries. I’m so sorry you have to spend all night with her,” Pigsy apologized dramatically.

“S’okay! She lets me have cookies.” Xiaotian grinned wide, making the chef immediately give his grandmother a look.

“I’ve already told you it’s not my fault he’s so cute.” His grandmother raised her hands in defeat, making the chef roll his eyes yet again.

“If he gets cavities, you’re paying the dentist bill,” Pigsy huffed and started walking home.

“He’s not going to get cavities, Jiejie. Xiaotian knows how to brush his teeth very well, don’t you, dear?” Lǎolao patted the boy’s head as he nodded.

“Right,” Pigsy said. “Let’s just get home.”

“Yes, yes! We have to get you good and ready for your date! Oh, I’m so excited.” Lǎolao had dropped the teasing for genuine elation. “You know, I think if I looked I could find one of your grandfather’s old suits. Oh, you’d look just so handsome in it.”

“Oh, wow, Lǎolao, that’s really not–”

“Necessary? Of course it is! Tonight is a momentous occasion and I want my grandson to look his absolute best.” She ignored his protest and practically marched the rest of the way to their apartment.

Pigsy gave a nice, long sigh. “You’re gonna have a long night, kid.”

“No bedtime?” Xiaotian’s face lit up.

“Who knows.” Pigsy snorted and picked up the pace to follow his grandmother (who, for someone in their 80s, was rather spritely).

When they got home, his grandmother quickly pulled out old boxes and had him try on three suits before finally finding a Western Style from the 40s. His grandmother also gave him gold square cufflinks, as well as a blue and pink floral tie. He managed to at the very least convince her to let him wear his own socks and shoes, and after she spritzed him down with peach perfume, the look was finished.

“Lǎolao, you don’t have to do this, my suit is plenty good,” Pigsy pointed out as his grandmother straightened out his suit coat, looking like she was going to cry.

“No, no. You look absolutely perfect.” She smiled, finally stepping back to admire her work. “Your date will absolutely love you.”

“Lǎolao.” Pigsy’s face turned tomato red.

His grandmother chuckled. “I suppose we could use a third opinion.” She tapped her chin, before calling Xiaotian in from the living room, and in a moment, the five-year-old pattered over. “Xiaotian, do you think Pigsy looks nice?”

Xiaotian gave two thumbs up and a toothy grin. “Fancy!”

“See? You look perfect.” His grandmother smiled and patted Xiaotian’s head.

“I never said I looked bad, I’m just saying it’s– it’s a lot, and I really don’t know if I need Waigong’s suit–”

“Nonsense, Bajie. He’d want you to have it.” His grandmother cupped Pigsy’s cheek.

“It’s… a blind date from an anonymous chat site, Lǎolao. I really don’t think–”

“You never know, Jiejie. You could be meeting the love of your life,” She hummed.

“Right… sure,” Pigsy agreed to drop his protests for the sake of not dampening his grandmother’s spirits.

The elder pig demon smiled again, patting Pigsy’s cheek twice. “Now, let me find my camera; I want to capture how handsome you look.” She winked and left the room.

“Lǎolao, I really don’t have time for– never mind.” Pigsy shook his head when he realized she was just going to insist. He sighed, giving himself another once over in the mirror and adjusting his tie.

“You really think this isn’t too much, kid?” Pigsy asked Xiaotian.

The boy shook his head. “You look like a detective!”

Pigsy laughed, realizing Xiaotian was 100% correct. “All I’m missing is the hat, darn.” He snapped his fingers playfully.

“And a gun,” the boy giggled.

“Ahhhhh, that might be a bit much kiddo,” Pigsy chuckled, ruffling the kid’s hair. “You gonna be okay with just Lǎolao tonight?”

Xiaotian nodded. “We’re gonna watch Monkey Empire.”

“Again? Didn’t we just finish that?” Pigsy raised a playful eyebrow.

“Yeah, but I wannaaaaaa,” Xiaotian explained eloquently.

“Fair enough. Just don’t let Lǎolao spoil you too much, alright? And make sure you brush your teeth extra good, and put all your toys away for her. I’ll check on you as soon as I get back,” Pigsy said, fixing the kid’s hair since he just messed it up.

“Okie dokie, Piggy.” The boy grinned again.

“Found it!” Pigsy’s grandmother finally called from the other room, and she was back in a flash.

“Oh, you just look so handsome, I could eat you right up, you know that? Your date is a very, very lucky man,” the woman chuckled as she took a photo, not even waiting for him to pose or smile.

“‘Man’? I don’t know their gender,” Pigsy pointed out, but she just waved her hand and snapped another photo.

“Xiaotian, go join Bajie, I want to get my two favorite, most handsome boys together,” she instructed and Xiaotian ran to Pigsy. The chef scooped him up and they both smiled for the camera.

After a few photos were taken, Pigsy glanced at the clock and said, “Alright, are we done? I’m gonna be late soon.”

“Yes, yes, you can go,” His grandmother sighed dramatically– though snapped another photo anyway.

Pigsy rolled his eyes, setting Xiaotian back down before kneeling to his level.

“You promise to be good for Lǎolao?” He asked the five-year-old, who nodded seriously. “Good. I’ll see you later tonight, kiddo.” The chef smiled and stood before Xiaotian grabbed his pant leg.

“I’ll miss you,” Xiaotian whispered, and Pigsy… wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that.

“I’ll… be back soon, kid. Don’t stress yourself,” he finally said, patting the kid on the head again.

“Besides,” Lǎolao said, getting the kid to look at her, “you have a very fun night planned with your Lǎolao, and we’re going to have lots of fun, aren’t we, Xiaotian?”

“Yeah! We’ll watch Monkey King!” The kid grinned once more, making the elder pig demon chuckle.

“We most certainly will. And we’ll eat lots of cookies and candy and break lots of Bajie’s silly rules,” his grandmother enabled the kid’s natural desire for rebellion.

“You’re killing me, you know that?” Pigsy half-joked, arms crossed.

“It’s what keeps me young,” Lǎolao teased right back.

“Right.” Pigsy rolled his eyes. “Well, I gotta get going so–”

“WAIT!” Xiaotian suddenly shouted, running out of the room, while Pigsy and his grandmother just looked at each other in confusion. They didn’t have to wait long, though, as Xiaotian was back in the matter of seconds with a drawing in his hand.

“For luck!” He explained, handing it over.

Pigsy accepted the offering, laughing when he saw it was a very crude drawing of Xiaotian, Pigsy’s grandmother, Tang, and himself all eating noodles at the restaurant with even cruder hearts everywhere.

“I love it, kid. I’ll put it right here for safe keeping,” Pigsy complimented, folding the drawing so it fit right by his pocket square, which made Xiaotian so happy that, before Pigsy could prepare himself, the kid hugged him.

“Have fun!” Xiaotian grinned nice and big before stepping back and waving.

“I will.” Pigsy waved a little and headed to the door.

“Yes, have lots of fun! I expect to hear about tonight in great detail tomorrow!” His grandmother waved as well, to which Pigsy laughed and shook his head before exiting the apartment door and heading out into the night.

.o0o.

Pigsy arrived at the restaurant at exactly 7:57, three minutes early and before his date. The place was classy, but clearly small and not quite known in the public sphere yet. There was no need for a wait or reservation, so Pigsy was taken to an outside table for two by the fountain.

He could see why this mystery person would pick a place like this. It was nice, but hidden away, and not too expensive. His person was sensible and romantic, and this choice was a reflection of that.

Pigsy opened up the website on his phone, telling his date he’d arrived and got a table, before he settled himself down to wait and think (his favorite activity!).

Pigsy was totally going to fuck this night up.

He hadn’t been on a date in years, and even then, the ones he’d had with Wujing were full of personal mistakes he wasn’t keen on repeating. He knew for a fact he was going to sound incredibly stupid, especially in comparison to his eloquent partner, but that was hardly the least of his worries. Maybe he’d get too angry at something, and it would totally freak them out, or he’d bring up Xiaotian, and they’d hate that he had a kid (even though he wasn’t his kid technically, he was just his guardian, but that would also probably scare them away, creating a perfect lose-lose situation). And heavens, that wasn’t even mentioning the fact that there was a good chance Pigsy forgot to even tell them he was a demon– he was so unbelievably stupid like that.

At exactly eight o'clock, the waiter stopped by and dropped off two glasses of water before disappearing. Pigsy tried his best not to chug it immediately, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t get thirsty when he was nervous. To try and force himself not to, he kept tracing the rim of his glass again and again and again, while keeping an eye on the door.

A part of the chef wondered if his date stood him up. There were a handful of people already here; maybe his date had arrived, saw Pigsy, realized their date was a hideous pig demon, and simply slipped away. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time…

No, no. Pigsy had to wait and be rational. He needed to remember the little drawing in his suit pocket reminding him it was all going to be fine, even if it wasn’t fine, and he’d be okay. So instead of completely losing his mind and worrying to death, Pigsy placed a hand against the pocket that held the drawing and took nice, long breaths before taking a casual and normal drink of water.

However, just then, the restaurant’s door flung open, and Pigsy’s heart practically leapt into his throat as he saw–

Tang…???

No… no, yeah, that was Tang all right, panting with his back against a wall before he looked around the space. When he saw Pigsy, the scholar seemed to share the exact same confusion, head tilting, but he eventually approached the lone pig demon.

“Hey, Pigsy… What’re you doing here?” Tang asked, still catching his breath.

“Same as you, I guess,” Pigsy looked at the fountain, face turning red.

“Right, yeah! Man, that’s one hell of a coincidence, isn’t it?” Tang laughed.

Pigsy laughed as well. “Guess there aren’t many romantic spots left in the city.”

“Guess not.” Tang fidgeted with his scarf, looking around the restaurant.

“Your date not here yet?” Pigsy guessed.

Tang shrugged. “They said they were, but I don’t see them anywhere.”

“Maybe they just lied and said they were here when they’re really just on their way, I used to do that all the time.” Pigsy snorted.

“Yeah, maybe,” Tang laughed. “You– uh– don’t mind if I sit here for right now, do you?”

“Be my guest. You could use the water anyway,” Pigsy teased, and Tang graciously accepted the seat and water.

“I just– I don’t know, me and them agreed to meet here at eight, and I planned to be here at eight o’clock sharp, so I just– I don’t know. Maybe they stood me up– god, that would be so embarrassing,” Tang whispered that last bit to himself.

“Hey. Relax. You’re only five minutes late, and they aren’t even here yet. Besides, they’d have to be a complete moron to stand you up, of all people,” Pigsy pointed out.

Tang rolled his eyes with a little smile. “Yeah, yeah, thanks. Where’s your date?”

“Late, probably. Or maybe we’ve both been stood up, wouldn’t that be something?” Pigsy mused.

“Misery does love company,” Tang laughed sadly.

“He’ll show, I’m sure of it.” Pigsy tried his best to sound comforting.

“Thanks. I’m sure yours will too.” Tang did his best too.

Pigsy nodded, pulling out his phone again and checking to see if they’d messaged him yet, but he was greeted with the exact same screen as minutes before.

He sighed.

“So, you said your date picked this place?” Tang asked out of the blue.

“Uh– yeah. I’ve never been.” Pigsy shrugged.

“I’ve only been here once or twice, but their mango pudding is to die for; though, it’s not as good as yours or your grandmother’s,” Tang stated like it was obvious.

“Funny, my date recommended the mango pudding too. Must be really popular,” Pigsy recalled.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if it was, it’s amazing.” Tang fidgeted with his scarf again before pulling out his phone. “Though, I gotta ask– why would you agree to a restaurant? You always hate eating out?”

“It was a very persuasive review.” Pigsy snorted. “Besides, I didn’t wanna sound like a hard ass or anything, and it's not like I had any better ideas.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” the scholar assured, typing something.

Pigsy sighed, looking around the restaurant at other couples drinking wine and being all couple-y, when his phone suddenly buzzed in his pocket.

ShiningAnthropod_Admirer: “Sorry I’m late! Where are you? Just got here.”

Pigsy looked around, and not seeing anyone by the door, he frowned, quickly replying:

FineCuisine81: “Check the outside section.”

“You messaging your date too?” Tang laughed.

“Yeah, they said they’re here, so…” Pigsy trailed off.

“Oh! So’s mine, so I should probably– like– go, haha,” Tang said, already standing.

Pigsy just smiled somewhat sadly as the scholar shuffled away, not giving the pig demon a glance.

Whatever, he was sure it wasn’t personal (or– he hoped, anyway) and so pulled out his phone to find another message.

ShiningAnthropod_Admirer: “Where are you sitting?”

Pigsy looked around only briefly before sending:

FineCuisine81: “By the fountain in the middle section.”

Pigsy tapped his fingers anxiously against the table, staring at his screen intently as three dots bounced around.

ShiningAnthropod_Admirer: “There's a lot of people here. I guess I should also ask what you’re wearing too, haha”

“More like lots of humans,” Pigsy muttered to himself.

No– Pigsy couldn’t be bitter, he was supposed to have fun. It didn’t matter if his date was looking around and clearly expecting a human, it was–

Pigsy placed his hand on his breast pocket and took deep breaths, reminding himself he was fine and loved, and he’d be okay.

FineCuisine81: “Old blue western suit and a floral tie.”

He waited with bated breath, barely even daring to glance around to see if his date was actually looking for him or not. He did catch another glance at Tang, which the scholar returned with a funny shrug that Pigsy returned, before they both just went back to their phones.

ShiningAnthropod_Admirer: “I still don’t see you. You aren’t lying about being there, are you?”

Pigsy knitted his eyebrows, almost offended if he didn’t understand how bad first date jitters could be.

FineCuisine81: “I promise I’m not.”

Pigsy wasn’t even sure he was breathing anymore with how nervous he was watching the screen. At one point, the waiter stopped by to try and ask him if he was ready to order, but he pushed them away immediately.

A minute passed, then two.

Then–

ShiningAnthropod_Admirer: “Are you sure you’re at the right restaurant? The Huayuan Restaurant? The one on Lianren Road?” FineCuisine81: “I promise.”

Pigsy bit his cheek. He knew it wouldn’t be enough– maybe he needed to do something.

FineCuisine81: “What are you wearing? Maybe I can find you.”

Pigsy barely had to wait a second for a reply.

ShiningAnthropod_Admirer: “Red and gold tang suit with embroidery along the sleeves and sides. Also glasses lol.”

Pigsy paused, because that–... No… No, it– it couldn’t be, Pigsy would know if it was Tang. There– there would be signs. He’d know. Pigsy wasn’t that stupid.

He saw Tang circling around the fountain again, and this time when he locked eyes with Pigsy the scholar sighed and sat across from him once more.

Tang suit. Gold embroidery. Glasses.

“I’m pretty sure my date is just lying about being here at this point. I mean– I’ve circled the entire place like– ten times, but I just– I’m a little glad your table is still empty too.” Tang laughed like he was going to cry.

Holy fucking shit…

“I-I– Tang, I’m–” Pigsy was utterly dumbfounded because the man sitting in front of him was his mystery man– the fiercely intelligent and kind soul he had spent months chatting with, being too scared of what he’d think if he saw his appearance. Iit was him. It was Tang.

“A-are you okay? You look a little shaken,” Tang laughed again, this time picking up a napkin to wipe his eyes.

Pigsy didn’t think, just grabbed Tang’s hands and stroked them with his thumbs.

“Wha–? Pigsy? Are you alright?” The scholar was clearly startled, but didn’t break the grasp.

“Tang, I-I– It’s– I’m–” Pigsy growled in frustration, words alluding him.

“Yes…?” Tang asked softly, his eyes sparkling like diamonds against the night sky and glasses.

Pigsy took another breath, feeling warmth radiating from Xiaotian’s drawing as he did, and said, “1940’s western suit. Floral tie.”

Tang pulled back a little, opening his mouth to speak, before he looked Pigsy up and down. It only took seconds before his eyes widened with recognition.

“No… no, no– you–? Me? No, you– you wouldn’t, I–” Tang shook his head. “I appreciate you trying to save my night, but–”

“Tang. My username was ‘FineCuisine81’ because I’m a chef and was born in 1981. I didn’t bring up the restaurant or Xiaotian or my grandmother or– much of my past really because you know I’m pretty hesitant about most of it,” Pigsy pleaded for him to understand.

“I-I– you– you wouldn’t–”

“C’mon, Tang. You know me– you know my snark by now, don’t you?” Pigsy tried to joke, but Tang snagged his hands away to cover his face.

“Pigsy, I-I– did you look me up? Is this some kind of– sick joke? Getting payback for all those stupid bowls of noodles?” The scholar was crying by now.

“Tang! I would never– I didn’t know it was you, but now that I do, I– I couldn’t be happier, I swear.” Pigsy smiled despite his overwhelming worry.

Tang shook his head. “No– I’m– I’m not good enough for you– I’m such a mess a-and I’m broke a-and scrawny a-and anxious a-and–”

“Tang, you’re plenty good enough– you’re so much better than me, anyways,” Pigsy laughed and sniffled. “You’re so smart and kind and likable and–”

“B-but you’re really nice too! A-and you have a real job that pays well and a loving grandmother a-and you’re a guardian– and me? I’m just some loser with a nose in a book,” Tang interrupted.

“We– There’s a reason we wanted to meet our ‘mystery person’, Tang. We both saw… something in them– something that made us want more” Pigsy smiled as he wiped away one of the scholar’s tears. “I… I really don’t want to throw that away because I’m scared.”

Tang finally opened his eyes enough to get another good look at Pigsy. It was terrifying to be inspected by him, but Pigsy managed to hold strong and met his gaze with a soft, tearful smile that eventually got Tang to laugh and shake his head.

“We are so stupid, aren’t we?” He asked, and Pigsy removed his hands.

“Oh, absolutely,” Pigsy couldn’t help but agree. “But hey– I’m sure Lǎolao’ll love to hear it took us a whole fifteen minutes to realize we were here for each other.”

“Oh, heavens, she’s never going to let that go, is she?” Tang copied the pig, the redness in his face starting to leave.

“I’m pretty sure she’ll hold it above us until the day she dies,” Pigsy chuckled. “On the bright side, though, at least we’re both idiots.”

“Fair enough.” Tang smiled and looked at the fountain. “I just– I really picked out a restaurant– I am so sorry, this food is going to be trash compared to yours.”

“Bah, I’m sure that’s not true if you like it.” Pigsy winked.

Tang’s face went red again. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure; I like instant ramen.”

“Only because it’s so cheap.” The chef snorted.

“You don’t know the depths of my depravity,” Tang refuted.

“Well, I’d certainly like to. That’s why we’re still here, isn’t it?” Pigsy wiped his own face.

“Y-yeah! It– it is.” Tang smiled shyly. “I just– wow, I’m so embarrassed. I mean, the suit, the tie–”

“Hey, how’s about we just forget about fifteen minutes ago, and start over, okay? No guilt, no anxiety, nothing. Just us having a nice evening out,” Pigsy proposed.

Tang thought about it for a moment before nodding. “I’d like that a lot, Pigsy.”

“Then, it’s settled. We drove here together and the waiter sat us together, and we’re now deciding which wine to order together. That good?” Pigsy asked.

Tang nodded. “Sounds perfect, Pigsy.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more.”

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whatavery · 5 months

Text

A short little story I wrote for @wpk12art featuring Halina and Mordecai. Had a lot of fun with this one, hope y'all enjoy it!

_____________________________________________________

The thudding, wet impacts echoed throughout the room. Red splattered everywhere with each hack. Halina’s arms and most of her apron was covered in red, dripping, gushing. It wasn't an unfamiliar sight to her, her yellow eyes fixated on the business at hand. It didn’t matter how soaking wet she was, she needed to get this done. The fur on her hands stuck to her, covered in red as well.

Halina’s ears perked up when she heard the door opening, her tail giving a flick, but she didn’t stop. She had a job to finish.

The footsteps out in the living room hesitated, the owner likely hearing the wet impacts with each hack and chop. When her face was splattered, Halina scoffed in annoyance, a red streak across her face. She swore in Polish under her breath, but she was too determined to finish, she left the red splatter for now…

“… What are you doing?” Halina’s ear perked up again as she slowly turned to face Mordecai. The tuxedo cat stared at her in silence, looking initially alarmed. This much red wasn't a foreign sight to the Marigold gunman, nor was it to Halina. His green eyes looked her up and down, taking in the sight of his lover partially soaking wet, the apron looking exactly like it had just left a murder scene.

In her right hand, Halina held a metallic meat tenderizer, the hammer-like tool’s dripping red onto the floor. Albeit unsightly and messy, Mordecai didn’t focus on that for now. He raised an eyebrow.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Halina asked, finally wiping her face with her sleeve, though all this did was smear more of the red into her gray fur.

“It looks like you’re dismembering someone…” Mordecai noted calmly. Indeed, both of them were rather desensitized to this sort of violence and gore by now. He stepped closer to her. Unlike Halina in her messy, red-stained state, Mordecai was dressed nicely, cleanly, neatly – as he usually was.

The lean trigger man watched his lover with some apprehension, before making his way on over, steering around her, as to not risk her getting red stains on him or his clothes.

“Ah… so that’s what you’re doing,” he said when he glanced down at her handiwork. It was a familiar sight to Mordecai. He’d seen it before, he knew it all too well, in fact. The last time he’d seen a big, red mess like this was…

Mordecai squinted at her, then frowned. “You didn’t get this from my place did you?”

“I did… is that a problem? You borrow my books…” the black-haired female noted, raising an eyebrow herself, fixing him with a puzzled expression. “Or am I doing it wrong? I just followed the instructions…”

“That recipe is no good, Halina,” Mordecai said as he glanced down at the messy attempt at cranberry sauce before him. It looked like a massacre. Red everywhere, fruit meat splattered in a way that so resembled gore like the very gore both of them had seen on the job.

Halina stared at him in disbelief for a moment, mouth slightly open. She sighed and frowned. “So are you saying I made this disgusting mess for nothing? Why do you still have it then? I found it tucked away in your books…”

He sighed and shook his head, but a small, very small smile spread across his lips. “It was tucked away for a reason, Halina… Well then, now let’s go get you cleaned up, dear… Afterwards, we can figure out how to make something more… edible, shall we?”

#lackadaisy #lackadaisy fanfiction #lackadaisy cats #lackadaisy oc #halina dabrowska #mordecai heller #lackadaisy mordecai #christmas #gore but not really #no seriosuly it's not actual gore #or is it #joking #oc x canon

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lizstiel · 1 year

Text

Dean’s sitting at the kitchen table eating meatloaf when it all sort of hits – and he’s desperate to remember it exactly how it happened.

With his fork raised halfway to his mouth, a dollop of meat and sauce perched precariously on the tines, his eyes wandered over to where Cas stood by the sink in a pair of ratty pajama bottoms and one of Dean’s old t-shirts. (One of Dean’s old t-shirts, because once Cas gets his shoulders into them they never really sit the same way.)

He’s got soap up to his elbows, scrubbing methodically at the dishes Dean just dirtied, his brow a taught, concentrated line. He’s bringing the same kind of meticulous focus to the dishes that he used to bring to leading the armies of Heaven; that singular kind of attention, both unnerving and admirable. (Dean had once tried to explain that he didn’t need to wash them quite so vigorously, to which Cas had deadpanned, “Do you know how many food particles remain on the dishes you wash, Dean?” It quickly became his job, after that.)

It’s early July. About 6:30pm. The window over the sink is cracked, and the front door is wide open, letting the sound of cicadas and crickets drift in with the summer breeze. The sun’s starting to set behind the field, casting the world in that particular orange glow that has always made something in Dean ache. In the other room, the record player Sam got them for Christmas plays a beat up Janis Joplin record he’d found at a secondhand store in town. The opening chords of Me and Bobby McGee have just started, and the cicadas are humming, and the crickets are singing, and the sun is setting, and Cas is standing in old pajamas washing dishes Dean just used to make them dinner and –

Cas tilts his head.

This isn’t revolutionary. He does it a lot. A very ingrained behavior, some might say. But he isn’t confused, he’s reacting. To the song. He doesn’t react to music the way Dean wants him to, never has, but in his own way, it’s almost like he’s leaning closer to hear it. An infinitesimal thing. The smallest gesture. The corner of his mouth twitches, and Dean has never loved him more than he does at this moment: backlit by a summer sunset in their house in the middle of nowhere, hand washing dishes and listening to Janis Joplin.

Cas turns when the sound of Dean’s fork clattering on the plate sounds, but Dean just scoops him into his arms, chases any worries away with a kiss, and then another, and then one more for good measure. Cas laughs against his mouth, desperately trying to keep his soapy arms away from Dean’s dry clothes. “Dean,” he chides, squirming and chuckling, trying to extract himself from Dean’s grip. “I’m not finished.”

“I’ll get ‘em tomorrow,” Dean promises, peppering sweet little kisses down the line of Cas' throat. He hasn’t shaved in a couple of days. It tickles all the way down. “Love you so much,” he says, because he wants to. Because he’s so full with it he’s overflowing. Because if he doesn’t tell him right now, in this moment, and every moment after this one, he might die. He needs him to know. It’s vital that he knows.

Cas’ laughter warms, and he slides one soapy hand to the back of Dean’s neck, eyebrows raised in challenge when he shudders at the sensation. When Dean doesn’t immediately shoo him away, he slides the other soapy hand up Dean’s arm. “Dean?” He’s not worried, the timber of his voice is honey-smooth and light, but he’s confused. Not that Dean doesn’t tell him often, and loudly, how much he loves him, but to be fair this did kind of come from nowhere, so he understands. It’s just much too much. It’s not enough and it’s everything. It’s everything in the world Dean has ever wanted.

Janis Joplin is singing freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose, and Dean’s arms are loose around Cas’ waist, and he loves him, god he loves him so much, so he kisses him on one corner of the mouth, and then the other. Janis says, nothin’, don’t mean nothin’ hon’ if it ain’t free, no, no – and he rocks their bodies together, slow, to the beat of the music. Cas’ arms come to wind around his neck automatically, and his smile starts to sprawl into something reserved for only the really good moments. Wide and gummy and for Dean – and feelin’ good was easy, Lord, when he sang the blues. He presses his forehead to Cas’ and they just sort of sway there like that, smiling at each other like this might be the last chance they ever get.

Cas says – “I love you, Dean,” just as Janis is singing, you know feelin’ good was good enough for me – and it occurs to Dean that he’s dancing in the kitchen with the love of his life. He thinks back to the longest, loneliest nights he spent staring up at the night sky, believing wholly he’d die bloody and alone on the backend of some random hunt, and how the smallest (but loudest) part of him had wished for exactly this. For someone to hold him and see him and dance in the kitchen with him, barefoot and covered in soap.

He kisses the tip of Cas’ nose, the lines under his eyes. Doesn’t realize he’s crying until Cas is wiping tears away with the pads of his thumbs and soothing hands through his hair. He’s crying, too. Laughing and crying and telling Dean he loves him, he loves him so much, he’s loved him from the first moment he saw him.

It settles in Dean then – really settles deep, and true, and good – that he was meant for this. He wasn’t born to be a weapon. Wasn’t born to be a son, or a father, or a brother. Wasn’t born to save the world or to end it – was just meant to dance. His arms were meant to hold. To sway them both around the cheap linoleum floor, to sling low around Cas’ waist and spin them both ‘til they were dizzy with it.

They laugh and kiss and Janis is saying – good enough for me and Bobby McGee – and Dean is thinking – Yeah. Yeah, it really is.

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reedrfeedr · 7 months

Text

story - pavlov

(Giving into indulgence has lasting consequences. weight gain, food play, second person.)

You should have known you were fucked the first time it happened.

It was so innocuous, you almost didn’t notice it - staring at another spreadsheet at work, rubbing your eyes to keep from passing out, the morning coffee wearing off too early to carry you to lunch…lunch. There’s that new wing place across the street…you glance at the menu flyer they left in the lobby. You haven’t had any in a while, but still you could almost taste the way the vinegar bite of the hot sauce cuts through the savory fat of the fried skin, the addictive mix of crispy on the edges, tender on the interior, greasy fat giving way to juicy meat…maybe if you ate quick enough you could get a bit more than a dozen, maybe some fries too…and you felt a tent in your tight work pants.

Your brain scrambled to rationalize the errant reaction. You’re tired, maybe you had an involuntary dick flex, almost like you were sleeping. You rubbed your eyes again and blinked enough to try and focus on the screen again. 20 minutes, then you could get lunch. 19 minutes….

That day, you came back from lunch 15 minutes late with a sauce stain on your collar.

The second time (that you noticed, anyway) felt more like a pattern of behavior.

You were glancing at your fridge, as you’ve made a habit of recently, trying to find something to eat. You were eating out more often at work, and you had to stop burning money on takeout, but you felt like your groceries weren’t quite stretching as far as you’d like anymore.

You opened the fridge door and saw the last two frozen pizzas. A thought entered your mind, one that felt unfamiliar. Could always just eat two pizzas. Gotta go shopping tomorrow anyway. Not giving yourself a moment to reconsider, you slid them out and plopped them on the counter.

That wasn’t what took you over the edge, though. That wasn’t what made you this way.

Waiting for the oven to preheat, you fell back on your fridge gazing habit. A second thought entered, much like the first. If I’m going shopping, might as well use the rest of the lunch meat too. Before you realized, you already had the sandwich made and half eaten. You just licked your lips clean when the pizzas finished up, and you were suddenly hit with the smell of them - cheap, greasy cheese, fatty pepperoni…you could imagine the way the soft, lightly browned crust would collapse like a pillow in your mouth, the almost saccharine pizza sauce tempering the salty cheese and meat…and your dick chubbed up at the idea. Something about the sight of those two pizzas, all for you…it excited you.

You ate those pizzas so fast they nearly burned the roof of your mouth.

From then on, things were different. You weren’t focused at work, but you reveled in the opportunity to try new food in the city. Your work clothes were barely fitting, and you even had to size up once or twice already, but you thrived in those lunch breaks…you stopped coming back from lunch late not from eating any less, but eating faster. It became like a game to you. How much food could you experience in 30 minutes? You’d order an appetizer, a couple entrees, maybe a dessert for the walk back, and got there immediately to savor every bite. And in between, you’d fantasize about it. The rich, creamy sauces, the crispy, crunchy bread, the salty, savory meat, the sweet, rich cakes. You stopped caring so much that it was strange that it excited you like it did.

Forget a hobby, eating was your real full time job, the one you spent your time planning and day-dreaming about.

It stretched into your free time, too - you’d find places to get food on the way home, and spend the commute imagining how those flavors would play together. It didn’t even matter if it was particularly masterful - every meal was delicious, filling, exciting to you.

Of course, it was only a matter of time before you mixed your pleasure with your passion.

You were pent up. Sure, you had your profile on the dating apps, but you’d already updated your profile picture once, showing your fuller, flabbier face, and the connections already began to dry up. And with your new interest, you had an even fatter face to meet them with now, not to mention the bloated, overstuffed body you had along with it.

You were jerking off to some amateur porn when something flashed in your mind…melty, gooey cheese. Then, the rich whipped cream of a tiramisu. You never thought to actually do it yet, like…you could enjoy yourself, but the moment you actually tried to mix the two, it was real and you couldn’t turn back. Still, that night you were feeling particularly indulgent, and you had made a habit of acting on indulgence already.

You sat back up, walked to the kitchen, rummaging through your mostly empty fridge again, and found a mostly full bottle of whipped cream you had knocked over in the back. Simple, sugary, one handed. You plopped your thickened ass onto the couch and started stroking, with the other hand working the nozzle of the can.

Stroke. Spray. Stroke. Spray. You got caught in the rhythm of it, and in moments all the sensations blended together, like a well balanced dish. Mouth full. Sated. Cloying sweet cream. Fat coating your mouth. Stroke. Sticky fingers. Rolling your tongue, feeling the cream deflate in your mouth. Stroke. Sugar. Fat. Sweet. Decadent.

Shot.

Your relationship with food had finished changing, and left you with a gluttonous, decadent body to show for it.

You knew it was irreversible when you had finally gotten a message from one of the apps, a simple ‘hey’ flourishing into a spirited conversation about your (former) interests and hobbies.

Then, he asked the question. “Wanna go out tonight?”

You had already begun the daily ritual, scrolling through the pickup spots and settling on your favorite Thai place for pickup on the way home - you could get some pad Thai, their chicken satay, maybe a couple orders of dumplings and some sticky rice. The tang of the sauce, the silky noodles, the crunchy spring of the bean sprouts.

“Sorry, busy tonight.”

#story #wg #fat #xwg #weight gain #gaining #short story

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alexrose000 · 8 months

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Diet. Workouts. Lifestyle

We are now entering a period wherein we adopt the culture of South Korean artists, especially their food, exercises, clothes, dramas, and music.

Have you ever wondered why K-pop idols and actors are so skinny?

K-idols and actors balance and are strict with their lifestyles, including their workouts and food intakes.

Who wouldn't like to be as skinny as them? Let's start to be fit before the year ends.

First, be determined to workout once or twice a week at your convenience for thirty minutes to one hour. There are a lot of workout exercises on YouTube right now; you just have to do them and make a choice on which exercise is best for you. For me, cardio workouts standing I usually do once a week. First year of pandemic, usually I do workouts every day. Yeah, I was satisfied. In two weeks, I did achieve abs and became skinnier. Some of us hit the gym to become fit, which is also good.

But let's see how K-pop idols and actors do their workouts. As they said, before you make your debut in a group, you must undergo a series of training sessions in proper exercise, diet, singing, dancing, etc. Let's focus on their workout.

4th Generation Le Sserafim workout routine: 100 jumping jacks, 4x25 burpees, 2x10 jump squats (holding ears), 1 song plank crawl, 2x10 plank up and down, 2x10 plank twist, and 75 crunches

Girls Generation leg workout routine: 15 thigh hovers, 20 squats, 10 side planks, 20 inner thigh lifts, 15 hip kicks, 15 high knees, 10 lunges, and 19 hip raises

Blackpink Jennie Kim does pilates exercise for one to two hours for five days in a week. This helps to be flexible, strengthen, and tone the body.

BTS’s Jungkook Workout Routine: Knowing Jk, he does boxing exercises in his Weverse Live, but he also does 20 squats, 20 pushups, 20 jump squats, 20 pike pushups, 10 planks, 20 mountain climbers, 15 burpees, 20 crunches, 20 leg raises, and 20 Superman’s exercises to achieve his amazing toned body.

Exercise has advantages; it helps our brains improve, helps us manage our weight, strengthens our bones and muscles, improves our daily activities, and has a low disease risk (don't abuse it too much because it may also have a great risk in our body).

Second is food. Who doesn't like food? Do you know kpop idols and actors are forbidden from eating condiments, sweets, fried chicken, tteokbokki, pastry, ice cream, noodles, hamburgers, and jokbal before they debut as artists because they need to have a slim or skinny figure? They undergo really strict diets.

In the Philippines, there are a lot of fast food chains and restaurants opening from time to time.

Salt is usually what we put in our food, but have you heard that if we intake too much salt, there is a bad risk to the body? Salt intake in excess can be associated with disease, weight gain, and much more, but for us Filipinos, we can't remove it from our foods. We are fond of eating noodles, junk foods, fast foods, and restaurants. I read a lot of articles about how some salty foods can cause swelling. Sweets can gain us weight, and articles show they tend to give us acne or pimples. As per my experience, I am very observant about it. Back when I was in high school, I loved eating sweets like chocolates, candies, and much more, which gave me acne on my face and on my back. In time, I stopped eating chocolate, any sweets, and milk too. It slowly disappears, but then again, consult a physician for more information. Meat is really delicious, but the fatty part is no good if eaten too much, especially if you are really on a diet. The breadings, sauces, and ingredients we put on them are sometimes bad for our health. chicken, preferably the breast part for those on a diet.

Let's see how K-pop artists eat.

For IU, apple, sweet potato, and protein shake for a day

Suzy Bae ate one chicken breast and a banana for breakfast and drank a glass of milk. For lunch, she ate brown rice and a small vegetable salad. She finished the day with two sweet potatoes.

Blackpink Jennie's low-sodium (salt) diet, detox juices, and salad with avocado

That’s why they could lose weight in a short period of time. Remember to drink water.

I'm not saying it is bad, but in moderation, did you know that home-cooked food is still the best for me because we can control it on our own? Eating vegetables and fruits can also help us in our diet, but it really depends on a person's lifestyle and diet. There are a lot of apps now that you could try to help us plan our meals and exercises. We just need the determination within ourselves.

Wait for Part 2! for a more extensive how-to diet

#food #diet #lifestyle #kpop diet #workouts #exercise

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thatbanditqueen · 11 months

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Basic Training

I Don't Date Soldiers

A new fic, possibly a new WIP, about Elvis' life at Fort Hood. Let me know what you think.

Summary: Bess is a smart, young secretary working for the Commander of Army Intelligence training at Fort Hood, dreaming of a life beyond the military one she has always known. That's why she doesn't date soldiers, they only break your heart, and she is looking ahead to something better. One Friday night in March, she stumbles in to the new draftee who's turned the base upside down, and in a moment of weakness, decides to try and help him sleep. Just this once.

Warnings: None, fluffy and angst combined, but innocent. For now. There are a lot of typos.

Word Count: 4.8 K

Some notes: Probably good to know the acronyms, every Army base has a chain of command, and at the top sit the Commanding Officer (CO), the Executive Officer (XO), and a bunch of other officers, of different rank denoted by their ascending O rank, from 1 to 10. WAC - Women's Army Corps, established in WWII, their was a sizeable WAC presence at Fort Hood in 1958. Oh, and Killeen is the closest city to Fort Hood and Austin, TX is about an hour away. Also I really wanted this to take place on a Friday night, but also have had Elvis at the base for two nights, so I gave myself creative license to make March 30, 1958 a Friday. Just don't look it up and we'll be fine.

This fic was inspired by the writing prompt:

Many thanks to my beautiful sister-wives-in-arms whose advice support and love make being an Elvis girl possible and fun, @be-my-ally @vintageshanny @from-memphis-with-love @ellie-24 @powerofelvis @missmaywemeetagain and @whositmcwhatsit, from whom I have stolen her trademarked description of Elvis' awkward manner of kissing half on the cheek half on the lips like a goofy weirdo who was never taught how to kiss right so he decided to make up his own style. And thanks for reading and connecting with me here, the Elvis fandom is the best and I love our community!

Friday, March 30, 1958

9 p.m. at Sal's Cafe

Bess pushed her veal marsala from one side of her plate to the other, feeling the vibrations of her fork scrape across the bottom of the plate. The place checked off all the requisite Italian restaurant requirements: checkered table cloth, candle in an old wine bottle, violin player sawing away at a classical reinterpretation of “That’s Amore.” But the brown sauce, and the meat it was congealing around, was inedible. It was the sort of food that begged the question “why not stay in and cook at home?”

“I said, don’t you think, Bess honey? You follow that stuff, dontcha?”

Bess looked up at her friend Dori’s face, realizing she had drifted off daydreaming of a future far away from Killeen, away from her job at Fort Hood, away from the Army, away from officers, like the ones sitting across from them. Away from soldiers in general.

“What, Khrushchev? Well, I think we all knew he wasn’t going to take the threat laying down.”

Dori hit Bess' shoulder lightly, smiling at their dates, two officers from Army Intelligence.

“No, y’all will havta excuse my friend here, she still thinks she’s studying political science in Austin. You’d think a year of civilian life would make her normal again, huh?”

Dori flipped her blonde hair and drawled on.

“No, silly goose, no one here is interested in that Russian stuff, we’re talking about Mike Todd. What do you think poor Elizabeth Taylor is going to do now that her husband's dead?”

Bess tried very hard not to roll her eyes. Dori was right, she read the movie gossip magazines, but her friend’s distraught, serious expression had made her think they were discussing something with a little more gravitas. The recent atomic weapons testing, or Russian political shifts, the stuff at the top of her New York Times front page everyday. But why would any one in the Army want to talk about that?

Bess smiled at her date and tried to focus on the conversation at hand. Later in the bathroom, Dori chided her while applying a fresh coat of lipstick onto Bess’ mouth.

“I wish you would try to be polite.”

“Dori, you know I am breaking my rule here with you. I don’t date soldiers. I have two goals I'm focusing on: get into law school and shake off these twenty pounds. ”

Bess rubbed her hands over her waist.

“Rules were made to be broken, Bessie Pie, and you look great, men like a girl with a jiggle, I think you look like a brunette Jayne Mansfield.”

“Hardly. You’re Mansfield and Monroe rolled into one.”

“Don't sell yourself short. I know you were fixin' to marry that boy last year, and now all you talk about is law school this, politics that. Don’t you wanna get married? We're not getting any younger.”

“I’m twenty three. Same as you.”

“Eggg zactly. Sure, it seems young now, but you're gonna blink and be thirty and single, with nothing but your degrees to keep you company. You already have a good job now. I just know you’d set this law school thing aside if you met the right guy.”

“Of course I wanna get married, someday. But not now. You’re the one in a hurry to quit your job and settle down, not me.”

“I don’t have a job.”

“See, you’re half way there, Doreen. Me, I’m not giving up my goals for Captain Smarmy out there. How did you even meet these ones?”

Dori steadied her self on Bess’ shoulder.

“Stop moving, or this lipstick won’t be straight. I met them outside the PX, I thought they were cute. Arnie knew who you were, he was the one who suggested we all go out. He really likes you, I can tell - “

“Yeah, he was just in my pop's office lobbying for an assignment, he doesn’t like me. He is using me. There’s a difference, I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”

“So what if he was? Maybe he saw you there and couldn’t get you out of his mind. He’s good looking, smart, he’s already an O3 —”

Bess stopped her friend’s hand, and fixed her hair in the mirror, pushing up her bust and sighing at the rounder curves that had been widening at her waist since she’d graduated from college and settled into a very sedentary, very single, and currently very celibate life living back at home and working for her father. She turned to look at Dori who was waiting to blot Bess' lips with a tissue like the sweet girl she always had been. For Dori, a fresh coat of perfectly applied lipstick fixed all of life’s problems.

“Look, Captain whatever out there is only here for six months or so for training, then he's off to Heidelberg. That’s why I don’t date soldiers anymore. I’ve learned from my mistakes. I’m waiting for you to catch up.”

Bess gave her dark curls one last fluff.

“How’d you get these suckers to come out on a double date anyway? They aren’t scared of your father?”

Dori avoided eye contact as she smoothed her blonde bouffant and pursed her lips, then looked at Bess in the mirror.

“They don’t know.”

“How do they not know your father is the CO?”

Dori shrugged, then pinched Bess as they walked out of the ladies’ room.

“Don’t tell, ok? Let’s just have fun. What if you fall madly in Arnie? And he asked you to marry him and go to Germany with him?”

Bess snorted as they walked out to the men waiting for them in the restaurant lobby and Dori's eyes took on a knowing look.

“Hmm, so that’s big fat ol ‘no’ to dancing tonight, I’m guessin’?”

Bess nodded.

“Please at least tell me you aren’t going home to work on that boring research project?”

Bess smiled mischievously. “Professor Blotke agreed to help me, it’s going to be my submission sample for Georgetown. Papa took Mama to D.C. with him for his meetings, so I have the house practically to myself. It's just Kay and me, and she’s probably already asleep. I just have to grab a new typewriter back on post, I busted mine.”

Dori shook her disapproving of Bess’ plans for the night, then turned to greet their escorts with her usual vivacious pleasantries. Bess smiled at Dori's ability to interact with the men so casually and intimately, sliding her hands through both of officer's arms as they walked to the car. She considered how different she was from her girlfriend, despite the fact that they were both twenty three year old daughters of career Army officers. Every relationship she'd been in seemed to occur in spite of her inability to feel at ease or flirt with boys.

The conversation turned to recent events at Fort Hood as they walked.

“So,” Dori exhaled, squeezing herself against her date. “Has anyone seen Elvis yet?”

Bess pounded her foot a little harder into the concrete, hearing that name now provoked instant irritation.

“Ughh, no. It’s only been what, three days, and honestly I wish he’d been sent somewhere else for training. All I do is answer calls about him. It is driving me up the wall and I can’t get anything done. He’s turned the whole base upside down. Must have been a hundred cars parked outside the main gate, all scattered around the fields. It’s a security issue. I just —"

“Well, that’s not his fault Bess, and I think it's great. I wanna to meet him, don’t y’all?” Dori looked at the officers on her arms.

Arnie smiled a big dumb smile as he looked at Dori’s bouncing breasts and agreed. “I think it’s good for the Army, boy, I just - I just wish we could get the other enlisted to lay off him.”

“What do you mean?”

Bess felt the pit of her stomach tense as she thought of the thousands of green little boys running around base on edge with no external distractions for entertainment.

“Yeah, the boys’ have been giving him a hard time, shouting out when he runs during PT, or at the chow hall. There’s some concern he hasn’t been coming to eat all his meals cuz a the way they’ve been taunting him.”

Bess sighed, her irritation dissipating momentarily into sympathy as she considered how hungry and lonely Elvis Presley must be. Then she remembered that she was hungry, hungry because all the good restaurants had been filled up tonight by people trying to catch a glimpse of him. Elvis was the reason the only benefit from breaking her vow against dating a soldier, the free meal, had been a bust. She wondered if it was going to be this crazy around town for the next six months while he was here.

“I feel sorry for the poor kid, I do. But I still wish he was some other base’s problem.”

***********************************************************

Back on post, Arnie asked Bess for the fourth time if she wouldn’t like him to come help her carry the typewriter to her car. Then they could meet the others at the night club.

Beth pursed her lips with a demure smile. “I think I can handle a typewriter, Captain, I use them all day.”

Dori chimed in with a reminder that it was Friday night and they were only young once, but Bess put them off, grinning as she heard Dori exclaim that both men would just have to dance with her all night.

“Two gorgeous officers all to myself, what eva shall I do?”

Free at last, Bess drove her car to the supply building, and snuck in the back door carrying the type writer that she had been using at home, the big sticker along the bottom reading “Property of U.S. Army” evident as she held the machine under her arm to unlock the door. Bess slipped off her heels at the door so that they didn’t click down the dark hallways, and she easily scurried in to slip the broken machine into the repair center and help herself to a new model, grabbing a few spools of typewriter ribbon and a package of paper on the way out. Balancing everything as she locked up to leave, Bess smiled at the cool air on her sweaty arm pits and laughed to herself for pulling this stealth operation in a tight green cocktail dress and pumps.

“A better use of this outfit anyway, I’d say.” She muttered to herself, sheathing her right foot back into her white heel with a sense of pride that she’d managed to get in, get the new machine, and would probably be home before 11 p.m. Bess had propped her self up against the building to slip her left foot into the other shoe when she heard a voice behind her call out.

“Uh, hey, need any help there?”

Startled, she almost toppled over, catching herself at the last moment by dropping everything in her hands.

“OWW fuck fuck fuck a duck!

She screamed in pain as the typewriter clanged down on her bare left foot and she almost knocked heads with the tall, gangly soldier who squatted down on front of her at the same time to try and help her retrieve her supplies.

"Oh man, I sure am sorry, listen -"

“At ease, uh Private,” she glanced briefly at the rank on his uniform while straightening up, holding her foot in pain and taking in the view below her. The paper knob at the top of the new machine had broken off completely.

“Fuck, this is what I get, I suppose,” she laughed, looking up find herself across from the shy, inquisitive face of Elvis Presley.

“Oh fuck a duuuuuck.”

Bess forgot about the typewriter, the paper spilled everywhere, the throbbing pain in the left foot she was now holding up and cradling. She didn’t even notice how she was exposing her thighs until she rubbed her foot again and dropped it with a thud, realizing she was about to flash Elvis Presley. He seemed to realize it too, and smirked as he turned his face to look away as some sort of attempt to give her privacy while she smoothed her dress down. Bess did this while clumsily trying to balance between one heeled foot and one bare foot.

Elvis found it very hard to stifle his chuckles as he watched her stiffen, and held out his hand to put her at ease.

“Uh, hey there ma’am, I’m Elvis, Elvis Presley.”

Bess shifted and smiled awkwardly, wiping her dirty, sweaty hands on her silk dress and extending her right hand out to shake his. The the same right hand, that had, moments ago, been rubbing her smelly, left foot. Honestly, it seemed like the most polite option, since she decided to act as if the last five minutes hadn’t happened. As if sneaking out of the supply building past 10 p.m. on a Friday night with her arms full of government office supplies was perfectly normal.

“Bess Schwartz, I’m, uh, I work in the Front Office here. I’m, I’m, I'm the secretary for the Army Intelligence Commander.”

She gasped when Elvis took her hand, the hand cover in her foot sweat, and squeezed it warmly, bringing it to his lips for a chaste kiss.

“Nice ta, uh, meetcha. Imma sorry, uh, for startlin’ ya Miss Schwartz, ma’am.”

Bess shivered in the darkness as she heard herself whisper for him to call her Bess almost incoherently while she watched Elvis drop down in front of her and fit her other white pump over her left foot. She tried to remember how to breath. It was hard. Hard because she was struggling to subdue her visceral reaction to Elvis' thumb as it slowly smoothed over the top of her foot, which made it harder still to recover from the embarrassment of getting caught stealing a typewriter. By the most famous person in the world. Bess shut her eyes in disbelief that this was actually happening, and was disappointed when she lifted her eyelids to find that it actually was happening and Elvis was still there. He met her eyes, his finger delicately stroking her ankle.

“There, now, honey, you think you can walk?”

She pulled her leg back and nodded as she scanned the parking lot, the road along and other buildings behind it.

“Mhmm. Thank you, Private. Say, what are you doing stalking around the base right now? Lights out is at 9.”

Elvis bit his lip, looking at the ground as he stood.

“Can’t sleep.”

Bess arched her eyebrow as she started to bend, but Elvis put his hand up to stop her and stooped to gather the paper. He crushed it under his arm as he grabbed the typewriter and ink ribbons, talking slowly and deliberately.

“Well, my first night some jokers went an put shaving cream in my shoes, I ‘spose it gave em a good laugh to watch me run around like a damn fool getting ready for inspection. An well, I ain’t been able to sleep since, can’t bare to, uh, to uh - ”

His voice trailed off, but Bess knew what he meant. He was afraid of looking like poor sport or tattle tale if he complained, and a coward if he just took it. Her eyes narrowed as she noticed the bags under his eyes, calculating he must be going on 40 hours without much sleep. Or much food either, if her date was to be believed. Men. Boys, more like. Little boys amusing them selves by torturing this poor kid. This, tall, lanky, kid, who hovered above her and whose large hands made her typewriter ribbon look like a checker piece.

“Yeah, uh, they’re just scared they won’t be able to get any tail now that your here.” She smiled as best she could under the pressure of trying to talk with Elvis smoldering, lonely boy eyes piercing through her.

Bess looked at a passing car just so she could collect herself, then back at Elvis, thinking of the crowds of women lining the gates.

“The men should be thanking you, we haven’t seen this many pretty girls hanging around the base, since, well, since ever. Probably gonna be easy picking, especially for the soldiers who can leave post. Those poor girls hanging 'round outside the gates don’t know you aren’t allowed to go near ‘em for the next three or so weeks.”

“Mhmm, seems like, uh, uh, ya don’t havta go off post to meet pretty girls.”

Elvis bit his lip again, enjoying how Bess became flustered and embarrassed, smoothing the sides of her dress. She reminded herself that she hated him, as she felt the butterflies swarm through her belly and make themselves at home, flitting willy nilly up her spine. Bess also became keenly aware of how hungry she was from skipping dinner. She didn’t have time for his teasing and looked Elvis squarely in the eyes as she spoke.

“I recommend staying away from them, too. Especially the WACs. You’re definitely not supposed to fraternize with other soldiers.”

Elvis looked off at the trees that lined the road to the right. “How bought civilians? Is, um, ah, frater-a-nizin', uh, allowed?”

Bess turned, ignoring the question, though she was unable to ignore the warm, playful flirtation in Elvis’ voice as it washed over her and her chest heaved up and down at a quicker pace. Once again she told herself that she did, indeed, know how to breath. Her annoyance at his line melted away when she returned to his eyes and saw the exhaustion underneath his bravado, instantly regretting what she was about to do before she even did it. Somehow she couldn’t help herself, it was as if she was having an out-of-body experience, watching herself fumble through a simple sentence.

“Listen, I, um, I just had the worst date of my life, at the worst restaurant. Couldn’t eat a bite. You help me get another type writer, and I’ll, I’ll fix us something to eat. Then you can sleep on my couch for a few hours.”

Watching his eyes light up, Bess felt the need to add. “But no funny business. I’m just helping out a new recruit, doesn’t mean anything.”

For the second time that night, Bess oversaw sneaking a broken typewriter into the repair shop and taking a new one, hobbling as she led Elvis to her car and directed him to put the stuff in her truck.

“Ya live on post?”

Bess patted the passenger seat of her blue Ford.

“Nope.”

“You know I ain’t supposed to leave?”

“Yup.”

“So — what’s the plan, stan?”

Bess turned to Elvis, removing his hand from her knee where it had somehow landed, and whispered with breathy excitement.

“I’m going to sneak you off.”

Elvis quirked his eyebrows as she kept talking.

“I, um, well, I share an office with the CO's secretary, Mabel. Who might actually be the most powerful person at this command. So, as long as I get you back in time for reveille, we’ll be fine. None of these guys will mess with me.”

“I, uh, I don’ wan no special privileges, I wanna, uh, be treated like any other man, any other soldier. I reckon I better -”

Elvis trembled when Bess touched his shoulder and rubbed it gently, looking up into his face with her big brown eyes, now tender and reassuring. He looked to her like he might cry as he spoke of not being special.

“Look, I would do this for any new recruit. Boot camp, uh. Well. This is the hardest part of being in the Army. I promise. I’m not offering because you’re famous. I actually kind of hate you, do you know how much trouble you cause my office? So, you should know I’m helping you in spite of who you are. Promise. I would - I would do it for any soldier in your predicament.”

Bess said this firmly to convince herself as much as to convince Elvis. Then she added a friendly wink and drove off, enjoying Elvis’ bemused smile and telling herself not to worry. Underneath her calm, confidence was the nagging thought that, unlike Elvis, Bess knew exactly what happened if some rule-minded officer were to find out that she had snuck Elvis off post. She had a good understanding of rule-minded officers. Like her father. Who, thankfully, was out of town.

******************************

The bacon and eggs sizzled on the stove and Bess flipped them, shyly avoiding Elvis’ gaze from where he was leaning with his back arched against the door jab, his right hip twisted up and his thumbs hanging from his belt loops as he watching her cook.

“So, uh, what’s a secretary doing taking typewriters uh, um, out late on a Friday night an a bringin' ‘em home for, huh?”

Bess shook her head into the frying pan, then met his gaze.

“I , um, I happen to have some very important work I need to do from home. For the General I work for. That’s, uh, why I have a master key.”

“Uh huh.” Elvis’ smirked, nodding his chin as he stuck his hands slowly under his armpits, and lifted one knee up to lean back further against the wall.

“Hand me your plate, dinner is ready.”

Elvis bounced off the doorway and strode slowly over to where Bess stood at the stove, his long arms dangling loosely at his side. He had become more relaxed and confident once they got to her house, after tearing up a bit in the car and telling her how much he missed his parents and home and how he didn’t have any idea what Germany would be like. He had then muttered on about how millions of guys have been through this, so he knew he’d be alright, though the tear dripping down his cheek made Bess think he believed the exact opposite. Now he was behind her, almost a different person, cocky and teasing as his strong arms snaked around her waist to steady her hands.

“Nah, see how the egg is still all jiggly wiggly, Bessie? S’not done, not nearly. Wanna get the bacon good and browned up, so’s there ain’t no more pink left.”

She flushed at the way his breath hit her neck while his words softly compelled her to make his food the way he liked it. The rumble of his voice as her nickname rolled off his tongue was an assault on her sense of decency, and she let his hands linger at her waist for another beat before lifting them off and assuring him that she understood.No jiggly wiggly, no pink. Black. That she learned, was how Elvis liked everything, and everything was what she gave him, as he ate the pound and a half of bacon om her fridge and her last six eggs.

Bess mused that sneaking a fatigued Elvis off post and filling him full of food must be what made him clingy, comfortable and forward when he put his arms around her as she led him upstairs to the guest room. Rubbing his eyes as he plopped on the bed, Elvis grabbed her wrist imploringly and begged her not to leave him all lonesome in a strange house, in a strange town, where she was the only nice 'lil gal to treat him like a real human bean. Sighing, Bess sat at the top of the bed and let Elvis lay his head in her lap, where she stroked his forehead, and, at his request, started to tell him her life story. He had passed out after five minutes, when she had barely finished detailing how her parents met at Coney Island in 1932, three years before she was born.

Elvis' eye lids fluttered closed and he mumbled, “That’s a when I was borned. Aww, Bessie boo, we musta been babies at the same time.”

Bess groaned as she couldn’t seem to pull herself away from him, and stayed there with his head in her lap for another twenty minutes, afraid if she rolled it off her lap she would wake him. She was cupping the back of his head to gently move it off her lap when he thrashed around and called out the name Satnin. This led Bess to give up and lean against the head board, reconciling herself to a night sleeping sitting up with the most famous rebellious heart throb soldier in the world calling out for his mama in her lap.

Elvis’ hands moved first at the sound of the alarm, roving over Bess tummy and breasts before he opened his eyes to the smacks of her hand hitting him off her. Somehow she had been pulled down into his arms over the course of the night, and she jumped up, commanding him to get his boots on while she ran down stairs and made some coffee. She prayed her younger sister hadn’t heard the alarm. Still wearing the dress from the night before, Bess watched Elvis gulp down his black coffee and chomp down the bread and cheese she had thrown at him to eat in the car. Loudly. With an open mouth. Wiping the crumbs from his mouth, he put his arm around her and squeezed.

Despite sleeping in his arms, Bess felt a shock and jolted at his touch.

“Just so we’re clear, Mister, uh, Private um Presley, uh, this was just a friendly, patriotic gesture. I wasn’t, uh um, trying to seduce you.”

Elvis arched his eyebrow, his expression one of amusement and incredulity at the idea Bess thought of her behavior seductive. The way she had hesitated spitting out the word ’seduce’ so earnestly was adorable and endearing.

“OK, honey, you’re the boss, jus do me a favor and call me Elvis, huh?”

She nodded, eyes forward in concentration as she felt him squeeze her shoulders even tighter. She left it there, and found herself relaxing and leaning back into him after a few minutes with a sigh. She couldn't help it, it was an instinctive response to the way his fingers widened and began to tap out a rhythm on the side of her arm. Everything felt good, and their two bodies melded together in the dusky morning twilight for a spell until a gate came into view and Bess jerked up to throw Elvis’ arm onto the car seat with a smack, not noticing how he, too, stiffened with trepidation.

She stopped around the block from Elvis’ barracks and met his strong, uninhibited bear hug with her body, letting him press the air out of her lungs and kiss her cheek.

“Hey, Bessie Boo, I,uh, I can’t, I don’t even, I uh, I hate to leave you, honey, I ain’t even had time to tell you what I want to say, what -”

Bess put her finger to his lips, feeling his breath as she shhhed him. His brows were furrowed and he frowned, not wanted to leave her car and return to the barracks. She rubbed her hand up his chest reassuringly.

“You only have five minutes to get into your bunk, Private Pres - Elvis.” She murmured. “Now, go be a good boy, I have an idea, for how to help you sleep in the future.”

“Hmmm, sounds fun.” A naughty expression played across his face, his jaw hung open and he waggled his eye brows.

Bess realized the insinuation and hit his arm.

“Not that.” She cocked her head towards the road. “You better go.”

“Huh, usually girls are tryin to run after me, not run me off.” She hit him again as he teased her. “Ok, ok baaaby. I’m off like a gun.”

Elvis face twisted into a crooked grin, and Bess felt like the sun was rising in her car, the earth was suddenly brighter when Elvis’ blue eyes beamed down at her and he kissed her goodbye. It was a light, sweet kiss aimed at her mouth but somehow missing and hitting the crease of her lips.

It had been, what, a year since she had been kissed? Bess kept her eyes closed, just enjoying the soft, tingling sensation of his mouth crushed into her face. Elvis’ hands gripped her tightly, one hand on her neck, the other at her back, and he moved as if to kiss her again. In a brief moment of clarity, Bess realized she had been fighting her attraction to Elvis all night. It had been gradual and immediate, and she felt very different being close to him then she did when she saw hm in the movies or on the TV and radio. At the back of her mind she could hear all the reasons she shouldn’t kiss him. She pushed her hand up between their lips.

“Um, hey, look. Think we could just be friends? I, uh, I have a rule. I don’t date soldiers.”

Elvis sat back, a quizzical expression softening on his face into a smile as he rubbed her shoulder.

“Sure, Bessie baby, friends. Got it.”

He clicked his tongue and grinned, shooting her a thumbs up. Bess nodded, unable to stop the flutter of her heart as she watched Elvis’ long legs carry him forward as he jogged around the corner to his bunk, pausing to look back over his shoulder at her with a goofy smile as he waved goodbye.

“Fuck a duck.” She heard herself mutter, as she put her car into gear and drove home to shower and get Elvis Presley out of her head.

***********************************************************

Chapter Two: Moo Moo & Tupelo

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