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brattyfics · 3 years

Text

Like That

Pairing: Rio x Black!Reader

Summary: You and Rio get to know each other better. Loosely based on ‘Like That’ by Doja Cat.

Warnings: Smut.

Word Count: 3.5K

Installments: Say So | Like That | Talk Dirty

And baby, I want it, and I'll just be honest 'Cause I just can't front when I look at you

About six weeks have passed since Rio declared himself your man, and you quickly learned he took the title very seriously.

He was busier than usual with ‘flipping his game,’ and you were busy preparing to transition your shop, but you saw each other often despite time constraints. You agreed date nights at least once a week were a must, but when you couldn’t see each other, Rio made sure to end nights with a phone call. Virtually falling asleep next to him gave you butterflies, reminding you just how exciting new relationships could be. It took prodding, but he told you made-up bedtime stories and the boring details of his day. In return, you shared things about yourself— childhood memories, the crazy things your mom did to embarrass you. He was sweet and attentive, and you found it refreshing to be with someone who was just as infatuated with you.

On your second date, he took you to his favorite restaurant, a fancy sushi place with expensive rolls. He taught you to hold chopsticks the wrong way the way he did and even fed you across the small table, a couple of unfortunate rolls falling apart due to his prodding. You tried your best to hide your amusement at the pensive look on his face. For whatever reason, Rio thought of himself as a sushi connoisseur, but it was clear to you that he was still learning.

“You’re no better than me!” He admonished when he noticed the way you held your chopsticks. Like his technique, it was incorrect, but it worked for you— sort of. “I never said I was.” You couldn’t keep the amusement off your face any longer. “You’re the one who comes here weekly. I thought you were a professional, and we’re in the same boat.” He folded his arms on top of the table as he insisted you were wrong, but secretly he found your teasing endearing. Later that night, he called and gave you a cheesy line about loving to see you smile.

The following week, you had lunch at a mom-and-pop soul food restaurant that served the best cornbread and peach cobbler in the city. The owners, an adorable older couple, Donna and Gene, and servers alike stopped by your table to meet Rio. Donna gushed over Rio, showering him with compliments and extra cornbread. “Girl, he is cute!” She told you, failing miserably at whispering. He smirked as you rolled your eyes, but he handled the attention well, being friendly and personable even when Gene kept going on and on about changes to the menu, one chef to another.

A few days later, he called you up randomly and asked you to get ready and ride with him somewhere. “What should I wear?” You asked, hoping for a hint. You could hear him smile as he said, “It doesn’t even matter, ma. You always look good.” The occasion had turned out to be ‘Foodtruck Friday.’ Barbecue, kebab, taco, ice cream, and other miscellaneous food trucks were parked in a spacious lot in Downtown Detroit. You settled at a picnic table and shared several plates of food as you discussed the possibility of your own mobile ‘Mad Batter’ shop somewhere down the line. It got you thinking about the future.

“Where do you see yourself in five years?” You asked the dreaded question in between bites of a colorful Korean fusion taco. He stiffened as he considered the answer. “What is this, a job interview?” Sometimes you saw peeks of bossman Rio rather than the Christopher Castillo you were getting to know. It happened seemingly out of nowhere when you asked questions he felt were invasive.

You looked up from the panko-fried shrimp, red cabbage, shredded carrots, and tasty orange sauce wrapped up in a flour tortilla with a frown. You had two choices: respond in the way he had or make light of the situation. So, you said, “Kinda. You’re auditioning for a spot on my roster, so...”

He stopped chewing the half-eaten dumpling and swallowed hard. “That’s not funny.”

“You better start taking the interviewing part of the audition more seriously then.” You wiped your fingers on a napkin, and he gathered your hand in his own, wearing a look you couldn’t decipher. “You got it, ma.”

You played a game of mini-golf at the local arcade. Rio stood tall behind you, holding you by your hips as he corrected your stance. You purposefully arched your back, brushing against him just slightly. “Like this?” You looked over your shoulder with the most innocent look you could muster, but his eyes were glued to your ass. “Yeah, just like that.” He answered in a low tone without looking up. You giggled as you took your swing, adding a wiggle for his benefit. You pretended to care about the ball as it glided across the bright green tarp towards the hole. “How was that?” You chirped, looking down the lane.

“I can’t even lie. I don’t care about the game right now. I just wanna watch you.” Your aim was terrible, and the ball never went in the hole without several attempts, but he insisted you finish playing the course. You teased him about it for days after despite his claim that he actually enjoyed the game because it was one of Marcus’ favorites.

“Stop lying! You just wanted an excuse to openly watch my ass.”

“Why you always gotta call me out?”

You shopped a cozy health and wellness store with hundreds of cool little trinkets for sale. Neither of you had been there before, so you took your time exploring, stealing unexpected kisses from the other. Rio took full advantage of the size of the store, pulling you by the hand and holding you close to his side.

He frowned at the large collection of shiny crystals. “A rock, really? What does anybody need with a rock?”

“It’s not a rock!” You hissed, head whipping around as you hoped the owner didn’t hear him.

“What is it then? It looks like a rock to me.” He picked one up, turning it over in his hands.

“It’s a crystal!”

“What’s the difference?”

“It has healing properties...” Rio snorted but strung his arm across your shoulder and listened intently as you read the info cards to him. When it was all said and done, he bought an aventurine stone to apologize to the owner for prosperity, well-being, and good luck.

The next day, he disappeared with no warning. You had been worried sick until Mick let you know he was busy handling something. It would have only taken a minute to tell you that, so you were (understandably) pissed. He showed up at the shop several days later like nothing had ever happened. “What’s up, mama?” The greeting that usually melted you grated on your nerves. All of your feelings about the situation bubbled up to the surface. It was hard to find the right words— you were still getting to know each other, so how mad could you be? At the same time, how little did he think of you to not say anything? Finally, you settled on, “I can’t do the disappearing act.”

Rio wasn’t used to answering to anyone, not even his child’s mother, about his whereabouts, but he put his palms up in surrender when he saw the serious expression you wore.

“You’re right, mama. That’s my bad. It won’t happen again.”

And it hadn’t.

But knowing ahead of time only made it a tiny bit easier, especially when he didn’t have a set return date. You were going on day seven (the longest you had gone without seeing him since you started dating) when he called to say he made it home and wanted to see you. Your heavy heart swelled with relief. You missed him way more than you probably should have, so you insisted on a night in at your place, wanting him to feel relaxed and at home instead of on guard somewhere public.

It had been a long six weeks without sex while he romanced you with delicious food and beautiful words. It wasn’t an easy task, but you knew as soon as sex was thrown in the mix, you would be done for, either destined to be his or ruined by him. It was a scary thought, but distance had indeed made the heart grow fonder, and you cared about him enough to take a chance.

He was set to arrive within the hour, but you were still unsure of what to wear, frantically rummaging through the dresser for something cute and comfortable. You let out a frustrated groan when your phone started to ring, thinking Rio might have come early, but when you look down at your phone, you see your best friend’s name and face. You swipe quickly, accepting the FaceTime call. “Hey, girl!”

“Hey, stranger!” You pick up the phone, so you can look at her. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” She replies with just as much sass. “I haven’t talked to you in what— two weeks?”

“We talk—“

“—text.”

“Okay, fine. Text. We text every day. What are you talking about?”

“That’s not the same.” She insists even as you remind her of the ridiculous amount of time you spend trading memes and food pictures with her.

“Anyway, what are you doing?”

“I’m trying to decide what I’m going to wear between this, this, or this.” You move the camera around, showing her the different options. A black-and-white tank and short set with ‘Being cute is not a crime’ in a cute font. A fuzzy grey sweatsuit set with hearts, or a simple cream hoodie with matching shorts.

“Um, what’s the occasion?” You giggle at the look on her face, knowing she thinks none of the above are appropriate for wearing outside of the house.

“Movie night in.”

“You need help picking an outfit for movie night with yourself?” Her face scrunches up in confusion. “Wait, is it movie night with yourself?” You try to be casual about it, shrugging your shoulders in response. As usual, she sees through your bullshit and goes straight into an interrogation. “Oh, bitch. You been holding out on me!” She asks you five questions in a row without stopping to breathe before settling on one. “Who?”

You gnaw on your bottom lip. “...Rio.”

“Rio?” She frowns. “Like the guy we work for, Rio? With the eyebrows and the neck tattoo, Rio?”

“Yes, that Rio.”

“Wow.” You wince but decide it’s best to get it over with. “What? I know you, so I know there’s more where that came from.”

“I don’t know what to say! From what I can tell, he’s a decent dude, I guess, but you know what he does. You definitely know what we do for him! You don’t think that could be a problem?”

“It’s messy, for sure, and I can admit that, but I’ve been thinking about getting out anyway...” She nods. “Then, I guess there’s nothing else for me to say about that. You’re both grown, and you know what you’re doing.” She was your best friend, which meant she’d always give her honest opinion, but wouldn’t berate you about your choices. Just like that, you return to your regular discussion topics, everything from warehouse gossip (yes, even in the business of crime, there’s a rumor mill) to new music releases. Before you knew it, forty minutes had passed, and Rio was calling your phone. You promised to call her more often before hanging up.

You sing your ‘hello’ into the phone, hoping Rio can’t detect the shakiness in your voice as you clumsily pull on your bottoms.

“Hey, mama. You about ready? I know you’re sensitive about your space and all that.” He was referring to the fact that he had never been past the doorway of your home. Your home was your sacred place, so you were extra careful about who came in and what energy they brought. It was always nerve-wracking to let somebody into the space that you cherished so much.

“Yeah.” He picks up on the hesitancy in your voice. “Are you sure?” You nod your head as if he can see you before telling him yes with a giggle. “Alright, well, I’m outside. Can I come in?” You bite your lip, butterflies fluttering in your tummy. “Yeah, I’ll come unlock the door.” He whispers his thanks, and you take a moment to force yourself to relax. When you meet him at the door, you do so with an open mind and heart, taking in his appearance with a goofy grin on your face. As usual, he’s dressed in all black, wearing a well-fitted t-shirt and sweatpants. He’s casual but still so high quality and attractive.

“Hi.” You breathe out like a dork when you realize you’re staring. It helps that he seems just as mesmerized, stepping forward to envelop you in a tight, warm hug. He sways you from side to side before pulling back, his hands resting heavily on the top of your ass. He settles for a quick peck on the lips because he has something to say. “You’re as pretty as ever, darlin’.” He says earnestly, shaking his head as he steps back to look you over once more.

“Kiss me again.” His hands cup your ass as you devour each other in the open doorway. You forget your surroundings. “Damn, ma. Can I at least get inside before you jump my bones? I don’t mind giving your neighbors a show if that’s your thing, but…” You turn to hide your embarrassment, leaving him to close the door behind you as you gesture around the room as if you’re in an episode of MTV Cribs. “... here’s the living room. The kitchen’s through the arch. The bathroom’s over there...” He follows you with his red as you point.

“And the bedroom?”

You snort. “The tour stops here for now. Sit down.” Your tone leaves no room for argument. He settles into the soft couch while you grab the snack tray from the kitchen. Homemade popcorn, chocolate-covered pretzels, and dried fruit gummies are on the menu.

“All this for me?” His arms snake around your waist so that you can curl up into his side. “What we watching?” You grab the remote. “I saw a trailer this week that caught my attention. I’ll play it for you.” He didn’t care what you watched as long as he got to be close to you, so it didn’t take long for you to get the movie started. He stole glances at you when his knuckles brushed against your bare knees under the blanket. You’re embarrassed at how wet the small action makes you, so you stretch out across the couch and place your bare feet in his lap, silently planning your revenge. The movie may as well not be playing because you couldn’t be less interested in the plot as you lightly stroke him through his sweatpants with the balls of your feet.

“Ma...” He warns, watching you in the low lighting. He’s come to learn you like to tease, but he doesn’t think he can take it, not tonight. “Hmm?” You hum innocently, loving the strained look on your face. He doesn’t move even as you sit up on your haunches and kiss him. It’s slow and long in the best way. He pulls you to sit in his lap. His hands roam your body as you grind down onto him, relishing in the feeling of the soft skin on your tummy. He sighs into your mouth as one hand finds your bare breasts.

He pulls away to talk shit. “No bra? You just knew I was gonna put out, huh?” He pushes the cotton material up so he can see you properly. “Perfect.” He murmurs into your skin. You let him kiss and lick and suck on your nipples until the pressure you feel below is too much to handle. You’re a quivering mess when he finally helps you pull the cotton material up and over your head. It lands on top of the television behind you, but neither of you notice.

You nudge him until he removes his own shirt, and then he lifts his hips to help you when you begin tugging on his sweats. They puddle at his feet while you spread your legs wide, desperate to get your hands on him. “I could cry right now.” You admit honestly when you finally see him, biting your lip. He arches a brow. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing, darlin’?” His hips jerk when you take him into your hands, the cold temperature surprising him.

“It’s definitely a good thing.” You whisper excitedly, staring with wonder as he hardens in your hands. He barks out a laugh, stunned by your ability to make him laugh, even with his dick in your hands. “That’s really nice, ma. I feel real special.” Your eyes meet, and silent promises of all the filthy things you’re going to do to each other are exchanged. “You should. I’m about to change your life.” He throbs in your hands, loving that you find small ways to challenge him.

“Come on. Let’s go to bed.” He wraps his arms around you in preparation to get up, but you stop him with a shake of your head. “I don’t wanna.”

“No? What you wanna do then?”

You answer him by slipping to your knees. You spit on his dick, stroking him up and down slowly. He watches you closely as you lower your mouth, wrapping your lips around the tip. It takes a lot of restraint, but he lets you do your thing, slowly working him deeper into your throat. He closes his eyes as he concentrates on lasting, but he can’t turn his ears off, the obscene smacks painting a vivid picture for him. When you swipe your tongue across his balls, he moves to stop you, grabbing your shoulders. Fire dances in your eyes as you realize you got him where you want him. “I don’t wanna.” You repeat.

“You are a brat.”

You release him with a pop. “The biggest.” You admit, swallowing him once more. He groans, thinking he can’t believe you’re the same sweet girl who bakes in a frilly pink apron and begs him to tell her bedtime stories.

“I want you to fuck me now.” He stops you before you can bend over the couch. “Slow down. I want you on your back, darlin.”

You throw his earlier words back at him. “That’s nice. I feel really special.”

“You should.” He mocks you, instructing you to hold your legs wide. He wastes no time licking and sucking you as enthusiastically as you had done him. “You’re so pretty. I could eat this pretty pussy forever.” He compliments as you squirm in his hold. “You’d let me, huh?” You shake your head frantically. “No! You’d drive..me crazy!” Payback is a mother, especially when Rio’s the one dishing it out. “Wait, wait—“You whimper, clawing at his shoulders.

“What?” He cajoles. He almost wants to laugh at the distressed look on your face. “I want you.” You pout, trying to sweet-talk him.

“You have me.”

“Not like this. Inside.”

“Yeah? You sure?”

“Mhm.” You swallow, watching as he fumbles around with his pants searching for a condom. He opens the golden foil packet with expert fingers, positioning himself in between your spread legs. “You don’t have any pointers for me now?” He drags his tip up and down your slit, slowly pushing his way further. Teasing. You shake your head. “No. Just fuck me.”

“That ain’t polite. You gotta say please, mama.” You scowled, but he didn’t budge. “Please.” You pleaded with the sweetest tone you could muster, sighing as he gave in. You cursed at the stretch, him at the way you squeezed him. “You feel…” He couldn’t find the words, so he buried his face in your neck, trying to gain some composure. You caressed the back of his neck sweetly. “You feel good too, baby.”

His hips stuttered forward, and you gasped as he worked himself deeper. You grasp his shoulders tightly, your nails embedding themselves into the soft skin.

“Yes!” You squeal.

“Like that?” He grits out, struggling to keep his rhythm.

“Yes, just like that!” You cry, moaning as he pounds up into you. His lips find yours again, and it’s bliss. Then before you can stop yourself, you’re calling him Daddy like it’s his given name. He groans into your sweaty neck like he’s in pain.

“You’re so nasty.” Overwhelmed and breathless, you whine your protest, “You’re nasty. Look at what you’re doing to me.” His eyes shift to where you’re connected. You’re creaming all over him and leaking down onto the couch, but you can’t bring yourself to care about anything other than coming. You do just that, mewling as you make an even bigger mess between your legs. He whispers filthy things into your ear as he finishes, grunting at the way you seem to be sucking him in even deeper.

“That was—“

“—unreal.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of you can bring yourself to move. Your sweat-covered skin sticks together. You swipe your hand against your forehead while he pants.

“I wanted to ride you at least once tonight, but after that, I’ll be lucky to make it to bed.”

GENERAL TAGLIST

@woahitslucyylu @briannab1234 @sheeshgivemeabreak @breakingnewsin-no-oneasked @angelreyesgirl @blessedboo @glimmerglittergirl @apantherinmypastlife @brownsugarcoffy @marvelmaree @starrynite7114 @scuzmunkie @thewarriorprincessxo @sadeyesgf @pearlkitten33 @imanerdychubbyqueen @literaturefeen @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @everyhowlmarksthedead @yourwonkywriter @trulysuccubus @sparklemichele @luckyharley1903

RIO TAGLIST

@xsweetdellzx

#good girls rio #nbc good girls #manny montana #rio x reader #rio x black!reader

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namjoonchronicles · 3 years

Text

impression | yg

↳ genre fluff, domestic, established relationship

↳ words 5.5k

↳ summary many forgot that when you marry someone, you marry their family too, at least that’s how Asian family is like

↳ warning that side of adulthood, lockdown because of pandemic, self-worth, over-sensitivity, pisces dude, married life conflicts

↳ song ariana grande ‘pov’

Just this morning you woke him up with ‘Daechwita’ blasting on his ear drums, dancing and prancing around the home gym in your spandex bra and sweatpants, rapping to every word he wrote, with more swag than ten Yoongis combined. Forehead glistened with sweat, rosy cheeks and more life in you than he ever had. He leaned by the door sill just watching in utter disbelief and renewed admiration to just how much you loved his music. It never gets old. But how the tables have turned, two minutes before midnight.

You’ve locked yourself in the bathroom, him leaning his back on the wall, speaking through the closed door, calling out for you.

“Talk to me. Please… Say something. Anything,” he puts his lips inches away from the door, covering his hand over his mouth to direct the sound towards you, hoping it would get through. Fat chance, but at least he tried.

Must be something in his drink last night for him to hear his own song even when he is sleeping, Yoongi thought. But he didn't drink last night? Yoongi pulled the duvet down his head, contorting his entire face and the blaring boom bass music, rippling through the miniature figure standees of famous baseball players he had lined up on the TV cabinet. The music was so loud, the pictures hung on the walls began rattling at each beat drop. Where is this music coming from??

Two seconds in, and the empty spot next to him spoke volumes. All answers were as clear as day.

Yoongi sat up on the bed, duvets pooled around his waist as he yawns loudly and his bed hair flopping on either side leans towards, some baby strands standing in all directions. He scratches his arms, neck and belly as he comes awake. Face puffy, eyes barely open, and cheeks as circle as they could be. He gathered the duvet to the side and pushed himself off to the edge of the bed while shoving his feet into his indoor slippers. He tried to fetch his phone from the bedside table and saw it vibrating on its own from the loud music.

"Better stop her before the neighbours come complaining…"

He waddles about the room lazily, dragging his feet, his arm reaching for the switch panel before he even arrives to have the curtain open and let the sun in. The automated curtain aligned and folded creases perfectly as it gathered itself to each designated side. The bed, the bed will be made up later after he advises his wife not to deafen the whole neighborhood with his albums and he could finally think.

The teal-colored walls that extended along the hallway of the house, decorated with wedding pictures, family pictures, his signed baseball jerseys, picture of his basketball days (the one he jumps for a slam dunk and especially proud of, you know the one), your graduation picture (with him professionally photoshopped in) and some lovely polaroids of your first unofficial date that he insists was official. More on that later. Yoongi walks pass this memory lane with a stern face, shooting glares ahead, marching in the direction of the music, which seems to be coming from the gym. What he saw was a petite figure, all hyped up, sweaty, holding up a water bottle to your lips like a microphone, mouthing his rap like it was your own. You saw him in the mirror reflection but instead of coiling away, shy, you spat his rap to his face with flaming confidence. Yoongi looks down with a shy smile, eyes turning small and polite, skin blushing pink with second hand embarrassment. His face is hot and your sweaty skin, hair plastered to your neck and forehead, in revealing spandex was not helping. Neither is your swag. He clamped his lips with his teeth while you pulled his arm so he would join you. He protested lazily but didn't resist as hard. He throws his head back, whining dejections but you couldn't care less.

"Are you making your own concert here? Plagiarising my songs?"

You heard him and grinned widely at the mirror. He folded his arms and watched you dance seductively and just as the rap got to the 'my tongue sends boys and girls to China' part, the music stops and he is no longer next to you but by the stereo and turning it off.

"Yoongi! I was working out!" "People are gonna come and complain…" "They know who you are…" "They know my name from you…"

Screaming underneath him, that's what he meant. You rolled your eyes at him. He passed you a face towel with a sheepish smile. Wiping your face with it, you watched Yoongi unplug your phone from the sockets. It reveals several missed calls from your mother in law, Yoongi's mom.

"Mom called…" "Really?"

You moved closer to him to see. Yoongi reads the message she sent you outloud and the colors drained down your face.

"What do I cook? What do I do? What does she usually have for lunch? OMG, I don’t know. Do we even have kimchis left? I hadn't restocked…" "She likes fried dumplings and soy garlic chicken stew… it'll be okay. She said she is coming around noon. It's just a little over 8 am… Go take a shower."

You scurried to the bathroom and did as told. Yoongi made the bed while he waited. He turns the cordless vacuum cleaner on but it beeped soullessly because it wasn't charged. He sighed. You always forget to charge them after using them. He opted for a broom and dustpan instead. Yoongi disappears into his home studio, to take the shampoo he had been using and after-shower lotion for you to use. He twisted the knob, knowing you wouldn't lock them when you shower. Knock on the glass door of the shower and told you to use them. You nodded, passing him a look over your shoulder but he was out as quickly as he entered. That cold, cold steely husband.

You stepped out of the shower wrapped in towels with your hair dripping wet, hurrying to the hairdryer to dry your hair. Yoongi walks in with nothing but a towel around his waist. He passes you a chaste kiss on the shoulder first, then your cheeks before he continues to unravel his briefs and showered as well. The water trickles down his face, neck and shoulders, cascading down his speckless back, over the bum of his ass and wetting his happy trails at the same time. He aggressively rubs water over his face, the tips of his hair appear darker as it gets wet. You dressed up in your oversized hoodie, a pair of jeans and red converse, hair tied up in a bun, grabbing your purse for a quick run to the store. If your mother in law is coming, the least you could do is cook an all korean cuisine, prep nicely on the table so she knows that her son was taken care of nicely. Giving her a lasting good impression was your core priority as of now. And Yoongi would have been more than happy to do the grocery for you but this time, just this once, you want to show him that you are dependable too.

If there is anything you learned from korean cuisine is that food is prepared meticulously like you would, a form of art. Everything is placed neatly on a plate, and wrapped tightly. Taste and looks must be perfect. Everything had a sequence. Tradition and culture shapes the good people of Korea to what it is today. And for Daegu native, Yoongi's deep accent and habits become one of the most significant traits that flags a Daegu representative. You are obsessed with getting it right. Although you mostly don't understand the heavy accents he tends to let slip out once in a while, you were expecting to guess the words as it comes. His accents are one of the things that you loved about him. Daegu dialects are strong, and oozing masculinity. They are often direct and unapologetic so it might be heard as harsh. You couldn't tell apart if he is cursing or if he is just plainly just talking about his day when his friends stop by. He caught you a few times, staring blankly at him when he blurted out dialects out of frustrations, and he laughed them off when you accuse him of lying to you about what the words actually mean.

With his mom stopping by, the dialects are going to be thick and you would probably stare blankly most of the time. Communications are limited and Yoongi had to come back and forth to translate some of them.

Korean cooking is not your forte. Let's put that out there, in the open for everyone to see and understand. You are not familiar with it, and although you love some of it, some just don't fit your taste buds. But Yoongi is a full blown Korean. You make adjustments here and there, but it's not like he is always around for you to cook them often. That's why your korean cooking skills deteriorated. Even simple things like choosing which mushrooms to cook with takes 10 minutes longer than it probably should. You went with your heart and took the one you saw first.

Yoongi came out from the baths to see an empty room. Your perfume wafts over his nostril and it tattles about your whereabouts. Just as he was about to investigate, his phone shrieked a calling tone. It was Jungkook. Asking for a chord. He sounds desperate and bored to death. Being a good friend, Yoongi speds to his home studio after clumsily putting on some white tee on top of a grey shorts, halfway through and sending him several chords the little guy could work with, then pulling the rest of the shirt down as it loads. He swore he didn't take long but he found you already changing your clothes and starting to chop things on the chopping board, sloppily. He knows that it was not you to do things sloppily so he offered to help sharpen the knives.

"Soy garlic stew?"

You chewed your lips at him as he asked and nodded. Anxiety was written all over you. Your hands were already so shaky, and that's why you couldn't hold the knife properly, aside from it being blunt. You turned to the sink and began chopping the scallions with another knife Yoongi handed you.

“There are some potatoes I bought in the paper bags, I brought the mushroom I am familiar with, I am not sure if it's the one used in the stew. What time is it already? Is this enough time to even cook the stew? The chicken hasn’t thaw has it? I am not going to have enough time… She is going to know that the dumpling is store bought and I am putting my pride on the line…” you spoke nonstop, didn’t even hear Yoongi if he was saying anything, which you assumed he was quiet, so you became annoyed and, “Why aren’t answering any questions I have??”

Yoongi stood there, with a blank expression, “You wouldn’t even let me talk…”

You answered your own questions, and he was here listening to everything, opening his mouth and closing it before any word could come out because you bulldozed him with words, as he dug out the potatoes you were talking about, as well as the mushrooms.

“I’m sorry, I watched the youtube video on making the stew on the way to the mart and it seems pretty complicated, but doable… I think that the ginger and garlic goes in first,” you paused and sighed, “It’s been awhile since I cooked a proper meal for myself. I don’t know if I had it in me to even do this anymore…”

That’s right. While Yoongi was always away from the last two years, his work trips extended from 3 months to a whole year, and while studying for your master’s degree, you opt for simpler food, just enough for you to get by the day with a filled stomach. Most of your time is dedicated to your studies and laundry. Stopping by Daegu was hardly done, and if anything, you would just send some gifts her way. It is pretty awkward between you and his mother; language barriers, interests, and principles. You didn’t notice when Yoongi was standing behind you, his hand was on top of yours, soothing over your knuckles and he hijacked the scissors from your hands gently.

And he whispered softly atop of your head, “I got this.”

Just like that, he took over kitchen duties and let you handle the simpler stuff like, putting the pot on the stove, fill water in it, skin the potatoes, chopped them into large cubes, unstub the capsicum, peel the skin off of the chicken, peel the garlic and ginger. Yoongi’s instructions are clear and easy to follow. After all the things are chopped and prepared, he hands the ladle to you.

Your eyes widen. And you shook your head. Stepping back. Yoongi clicked his tongue and chuckled through his nose. Coax you. But no, you stepped farther back. He then took your wrist gently and placed the ladle handle in your palm.

“Trust me?” “I trust you, it’s me I don’t trust.”

“I’ll help you every step. Let’s go. Have confidence!” “You’re the multi billionaire, I’m just the struggling degree student with a part time job.”

“You’re Min Yoongi’s wife.” “I find that hard to believe sometimes…”

With another scolding tut of his tongue, you conceded. With a heavy heart.

The chopped chicken pieces are placed in a boiling water pot, and when its reddish flesh turns white and is cooked, it is drained and washed underneath cold running water to remove impurities. You watched quietly as Yoongi cleans them with his capable hands. His veins protrude, extending well over his forearms. The tip of his fingers were pinker than the rest of his hands, and he smoothes over those nooks and crannies the chicken pieces have. As ridiculous as it may sound, you were quite envious of the fact that those chickens have his full attention now. Next, the carrots.

The carotene source is peeled and chopped in large size. Yoongi helped guide your hands over the handle of the knife, because he is pretty particular on how big he wanted those carrots to be.

“Isn’t that too large?” You asked him in a small voice. They are half the size of your thumb. “No, it’s just nice…” he replied in a low voice, his lips just behind your ear, “It has to be in the same size as the potatoes, so it will cook at the same time.”

Your bottom grazed over his front and he learns to just keep you sandwiched in between the counter and him, so it won’t turn to something else. He is just as anxious as you are with his mom coming. Therefore, the percentage of him turning frisky is zero to none. The onions come next. They are chopped in half and then into fours. Yoongi paused and braced himself for tear gas attacks only there was none. He asks where you bought those onions, and you replied, it was grown in your colleagues garden. They were given for free. And he comments,

“They should sell these, we will be their first loyal customer! It doesn’t sting!”

You laughed as you prepared the fruits you bought. It was rock melon and some papayas. You avoided buying tangerine because you know she will bring some from her hometown, knowing how much Yoongi loves them. Daegu’s tangerines are very sweet and plump. There is nothing like it. Yoongi sliced green onions for the stew and extra hot chili peppers because his mom likes them spicy. Then he prepares the mixture for the broth.

“Now watch,” he instructed you, “Soy sauce, rice wine, red chilli pepper powders, minced garlic, two cups of sugar, red pepper paste, sesame oil, pepper. Mix well.”

Yoongi prepared a pot and placed the cleaned chicken pieces in them, added potatoes, carrots and water with the mixture he made just prior. Then, boil. After the chicken is cooked thoroughly, he adds onions. Then the scallions. Then salt to taste. You prepared the oven and Yoongi carried the pot to it to keep it warm until his mom arrived. Dumplings were pan fried. That one was simple. His mom doesn’t like her beverages too sweet, a simple plain water is enough.

When all the food is done, you turn to him at the same time he did. Sweats rolling down his sideburns and his thin white shirt clinging on his skin like he ran a mile. You approached him with a huge smile, swept his hair back to reveal his forehead and dabbed your inner wrist to wipe away his sweat all around his face. He sniggers through his nose. Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, you can’t help but plant a kiss on them. Nuzzling your face on his neck, you draped your arm around his shoulder and mumbled, “Thank you…”

He leans his cheek on your head and kisses one side of your brain, before exclaiming that you both need another shower after cleaning up the kitchen and turning on the air humidifier to chase away the smell of cooking.

“How was the journey?” you chirped. “The weather is scorching hot, the sun is melting me away before I can meet my son,” Yoongi’s mom complained in a thick Daegu accent, and when she stepped in, she gave you a glance and straight away went looking for her precious son. As expected.

“He was just out of the shower, he will come soon, mother,” you said the last word awkwardly, it doesn’t really roll off your tongue as comfortably as it should. She replied to you with a dejected “Hmm.”

You blinked and cast your eyes downwards, then up again to change the topic, “...Let me take you some cold drink… it must have been a torture, to walk around in such hot weather,” you sped to the kitchen and grabbed her a cold water in a tall glass.

“Hello mom…” Yoongi revealed himself from the hallway, gave his mother a hug that you didn’t receive when she walked in. “It wasn’t torture when I’ve come to see my son!” She suddenly changed her words, now she is all bright and cheerful, and you disappeared from her sight completely unless Yoongi looks over to you and includes you in the conversation. That too, wasn’t permanent. Yoongi learned that his older brother’s wife is carrying a baby and Holly had been snuggling to her tummy at every chance she gets. The sight would have been adorable and they were able to take a picture of it so Yoongi’s mom excitedly showed them to Yoongi. They both are sitting on the sofa while you were in the kitchen scooping up cooked rice into bowls of three.

“This sofa is new isn’t it? I didn’t see it the last time I was here,” his mom asked. “Yes, yes… do you like it?” Yoongi said and said you chose them. Then her enthusiasm dissipates. “I like it better without one. Now it’s too westernized,” his mom’s lips turned lopsided, continuing, “Did you know that hanging your legs down will disrupt the blood flow up to your brain? We better sit down on the floor when we eat, too…”

Yoongi prepared a Japanese folded table and pushed aside the coffee table that was there. Everything you’ve prepared on the dining table was moved to the Japanese one. When everything is set, you and Yoongi wait for his mom to start eating before you both do. It’s tradition. Even between man and wife, the older one begins eating first. Yoongi sips the stew and then you begin scooping the stew into your bowl. You were the only one eating mostly with a spoon instead of chopstick since you aren’t too accustomed to it. Yoongi’s mother said in a joking tone that you should start using the training chopstick used by toddlers.

Why are you extra sensitive today? She was just joking, but smiling is so hard right now. Your cheeks feel heavy and your shoulders stiffened. Yoongi carried the rest of the conversation effortlessly. The deep Daegu accent is already shifting your attention towards the fried dumpling instead. It was just a little over 45 minutes since she arrived, why does it feel like days?

“Dumplings, mother?” You chirped, attempted to use the chopstick and successfully landed them in her bowl.

Then she puts them back where they were, and said, “I don’t eat store-bought dumpling, darling,” before resuming to tell Yoongi the story about her neighbour getting into a real estate feud. You hold your breath in your throat and try not to think about it too much. Although you’ve finished your bowl of rice, Yoongi still hasn’t. He was busy nodding away to what his mother was saying. She barely touched the stew. When she turned to her food, you tapped Yoongi’s knee underneath the table and he looked at you wide eyed, darting at the stew. And Yoongi’s lips turned to the shape of an “O”.

“How do you like the stew, mom?” He asked. “It’s okay…” “My wife made it…” Yoongi said with a smug smile.

You smiled, shyly.

“It tastes exactly how Yoongi would cook it. I thought you cooked it, I know how horrible her korean cooking is, Yoongi… You don’t have to lie to me,” his mom passed.

After bidding her farewell at the door, Yoongi accompanied her to his brother’s incoming vehicle that fetches her. His brother made a promise to stop by when the baby arrives and when the Covid cases reduce a bit. You watched from the window from your bedroom and when the car drove off with Yoongi waving goodbye to his mom, your heart thudded differently.

Your eyes stung, and tears impending to fall as it collected around the brims. As you heard the front door beeping open to Yoongi returning, your feet dashed to the bathroom door, pushing it open as your tears rolled down your face like a dam broke.

Sensitive? Too soft? Was I too emotional? Am I not trying hard enough to be enough?

Yoongi walks in, to an eerily silent house. Ridding his shirt by pulling it over his head as he walks down the dimly lit hallway. His heavy footsteps heard across the floorings and you covered your mouth with your hand to not make any sound. He noticed that the bathroom light was on unlike the rest of the room.

“You’re showering alone? Traitor…” he pouted and wriggled the door knob and noticed it was locked from the inside. “I have a stomach ache,” you hoped you sound convincing. Your voice didn’t sound as shaky and you hope he didn’t catch on. “Okay…” he said, after a long pause. You turned the shower on to reduce the sound of you crying, and went back to sitting on the floor by the door, dug the heels of your palm into your eyes socket, and hugged your knees, sniffling.

“Hey…” his voice muffled through the door. “Hmm?” you replied, through a broken smile.

“Are you okay?”

Another dam broke.

Shit, I’ve started crying again. Why can’t I stop crying?! He is going to find out now… Fuck.

“Talk to me. Please… Say something. Anything,” he puts his lips inches away from the door, covering his hand over his mouth to direct the sound towards you, hoping it would get through.

“Was it mom? She says something you don’t like? You know how mom is, right? She doesn’t mean any of it…” now it’s Yoongi’s turned to bulldoze you with questions he himself answered.

Unable to take it anymore, you had to speak out, even if it means behind closed doors.

“I know she doesn’t like me as a daughter-in-law…” you spoke in broken voices. “Nonsense…” Yoongi passed, nonchalantly.

“No, will you please just listen to me?!” you raised your voice a bit, “I am not like your brother’s wife who cooks great Korean food, who sends her nice homemade desserts to her likings, and now is bearing a grandchild for her. I can’t cook, and had to rely on you a lot. She came over and she didn’t give me a hug like she did you, and the whole she doesn’t even speak to me unless I speak to her first, and even then, she shuts me down so I couldn’t say another word. I can’t even use a damn chopstick or make homemade dumplings she’ll eat!”

It’s Yoongi’s turn to lean his back on the door and hug his knees, then hang his head low.

“Suddenly the sofa is too westernized. And the glass doors letting in too much sunlight when I renovated it the way she wanted. It seems like everything I do is wrong and I just have no place in the Min’s household no matter how hard I try,” you sniffed, and, “To make matters worse she brought up the girlfriends you had in high school and how they cook her favourite food! Girlfriends! Plural! Here I thought you only had one… Jokes on me, I guess… It’s fine, honestly.”

There's nothing more terrifying than the word ‘fine’ you threw when you’re sad and Yoongi knows it. It signifies so many things. It indicates that you’re done, and you’re ready to let go of it, by shoving it under the rug like many other things your mother in law did to you ever since you met her. Yoongi shot his head up when the door opened and his eyes followed you in silence, a little solemn. You dried your hair, sitting on the makeup chair table, running the cool air Dyson hairdryer over the lengths of your hair. Yoongi crawled on all four and knelt behind you to hug your waist, nuzzling his face on your lower back. Then the tears returned, and kept falling.

Your gaze is stuck on the reflection of you in the mirror. What have we become?

It was one of those moments where no words seemed to suffice. Regrets and guilt becomes almost the same thing. Pointing the blame is the last thing on your mind. Choosing sides is difficult when so much is at stake. You may have unclasped his arm from around your waist, heard his wordless gesture and refused to see his face, but so much of him is in you. The fact you held on for so long was because of that man you love and married. Is this going to happen everytime your mother in law stops by?

Even then, you didn't want him to go against his own mother, nor do you want him to side with her… It was such a confusing situation.

Yoongi needs to return to the studio. He packs a few toiletries and clothes for him to wear while he is there. You helped him pack leftover food so you are not burdened to finish everything alone. The conversation shifts to what matters now. You carry your duty as a wife, his partner. You make sure that he is able to provide for this family and even though your emotions are once again neglected for the time being, you were glad that it actually occupied your mind and heart.

At the door, his manager carried his things and instead of leaving along with his manager, Yoongi told him to go first. You already know what comes next. But you aren't sure if you had it in you. One look in your eyes and Yoongi knows that you will rather die than have that conversation all over again. He ran his finger through your hair, lowered his lips to your forehead and stayed like that for awhile, and you said,

“Take care of yourself,” you spoke to his chest, breathing in his musky cologne for the days ahead without him. He stepped back, thumbed your cheek and pinched your chin, tilting your head back. He glanced at your lips while biting his own then backed away, to leave. As the view of his back got smaller and smaller, he exclaimed, “I’m going.” Not once did he turn behind to have one last look. And it was something Yoongi would do. Doesn’t matter if it's at the airport, or at the backstage, he will never look at you after he leaves you, even when he knows you’re right there standing, and looking at him. He says that, if he saw you standing there waiting for him, he will not be able to fight the urge to run to you. So he never looks back. The one thing that he always does before a work trip, is to kiss your forehead. Dr. Laurel Steinberg says, a forehead kiss indicates strong emotional intimacy.

But Yoongi says that a forehead kiss to him signifies a bond that goes beyond lust and love, it was your soul. It is to say, “I might be too far away to hold you, but my soul is yours.” It sends butterflies and confettis your way when he does it. It always feels warm and you always feel protected with a stamp of Yoongi’s lips on your forehead. It feels like a talisman. That no matter what, Yoongi is here.

Recovery. The emotional turmoil, the rollercoaster. You fill your time organizing the photos Yoongi took. With your final exams finished a week ago, you’re given a month off before you begin your final year. Yoongi now lives in his studio office because the album recording session begins and he is in every process. He is in charge of doubling and finalizing the tracks, directing and whatnot. Yoongi sends you a 1 minute 23 seconds video. Scowling at it, your face softened at the sight of him, recording himself in the studio. Dark circles doubled in size and his cheeks sunken. Poor thing hadn't been eating well did he?

“Hey, sweetie…” his familiar guttural voice resonated with your heart strings, “Sorry I haven’t been able to properly give you a call. It’s too late when I’m free, and I’m asleep when you’re awake. So I figured I’ll just send you a damn video, to hell with it.” You chuckled softly as your visions turned blurry.

“I think I will be addressing the recent issue we tucked away for later day. It’s later. You have never been good at fighting for yourself. It was something I don’t really understand because I’ve seen you fight my fight for me,” he glanced to the side and smiled fondly. You were unclear what situation he was talking about but you kept listening.

“You told me that I shouldn’t side with you because that would mean I am against my mother. Here’s what I truly think…” he breathed in and sighed loudly, “I think I should side with you. I spoke to my mom a few days ago, asked her how she is, and I told her several things I don’t like, like bringing up my past ex girlfriend, or how you can’t use the chopstick yet, or how your korean cooking isn’t great yet… how upset it made you and me. She told me that she was just jealous. I left home when I was 16. Come back when I am 20, married at 25. I will always be her son, I let her know that. But I am now someone’s husband, and I happen to cherish this someone, her heart and her wellbeing is my responsibility. I am not stolen from my mom, I consciously chose this person to be with me, to be her husband and built a home with her. And if she can’t respect that, then she cannot return to our house…”

You had to set the phone down and wipe your tears with the back of your hand.

“I’m done being a referee,” Yoongi continued after a long pause, “You’re gonna cry again, and I won’t be able to pass you tissue or give you a hug, I hope you understand what I’m trying to say. I am proud of you and all the little things you do. Daegu dialect is difficult to understand ha? That’s alright. You’re getting your degree, and you help pack my things even though you’re sad as hell the day I left. I couldn’t… I couldn’t ask for a better wife, and I hardly think I deserve you. Until we meet again, soon. Your husband, Min Yoongi.”

The video cuts to him winking.

Another text from him,

[Yoongi, 1.03AM] Impression is never permanent. I hope you give mother another try…

Wife is typing...

[Wife, 1.04AM] Erm. [Wife, 1.04AM] Sends a pic.

[Wife, 1.05AM] How’s this for a lasting impression?

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streetlightsky · 2 years

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cold as (early morning) [1019 words; rated g]

for the @chenfordsource bingo fill: early morning. my first fill and thing i've written for chenford. hopefully this will inspire and motivate me to write more because i do have a lot of ideas (just not a lot of talent).

When Lucy came back from undercover, Tim was just not there anymore.

Granted, it had been the middle of the night when the operation broke. Lucy didn’t know most of the cops on scene let alone her arresting officer. She thought she had seen a glimpse of Lopez before she had been pushed into the back of someone’s shop, but she hadn’t been sure. Had it not been for the sight of Grey, undoubtedly purposely walking past her while giving directives to clean up the scene, Lucy might have continued to believe that her mission was still in progress.

Once it was safe, they escorted her back to base. Lucy stared out the window at all the familiar places to now remember them as hers—her favorite bakery, her beloved antique shop she frequented to buy things for the apartment, her preferred gas station where the cashier always threw in a pack of Swedish Fish on the house—and not Nova’s. She felt sticky with the remnants of her cover still clinging onto her, and all she craved was a long shower, her grandmother’s soup dumplings, and the calm of sitting in a morning brief.

The first sunrays were rising by the time she stepped through the doors of the Mid-Wilshire station. Her eyes bounced from face to face trying to both search for her familiar anchor and settle herself. But Tim was nowhere to be seen, and instead, she found Nolan at her desk with a coffee cup in hand and the cheeriest welcome she had received since taking the assignment.

After the older man had folded her into a hug, Lucy ducked into the locker room to collect her things. An old picture of her and her fellow rookies had greeted her like a warm hello, and for a moment, she was slammed with a wave of missing Jackson so much that it almost hurt. She wrapped the strap of her bag around her hand so tightly as if it could ground her back to earth. Even as Nolan drove her home, she refused to let it go.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” he asked. “I still have time to get breakfast for you before shift starts.”

Lucy shook her head. “I need to shower, clean the apartment, get groceries—”

“Don’t forget to put sleep on the list.”

She nodded, acquiescing. What she needed was to get the routine of her normal life back, to feel like Lucy again. What she needed was to take the day and recalibrate her brain and view of the streets before she went back on patrol.

What she needed was to see Tim.

But Tim wasn't there—not on the other end of the line when she had texted him, not in his usual parking spot when she arrived for her next shift, and not at his desk that looked suspiciously neat even for him.

Grey summoned her into his office before roll call, and instead of a sense of ease, there was a hollowness growing wider and deeper in her stomach that only seemed to worsen at each turn.

“You’ll be riding with Nolan today. It’s been a while since you’ve been on patrol, so a familiar partner should help.”

Lucy couldn’t help the words that came out of her mouth. “Sir, where’s Sergeant Bradford?”

“There was an opening at another division about a month ago.”

Lucy didn’t hear much—didn’t need to—after that.

It wasn’t that she was angry or disappointed. She knew Tim had been waiting for the next opportunity ever since he passed on Long Beach when she had still been his rookie. But she had hoped and expected him to be standing at the podium for briefing and sitting in the driver’s seat of their shop on her first shift back only to come up empty.

She let it go on for a week—seven days for her to regain her senses and find her true self again, seven days of parking tickets and domestic disturbance calls and public nudity at a Starbucks for her to get back into the groove of patrol work, seven days of festering uncertainty and overwhelming silence from her former training officer before she had enough.

The next morning, Lucy stood by her living room window with her phone pressed against her ear and listened as the dial tone rang and rang only to be greeted by the automated message of Tim’s voicemail. After the beep, she took a long, audible breath before speaking.

“Tim.” His name almost came out like an exasperation. “I know you’re around. Lopez told me you went to see Jack a couple of days ago, and—”

And even if it had been more than three months ago, Lucy still remembered standing in this exact spot in the early hours of the morning before she had left for her undercover operation and how Tim had kissed her for the first time and told her that he was too old to do the sneaking around thing and wanted to do things right if both of them were serious about what had been hovering between them perhaps since she had stopped being his rookie.

“Anyway. We said we would talk. After. And now it’s… after. And congrats on the position. I knew you would always get it. But unless you’re trying some kind of no-phone policy Tim Test, I guess you’ve decided to ignore me, and—”

Swallowing, she glanced out the window at the creeping morning light. The basement studio Nova lived in had rarely seen any sun.

“You said we would talk.”

Her fingers floated into the strip of sunshine streaming into her apartment. The warmth was slight and not nearly as tangible as the heat that surrounded her when Tim had embraced her.

But he wasn’t there anymore. And long after she ended the call, long after shift started, long after the sun rose to its peak for the day, Lucy still felt the lingering shivers of the early morning left cold from the distance between her and Tim.

#the rookie #chenford #chenfordbingo #i had the first sentence written ages ago but never followed up until now #so this is what happens when you revisit a theme and tone you don't quite remembers months after the fact #alas longfic brain gets in the way and i lack the talent to bang out eloquency this ship deserves #*fic #*

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paper-n-ashes · 3 years

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The Late Shift - Part 3

Characters: Paul Sevier x Female Reader

Words: 3.9k

Warnings/Tags: Explicit (18+), PRAISE KINK, sex in a public place (voyeurism if you squint?), Oral sex (Female receiving), PIV sex, gratuitous use of the pet name ‘good girl’

Authors Note: Yeah, we sped right on into smut town in this one. This smutty addition should conclude our little story, and now this ADCU character will forever be known to me as Praise Kink Paul.

Part 1 + Part 2

It was eerily quiet as you stared at Paul in bewildered shock, not fully knowing if the word he just spoke actually left his mouth. It didn’t seem real. A man you’d met barely hours ago returning for you. Needing you. But what exactly did that mean?

Paul’s expression had kept its hesitation long into the silence, his body unmoving. He had never been so bold before. Making a move like this, so soon after a first meeting, was absolutely unheard of in his past. And yet here he was now, watching over your face, trying to gauge the thoughts hidden behind your eyes. There was an essence of shock clearly shining in your irises, and Paul could only come to the conclusion he’d scared the hell out of you.

“I- I, uh, I’m sorry-”

“What do you mean by that?” you asked suddenly, interrupting his bid at cooling your fear. “What do you mean by… needing me?”

Paul nervously pulled at his blazer collar, realising now how vague and outright creepy the statement must have sounded. Somehow he needed to explain himself without coming off more strange than he already did. “Oh, I just… I wanted to see if you were free for a late dinner. There’s are great dumpling house around the corner and-”

Your lids had narrowed as Paul continued to stumble his way through his words, stopping him again mid-sentence. “You said… you needed me.”

Fuck. He’d definitely freaked you out. He could tell you it was a lie, a colourful way of offering a date, but suddenly the prospect seemed rather difficult. Because in truth, he’d meant exactly what he’d said. He needed you, in a way he hadn’t needed someone for a long time. He needed to know what your lips tasted like, the softness of your skin, the sound of your quickened breaths-

“Ask me again,” you shot out, your demeanour having morphed into one of resolve. Paul could feel his heart rate pick up.

“What?”

“Ask me out. To dinner. Ask me on a date.”

The rhythm of beats turned erratic - a smile already desperate to spread across his face. Maybe he hadn’t completely ruined his chances. With a steadying breath, Paul kept his tone light, hoping to hide the excitement rattling inside his chest. “Would you like to get some dinner with me?”

“No.”

The word pierced the air with such a stinging jolt it made Paul want to recoil. “Uh… oh, but I thought… Isn’t that what you wanted?”

You took a step from around the service counter, a single finger sliding over the cheap marble, keeping your eyes locked with Paul as you moved. The only answer you supplied was a shake of your head, treading closer to the flustered man, his face creased into a positively adorable look of uncertainty.

It was your time to be bold now. You weren’t sure how it happened, when the rush of confidence flashed through your limbs, pushing you into a determination you’d not been allowed to embrace very often. Maybe it was because you’d already endured a horrifying dose of embarrassment today. Maybe it was because you found this stranger so attractive it physically burned your insides. Maybe it was because you had been fantasising about the things he might do to you for the last several hours and your logical brain was currently suffocated by lust. No matter the reason, you treaded towards Paul with a measured composure, until finally you were standing at his front, a thickened air of tension sifting around the two of you, the dimmed lights softly bouncing off the frames of his glasses. You saw him swallow hard, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, evidently nervous at the proximity. But he wasn’t retreating, he wasn’t edging himself away. When his stare flickered down to your lips, pupils swelling at the sight, you knew this was your opening.

“I don’t want a date. I want what I sent in that message,” you breathed. “In fact, I think I need it.”

To your surprise, Paul didn’t waver like you assumed he would. Large palms were quick to scoop under your jaw, pulling you forward into an impassioned kiss. Two sets of lips colliding in a hungered clash, bodies melting into one another, your own hands clutching at the scratchy tweed jacket he wore. The entanglement was frenzied, rough, much more forceful and impatient than either of you would normally act in your separate lives. In these moments those pasts selves seemed like distant memories, both of you shedding the bondage of your doubts in mere seconds, succumbing to the impulses sparked to life by what should have been an inconsequential meeting.

Each kiss never wavered in its intensity, only thriving with heat and fervour, feeling Paul beginning to suck and bite at your lower lip while his hands wandered over your clothes. The irritation that arrived at the barrier between his touch and your flesh was enough to make another decision resolute.

This man was gasoline to your waiting fire, and you wanted him to pour himself all over you, not caring if the world around you burst into flames.

Before you could get the words out, what was going to be an eager plea, he stole them from you.

“M-More?” he gasped, trailing delicate pecks down your neck. “Would… Would you want more?” The question was followed by the slow push of his hips into you, providing another show of evidence that was too persuading to refuse. Into his collar you grabbed two fists of fabric, pulling him backwards with you. He followed your lead gladly, a tangle of legs treading somewhat haphazardly over the shop floor, avoiding the circular displays of dress shirts until your back finally knocked into the dressing room door.

Even if you’d had second thoughts at the risk this was to your job if you were caught ravaging a newly obtained client on the security cameras, they would have been erased at the way Paul clutched at your hips and ushered you inside the small cubicle, refusing to let his mouth stray from yours as a single hand moved to fiddle the lock closed behind him.

The second after it clicked into your confinement, there was a pause, with a rushed whisper into your ear. “I don’t… I don’t usually do this…”

“Me either,” you rasped back, nails clawing into his hair as he set another deepened kiss on you. “This… I’ve never been… so hasty.”

There was a low groan that rumbled from Paul’s throat as you pulled lightly to tilt his head back, skating your lips under his jawline. He took the opportunity of your parted mouths to catch his breath. “Are you sure?” he asked, unable to hide the worry in his voice. “I’m not… rushing you… am I? We can stop… If you want to stop-”

You smile, warmed by his gallantry, before nibbling at the rise of his collarbone. “I want to keep going. Please… Don’t stop.”

“Say that again.”

“What?”

“Say please. Again.”

“Please,” you whined back, delving into a begging tone.

The fingers clutching at your waist tensed at the proclamation, moving down to the curve of your ass as another gradual thrust was pressed into the apex of your thighs. You could feel it, feel him, the physical indication of just how sincere his desire truly was. It made you ache, made you suddenly feel too empty, too incomplete. Instinct made you about to reach for the buckle of Paul’s belt so you would know the full scale of what would hopefully be yours to take, but he was too quick.

With impressive dexterity, Paul unfastened the button of your slacks, slipping one hand inside while the other became curled around your neck, anchoring you into place. He hesitated at the hem of your cotton panties, his tempered breath warm over your face while your stares held one another’s.

“I want to touch you… Would that be okay?”

You immediately nodded, rolling your hips upward to meet his stilled hand. “Touch me Paul. Please.”

It was a magic word, dashing any of his reservations in an instant. Fingertips swiftly slipped underneath the thin fabric, skimming over the trail of pubic hair that the feel of made Paul’s cock throb even harsher than before. While never explicitly voiced out loud, he loved the natural state of a woman, knowing it set off something primal in him he couldn’t quite explain. The recognition made a hurried groan escape before even dipping into the line of your folds, only for another one to follow at the sensation of slick essence waiting there.

A gasp leapt from your throat, the sound settling into a delighted whimper as Paul explored you, letting two of his fingers trace up and down, teasing the edge of your entrance.

“You’re so wet,” he panted, capturing your lips in another fevered convergence. “Have you… Have you been like this since…?”

“The whole time,” you finished. “Since I first saw you, heard your voice…”

Paul’s subsequent groan echoed in the small space. The people in his life were never this forthcoming with their information, and here you were being so unrestricted and honest. He wanted to reward you for it. His movements shifted to centre on the swollen nub of your clit, placing sweetened kisses just below the lobe of your ear. “Do you want to come?”

You mewled as increasingly more intense pulsations of ecstasy began to billow out from your core. Every motion this man made with his fingers was unlike anything you’d encountered before. There was finesse, an elegance in every subtle action, smooth and severe at the same time. “Oh god, yes. I want to come, I want you to make me come.”

“Will you be a good girl for me?”

The question had arrived without Paul being able to prevent it, and he immediately felt a wash of dread simmer through him. What if you weren’t into that? What if he’d fucked this all up with one slip of the tongue?

He needn’t have worried.

“Do good girls get to come?” you asked, nails clawing into the hair at the nape of Paul’s neck.

He couldn’t have been more relieved, increasing his pace on you, a positively beaming smile being pressed into your throat in between the small licks and open-mouthed kisses he began to coat under your jawline. “They do. And you’ve already been such a good girl. So good for me. So wet… So willing...”

“A-anything for you,” you puffed out, breathless at the rising pleasure Paul was igniting, mind blurred from the combination of his exhale skating over your skin and the expert flourishes he traced over your bundle of nerves. “I’ll be anything. Your good girl, bad girl, anything you want.”

“You’re already everything I want,” Paul cooed. While true he’d only seen glimpses of your full self so far, he was already convinced of the words he’d spoken. It made him feel even more courageous, more ravenous to please you. “And I want to show you how much. Does my good girl trust me?”

A delirious hum filled the air as your agreement. How could you not say yes to such a question? You were already putty in Paul’s hand the moment he’d finally kissed you, and with his hardness pressing against your thigh as a promise of what might be to come, there was no way in hell you would have refused. It wouldn’t have been a lie either. You did trust him. Not that you could explain why right now.

With your consent given, Paul retreated from you, only to snatch at your wrist at the same time he unlocked the changeroom door. You gasped softly as he pulled you out into the now darkened space, thankfully having the shop lights set on a timer to switch off before you were meant to leave. Although, it now appeared your night was long from over.

The subtle glow of the computer screensaver guided Paul to exactly where he’d planned, steering you to the edge of the counter and immediately propping you onto it. You would have squealed in surprise if not for the way he led another assault on your lips, standing between your spread legs, also beginning to tear apart the buttons of your blouse and wrench the covering away. The dull, beige bra you wore underneath was the next item to be taken from your body, Paul having the latch unclasped with a single flick of his fingers. As the straps were dragged down your arms, he moved his mouth downwards to a perked nipple, tongue toying with the bud as you rocked your head back with a decadent sigh.

“So beautiful,” he rumbled against your chest. “Absolutely perfect.”

Your fingers snaked into Paul’s hair again, relishing the praise you’d rarely been afforded as he set himself onto your other breast, darting the tip of tongue around the sensitive centre. You could have let him linger there, but you became acutely aware of the shifted balance of your exposure, your torso bared while Paul’s remained irritatingly layered. That needed to be corrected.

You pulled on the inky strands to force Paul’s head back before starting work moving the jacket from over his shoulders. He allows it to slide off easily, hearing a small thud below as the heavy article fell in a crumpled heap. The sweater was next to be peeled off, finding yourself smirking at how Paul’s glasses became crooked from the woollen material slipping over his face. He caught your amused expression, eyebrows furrowing.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you giggled softly, fixing the frames to properly sit on the bridge of his nose. “You’re just… so cute.”

A gawky smile spread across Paul’s face. He wasn’t sure he’d been called cute before. He liked it more than he would have thought. The warmth it set off in his chest made him capture you in a kiss once more, although this one was significantly less urgent and more… affectionate. Slower, delicate, mouths moving in a hypnotic synchronicity, so much so Paul didn’t notice you’d unlocked the buttons of his shirt until you were pulling the tucked in portion out of his trousers.

As the dreadful, yellowed fabric was finally abandoned to reveal the torso beneath, you heard Paul release a rumble of satisfaction when your hands began to roam over the uncovered skin. You, yourself had to stifle a moan just from the feel of him alone. You’d imagined in your idle daydreaming a toned form hidden underneath those god-awful clothes, but it hadn’t prepared you for this. Every muscle was defined, tightened, firm underneath your touch, his chest so broad even your two splayed out hands didn’t cover the full expanse. You couldn’t stop yourself from withdrawing backwards just to view it with your own eyes, biting hard on your lower lip as you took in the sight.

It made Paul suddenly self-conscious, casting his eyes down. “I don’t- My job keeps me so busy… Getting to the gym is a little hard-”

“What? No!” you stopped him, realising where his train of thought had gone. You tilted his chin upwards to force your stares to meet. “I was actually just thinking how much more I hate that terrible outfit for hiding all of this-” You let your hands skim down his front, leaning in close, “-from me.”

Paul’s lips curved upwards. “You were?”

“I really was.” You set your lips under his jaw, reaching around Paul’s flanks to scratch your nails lightly over the middle of his back. “By far the sexiest customer I’ve ever had walk in here.”

Paul wanted to scoff. Being called sexy was even rarer for him than being called cute. And yet, with the way you pressed your naked breasts against him, clutching him closer to you while your hot breath at his shoulder made his hairs stand up, it was the first time in his life he believed it might be true. So, instead of dismissing the sentiment, he allowed it to take over, embracing the swell of fearlessness it brought.

Suddenly your pants, along with the panties underneath, were being excitedly wrenched down the curve of your ass, Paul having them stripped from your legs within seconds. If anyone walking past peered into the shopfront, they might have seen you draped over the register now completely devoid of clothing. But, you didn’t care. Not when Paul had proceeded to lower himself between your opened thighs, holding them apart with his large hands, his eyes wide and wandering over your cunt.

“Fuck,” he marvelled. With one long stripe, his tongue travelled up the divide, groaning into your centre. “Tastes even better than it looks.”

Leaning on your elbows, you whined as Paul began to gently lap at you, dipping further inside each time, occasionally holding his focus on swirling over your aching clit. It made you whimper and writhe against him, overwhelmed with an incessant need of the release he’d been sparking for what seemed like hours.

“You want to come huh?” Paul spoke out loud. “Grinding your pussy on my face like that?”

“Please! I need it! So, so, badly.”

Ah, that magic word again. “I know,” Paul soothed, having to palm himself over his trousers just to calm some of the impulse to fuck you right then. “You’ve been so good, doing so well. And you’ll get to come real soon. Just promise me one thing okay?”

“Whatever you want,” you heaved, watching while Paul’s fingertips drifted over the slippery flesh, teasing in and out of the folds.

“Be a good girl and ask my permission when you’re about to come. Can you do that?”

Again, it was only a pitiful moan you could supply as your answer, which this time wasn’t quite enough to satiate the man gliding his touch over you infuriatingly slowly.

“I need to hear you say it. I need you to tell me what you’re going to do.”

Another cry left you as Paul slipped two fingers inside your heat, your mind blurred from the feel of knuckles moving past the edge of your entrance, stretching you open. “Be… Be a good girl… I’ll be your good girl and ask permission.”

Hearing you say the words, Paul was sure he’d never been so hard in his whole existence. It was almost painful, his cock straining against the zipper he was trapped by, but it was a pain he savoured more than ignored. Even if this was as far as he got, if this scene ended with your cum smeared over his lips and nothing more, he would be grateful for the throbbing down below and gladly thank you for it. So, he dove in.

As the duel sensation of Paul’s tongue and fingers rose in their intensity, your back became flush with the marble countertop, only to have it arched as the rippling currents of ecstasy started shooting through your whole body. Muscles twitching, thighs trembling, you were astounded at how proficient he was at drawing your climax to the surface, somehow knowing the motions and spots that brought it ever closer to the point of breaking. Usually, in those uncommon occurrences a man would want to put forth the effort, many minutes would float on while you chased the seemingly unreachable high. Paul needed only a few of them before your breaths turned staggered and toes began to curl, scrambling to find your voice.

“I… I’m… oh god, Paul, you’re going to make me… Please… please let me…”

He didn’t dare to pull away to speak his encouragement out loud, instead silently spurring you along while keeping his pace steady.

Get the words out, you can do it. Just ask the question. I want to see you come. I want to see how pretty you look when you come.

You bolted up, stomach tensing, snatching both sets of fingers into Paul’s hair. With him captured in your stare as more waves of pleasure crested from your core, you turned begging. “Oh please. I’m so… So close… Can I please come? Will you let me come?”

Paul groaned, the vibrations ricocheting outwards, being quick with his reply. “It’s okay, you can come. Come for me baby, come nice and hard for me.”

Back slumping down onto the cold countertop, you did as you were told. Walls clenched around Paul’s fingers in quickened spasms as your coarse sighs filled the balmy atmosphere. He’d never watched something so enthralling, the way your chest rose and fell with sweat clinging to your skin as you rode out the heavenly bliss you’d fallen into. Only when he was positive you’d slipped into the beginning of your afterglow did Paul retreat, resting over your body to place adoring kisses at your forehead and cheek.

“You did so good,” he murmured.

The connection rattled you back into the current reality, moving to rub your palm over his hidden erection. “We’re not done yet.”

“We’re not?”

You were far beyond the point of playing coy. “Can you please fuck me now? I need you to fuck me. Right now.”

Your pleading tone set something alight inside him, dragging you down until your feet made it to the floor and spinning you around in one swift action. Bent at the edge of the desk, a jingle of a belt buckle rung out, finally feeling Paul’s hardness press against your rear. And he felt huge. Thankfully still seeping from your climax, it was with ease he was able to eagerly sink into your waiting cunt, a rousing groan escaping from each of you.

“Oh fuck. You… feel so fucking good.” An arm slinked around your waist to wrench you flush against Paul’s torso, having his panting breath directly in your ear as he continued to drive himself further inside, gradually building his momentum. “Such a tight, wet pussy for me to make mine.”

“It’s yours,” you mewled. “It’s all yours.”

Paul lost his ability to speak, merely producing a growling moan into your neck as the pace and strength of his thrusts amplified, having little restraint left to hold himself back any longer. Repeated lewd, slapping sounds mingled with the coupled moans and whimpers of your collective satisfaction, passion radiating off your bodies in the form of feverish heat. It wasn’t long until you noted the stuttered exhales rushing out of Paul’s chest, a clear sign you didn’t miss.

“Want you to fill me. If… If you want to… You can… Fill me all the way up.”

Sure, it was reckless as all hell, but Paul trusted you like you’d trusted him, and the sound of your begging hit him like a lightning bolt. He lost complete control, plunging harder and faster into you, feeling your ass bounce against him, the pulsing below growing harsher and harsher until finally… release.

His embrace around you was suffocatingly strong as he spilled himself within your walls, sure the grip of his fingers would leave marks to find in the morning. Not that you minded. As the last of his energy dwindled into slackening thrusts, you again felt the dotting of small, sweetened kisses touch your skin, lining the curve of your shoulder.

“You’re amazing,” Paul awed, still tracing his palm over your bare flesh. “That was… amazing.”

About to chuckle at his lack of originality, a worrying thought sparked. “Oh my god!” You spun on your heels to encounter a bewildered expression. “The security cameras! They would have filmed everything! Oh god, I’m so fired.”

To your confusion, Paul had a toothy grin spread across his face. “I’ve got some experience in surveillance. I can handle it.”

“Huh? You do?”

He kissed the wrinkled portion of your brow. “I work for the NSA. And I could have sworn there was some suspicious activity occurring in these premises in the last… 30 minutes or so.”

Tagging those who might be interested! Sorry if it’s not your jam

@tlcwrites @roanniom @princessxkenobi @hopeamarsu @fathersonandhouseofgucci @mariesackler @leatherboundriot @foxilayde @modernpaw @cornmousequeen @direnightshade @mylifeisactuallyamess @caillea @jynz-andtonic @paterson-blue @miraclesabound @prismaticpizza @millenialcatlady

#paul sevier #paul sevier x reader #paul sevier x female reader #midnight special #adcu #adcu fanfiction

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jlalafics · 3 years

Text

"The Long Weekend"-Part One

Happy belated birthday @keelaree!

Hope you enjoy this first part. Thank you for being such a wonderful part of my writing life, and an even better friend. Can't wait till we can reunite in SF, so we can tea time together and eat soup dumplings.

Love you!

Summary: Two assistants who barely tolerate each other. One snowy cabin. One very long weekend.

Oh, and one bed.

-----

“I’m making the turn now, Haymitch,” Peeta told his boss as he navigated the icy road. “Should have everything prepped and ready by the time you and Effie arrive.”

“Thanks,” Haymitch replied over the speakerphone. “I should tell you that I did ask for someone to help you out. Someone who knows Effie better than I do sometimes—”

Peeta slowed his car as he spotted the cozy cabin in front of him. However, he grimaced seeing the red Jeep already parked on its side.

“You didn’t.”

“Peeta, Katniss knows Effie very well,” his boss said calmly. “Just like you know me. I know that you two don’t get along—”

“Understatement of the year,” Peeta replied as he parked roughly.

“This is important. I’m proposing to Effie and I want it to be perfect,” Haymitch explained. “Katniss knows all the foods she likes to eat, and how to decorate the place to make it comfortable yet romantic. Effie and I are finishing up our meeting with Mr. Snow then we’ll be making our way up to the cabin for the holiday weekend. I’ll call you when we’re on our way so you and Katniss can take off—that is if you haven’t murdered one another by then.”

“I’m only doing this because I’m your assistant,” he called out.

“You could at least like me!” Haymitch joked. “I pay you an obscene amount for an assistant.”

“Katniss probably gets paid more.”

“Well, she picks up tampons for Effie without being asked so probably.”

“Everything will be ready by the time you get here,” Peeta promised. “And I’m doing this because I like and respect you.”

“Thank you, Peeta. Call you soon.”

++++++

Peeta Mellark sighed as he stepped out of his car, bags in hand. The snowy wind picked up and he wrapped his parka tighter around himself before rushing up to the porch. It was getting worse up here, and he hoped that the soon-to-be engaged couple would make it safely.

Getting out the key that Haymitch lent him, Peeta unlocked the door and quickly stepped in to keep the cold air from entering with him.

“Oh, you’re finally here.” Katniss Everdeen sailed into the room, placing a charcuterie board on the coffee table in the center of the sitting room. “I thought you died or something.”

Peeta gave her a wry smile, placing the bags on the floor before shaking off his parka and hanging it on the hook by the door.

“Thought or hoped?” He searched his bag before pulling out the champagne that Haymitch asked along with the two glasses. Going to the table, Peeta placed them on the table before going back to the bag for the champagne bucket. “Is there ice?”

“The fridge has an ice machine,” Katniss informed him tersely, nodding her head towards the left. “I’ve already gotten their dinner started.”

“Not surprised.” Peeta walked into the kitchen, heading to the stainless-steel fridge. “You’re so anal that you’ve probably carved those little radish flowers for garnish.”

“They’re in the fridge so they’ll be fresh.”

Peeta wasn’t sure why they didn’t get along.

For one, Katniss was admittedly attractive with her long dark, and almond-shaped grey eyes. The first time he saw his stomach had definitely done a little flip. She had been walking alongside Effie, notebook in hand, wearing a fitted black dress with a peter pan collar and paying scant attention to anything else around her.

She literally knocked him to the ground.

Katniss had apologized, holding out her hand to help him up.

And Peeta had fucking tingled at her touch.

Over the next few days as he learned the ropes of being Haymitch Abernathy’s assistant, Peeta noticed her across the hall. Effie Trinket’s office was directly adjacent to his boss’ and Katniss’ desk was in the same spot as his.

She kept her head down, never acknowledging him, so wrapped up in her work or answering her phone.

So, Peeta asked around.

“She’s an ice queen,” Cato, who was in Marketing, informed him. “Never wants to hang out with anyone or even join in during happy hour. It’s important here to form relationships with everyone. Panem Industries is all about workplace harmony and Katniss embodies none of that.”

“Yeah, she’s snooty, too,” Clove from IT added. “I once asked her something about her family and she replied that it was none of my business. Like I was just trying to get to know her!”

“Wow. I guess if Katniss is that much of a head case, then I shouldn’t bother to ask her for help,” he told the two.

After that, during any interaction, she treated him indifferently…cold even. Peeta couldn’t help but be disappointed that Cato and Clove’s words were true.

And that was the end of his fascination with Katniss Everdeen.

“You want to get out here and help me or was the ice machine too hard for you to maneuver?” Katniss suddenly called out.

Peeta quickly filled the bucket and stepped out.

Katniss was bent over the couch, arranging the pillows, and he felt a heat rush through his skin.

There was also the slight twinge in his crotch at seeing a firm apple-bottom in tight ski pants.

It seemed that Katniss Everdeen had a bigger effect on him than he realized.

++++++

Peeta Mellark had a huge effect on her.

Katniss struggled to keep the heat off her cheeks as she fixed the pillows that she bought for the cabin. Effie loved those cheesy sayings, so she went on Etsy and ordered custom-made pillows with her favorite quotes.

No one should spend so much time arranging pillows, but Katniss could feel his stare on her. It made her nervous…and tingly.

However, these feelings didn’t belong—especially in a work situation and she needed this job.

Taking a breath, Katniss turned…to find Peeta right behind her.

He jumped back, startled by her abrupt movements.

Whoa—was he checking her out?

“Why were you so close?” she blurted out.

“Sorry. It looked like you were confused about how pillows worked,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “You were there for a millennium.”

“Funny.” She sighed at the amusement in his gorgeous blue eyes—stop it!—and steeled her expression. “Do you think you could help me set up this romantic dinner for our bosses instead of standing there like an ass-licker?”

“You mean asshole.”

“I stand by my words,” Katniss replied and was surprised when he chuckled, his eyes crinkling as he did. She couldn’t help but let her mouth rise. “The table is in that closet next to the door. I got some table linens from a vintage shop that Effie likes last week.”

“Wow, you’re really on top of it,” Peeta remarked, going to the closet. “How do you have time for a life?”

She didn’t.

As in, Katniss didn’t have a life.

She had work, she had a home, but a social life was non-existent. Katniss knew what everyone said about her; that she was cold and distant, never wanting to be part of the team. It never bothered her because she did have her reasons.

So, she was surprised at how hurt she was when she heard Peeta call her a headcase.

Katniss hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, only passing the breakroom to get to the copy machine. However, she stopped at the mention of her name.

Cato’s words were no surprise, though he failed to mention that her iciness was due to him inappropriately putting his arm around her and telling her that they should get to know each other on a personal level. Katniss also didn’t trust Clove for shit; she was the office gossip.

It hit hard to know that the one person who had made her tingle was so easily influenced by two douchebags.

Katniss had decided, then and there, that if Peeta didn’t see past her exterior, then he must be like the rest of them.

“I’m very organized,” she replied. It came out harder than she intended. “I have to be.”

Peeta had already set up the table in front of the fireplace.

“Well, it’s in your favor,” he told her. “You’re a good assistant.”

Katniss looked up in surprise. “You think I’m a good assistant?”

Peeta snorted. “Like you didn’t know it—where are the tablecloths?”

She handed him a beautiful fuchsia tablecloth followed by a cream lace one.

“Fuchsia first then layer it with the lace,” she told him. “I always hope I am. Effie is a great boss and she’s so supportive about work-and-homelife balance. I want to make sure this is all perfect for her.”

Katniss helped Peeta straighten the cloth, smoothing it down and making sure that there were no wrinkles. They settled into a light conversation about working with their respective bosses while setting the rest of the table. While Peeta worked on the place settings, he told her about how he admired Haymitch’s down-to-earth attitude despite being one of the most successful people in the company.

She arranged the florals in the center of the table while telling him how she had worked two jobs prior to getting this one.

“I was a waitress and housekeeper before this,” she revealed. “I was working a crazy lunch rush when I met Effie. We got to talking because she noticed how I met her coffee exactly the way she liked it despite my ragged expression—her words not mine. Effie kept on coming in, and a month after we met, she offered me the assistant job. Said she like my gumption.”

“That’s really cool,” Peeta said. He set down one of the forks he was cleaning and met her eyes. “You know, this is the first time we’ve really talked. I kind of believed you thought of me as your enemy.”

“I thought the same thing.” Katniss placed a folded napkin on the plate in front of her. “You called me a head case.”

His blue eyes widened, shocked at her words. Slowly, she could see in his eyes, the memory of his words.

“I didn’t know you heard that,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean it and I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine!” Katniss stood up abruptly. The pain of his words churned in her stomach. “I know that everyone talks about me. In my defense, Cato was completely inappropriate when we first met. I thought acting like a bitch would stave him off. Clove has no filter—”

Peeta’s brows furrowed at her sudden coldness.

“I realize that now—one year later…is that why you completely ignore me? Why you act like the sight of me makes you sick?”

“I do not!” Katniss cried out into the room. “You avoid me at all costs!”

“Because the one time that I attempted to ask you a question—you brushed me aside!” he shouted. “If you had bothered to talk to me, I wouldn’t have believed what people said in the first place—” Peeta’s phone rang, and he quickly picked up, seeing his boss’ face on his screen. “Haymitch? You on your way? What? No, I haven’t looked outside—”

Katniss rushed to one of the front windows, pulling back the curtain.

White everywhere.

She couldn’t even see her car and it was bright fucking red!

“They’re not coming.”

Turning, Katniss found Peeta putting his phone in his pocket as he approached.

“The snowstorm came unexpectedly, and the roads are blocked. They’re staying at Effie’s to wait it out while we…are stuck here until it passes.”

++++++

The good thing was that the house was fully equipped. Food was stocked in the fridge since the couple had planned to stay for the long weekend. Both he and Katniss had even brought Haymitch and Effie’s luggage so there had clothing.

“Well, dinner must be ready,” Katniss informed him with a sigh. “If you want to get more comfortable, you can probably change to something of Haymitch’s. I have a call to make before my phone dies and then I’ll pull the food out of the oven.”

Peeta nodded numbly, grabbing Haymitch's duffle and going to the opposite open door where the bedroom was. He tossed the bag on the bed—

The one bed.

Turning, he rushed out of the room to look for his female counterpart. “Katniss!” He found the sitting room empty and headed into the kitchen.

“Yes, I’ll be fine,” she spoke quietly into the phone. “Just be nice to Johanna, okay? I’ll be home soon.” Her voice sounded completely different, light and happy—even affectionate. “I love you, too. Good night.”

He knocked on the archway and she turned to him.

“We have a problem,” he told her. “There’s only one bed.”

“And the couch is really just a loveseat,” Katniss mused as she pulled the food—steak with roasted asparagus and potatoes. Her expression was pained, and she blew out a breath. “I don’t really want to think about this right now. Why don’t we just eat?”

Peeta quickly nodded in agreement, rushing to the sitting room, and grabbing their plates.

“Why don’t you let me set this up?” he told her, seeing how frazzled she seemed. “Have a seat. Open the champagne—”

Katniss laughed and the sound of her lightened the load on his chest.

“You trying to get me drunk, Mellark?”

Peeta smirked. “If it makes you like me, then yes.”

“Fine, fine…” Katniss sauntered off towards the doorway. She stopped at the archway and their eyes met. Her gaze was nervous, but he could see the warmth in her greys. “You’re not my enemy, Peeta. And…I like you more than you think.”

Katniss disappeared, but not before he spied the blush on her cheeks.

Peeta felt another twinge. This time—in his chest.

++++++

Instead of sitting at the table, Katniss grabbed Effie’s luggage, a classic Louis Vuitton that cost more than her old Jeep, and brought it to the bedroom.

The one bedroom. With the one bed.

A sudden image of herself spooned contentedly against Peeta in that very bed rose in her mind—

“Stop tripping off him!” she chided herself.

Distractedly, Katniss opened the bag, sorting for something remotely comfortable in her boss’ luggage. However, it looked like Effie was expecting some sort of kinky weekend. The only sleepwear she had was a tiny red number that Katniss would probably bust out of; Effie was a tiny but fierce woman.

Maybe she could borrow something from Haymitch’s pile—

“Katniss?”

“I’m coming!” she called out before stuffing Effie’s lingerie back into the back.

Walking back into the room, Katniss saw that Peeta had already placed the plates on the table. He stood waiting for her, looking obnoxiously handsome as he had the day they met.

That first time, she had knocked him to the ground so caught up in following with Effie’s rapid pace. When Katniss held out her hand to him, she was caught up in the open smile he gave her. Then it was the gold waves along his forehead, which Katniss desperately wanted to brush back and the blue of his eyes—they had a tinge of grey in them.

For a moment, she was just a girl, and he was just a boy. Peeta didn’t know anything about the rumors of her iciness or how someone like her, with no college degree, managed to get a position like hers.

In that moment, Katniss was pure.

“You alright?” Peeta asked, interrupting her moment down memory lane.

“Yes.” She let him help her into her seat. “I was just thinking about something.”

“Was it the one bed thing?” he joked. “I’m fine with sleeping on the floor—”

Katniss held her hand up. “Let’s be grownups. It’s a big bed and we can put a pillow between us.”

“Very to the point,” Peeta replied, holding up his champagne glass. “To being grown-ups.”

“To being grown-ups.” She clinked her glass to his and took a full gulp. The liquid bubbled through her, making her laugh. “Wow, that’s some good shit.”

Peeta guffawed. “We’re going to have some fun.”

END OF PART ONE

#Happy birthday keelaree!#The Long Weekend #Everlark #everlark fanfiction #there was only one bed

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wontlastimokwiththat · 4 years

Text

Opinions Change [A.I.]

Warnings: Smut, Swearing, Mentions of weed

MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY

You and Luke had been best friends since you were born. Your mothers had grown up together and were best friends so, of course, you and Luke were raised together. From birth through high school, you were inseparable, even deciding to move to the states and go to college together in LA.

You hadn’t known Luke had an ulterior motive when he suggested the school so far from home but you agreed, not ready to go your separate ways.

Luke’s ulterior motive was named Ashton. They had met in Luke’s final year of school while Ashton was on break from college and Ashton convinced Luke to move to LA after graduating.

Arriving in LA, your time was consumed with classes and studying while Luke was stolen away by Ashton, whom you’d met and instantly decided you didn’t like him. He was the college’s bad boy. He skipped classes (why pay for school if you’re not going to go?), threw off-campus parties, and had been with any girl stupid enough to give him what he wanted.

When Luke and Ashton showed up at your apartment two weeks before the semester exams, you couldn’t say you were shocked. It took everything in you not to tell them both to fuck off but seeing the stressed look on your best friend’s face was enough to make you forget your anger.

“Haleigh, we need your help,” Luke said, adjusting the bag on his shoulder. You could tell by the look on his face he was stressed. The black bags under his eyes indicating he hadn’t slept in a while, making you wonder how many nights in a row he’d been at parties.

“With?” you asked, eyeing the boy beside him. Ashton was slightly shorter than Luke with curly brown hair and hazel eyes, that he was struggling to keep open as he rested against your door frame.

“The exams,” Luke said, eyes drifting to Ashton, who he elbowed. Ashton’s eyes snapped open, glaring daggers at Luke. “We’re doing fine in class but there’s no way we’re ready for the exams.”

You looked between the two. The decision was easy, as you have always done anything for Luke, but you wanted them to think you were contemplating it. Luke looked awful, and, even though you didn’t know him very well, you could tell Ashton didn’t look much better.

“You aren’t going to pass like this,” you sighed, stepping aside and letting them in. They walked in and you closed the door behind them.

“Don’t think I’ve been here since you moved in,” Luke mumbled, looking around the apartment that your parents had bought for you. They were well off and didn’t like you having to stay on campus so they got the two room apartment for you.

“No, you haven’t,” you all but hissed. “You’ve been doing God knows what.”

“Haleigh-“ You held up your hand to cut him off.

“You both look like you haven’t slept in a month,” you told them. “In the spare room, I have some of Luke’s clothes and a extra bed. The couch folds out, too. Tonight, you sleep. In the morning, we’ll study.”

“We need showers,” Ashton said. You rolled your eyes.

“There’s a bathroom attached to the bedroom. You can decided who showers first while I finish supper,” you said.

“I’m not-“ You cut Luke off.

“You’ll eat because I can tell you haven’t eaten in a while,” you said sternly. Luke nodded, walking down the hall to the spare room.

“Thank you,” Ashton said.

“I’m not doing it for you,” you snapped. “I’m doing it for him.”

“Do you love him?” he asked.

“My family’s always cared more about work. Luke, he’s my real family,” you sighed, walking past him towards the kitchen. “Get a shower! You reek of alcohol and weed!”

“Calum smokes!” he yelled back. You rolled your eyes once again as you stirred the chicken and dumplings.

“Can I use your shower? Ashton took the spare,” Luke’s voice spoke from behind you.

“You know you don’t have to ask, Lu,” you hummed. “I have some of your shampoo under my sink.”

“Thanks, Haleigh,” he muttered and you heard his footsteps as he walked away.

They both rejoined you in the kitchen about fifteen minutes later, showered and in some of the spare clothes of Luke’s you had. As they made themselves comfortable at the island, you dipped out the food into three bowls with spoons, sitting a bowl in front of each of them. Luke’s smile stretched from ear to ear.

“Did you know I was coming tonight?” he asked.

“Call it a gut feeling,” you nodded, walking to the fridge and tossing a bottle of water to each boy. “I’m sure you’re both dehydrated.”

“Thanks,” Luke nodded.

“What is this?” Ashton asked, moving his spoon around his bowl.

“Chicken and dumplings,” you smiled. “It’s the best for times like these, I promise.”

After an awkwardly quiet dinner, Ashton disappeared into the spare room while you helped Luke set up the couch, even though you’d told him he was more than welcome to share the bed with you. When it was done, you went to bed, only to be woken a few hours later when the empty side of your bed was suddenly filled. The smell was familiar. It smelled like home.

“Lu?” you asked sleepily, not opening your eyes.

“Couch’s uncomfortable,” he explained, wrapping his arms around you and pulling your back against his chest.

“Told you,” you laughed.

“Shut up,” he mumbled. ———-

The next morning, you woke up before Luke. Slipping out of his arms without waking him, you pulled on an oversized hoodie before leaving the room and walking to the kitchen. You found Ashton at the table, his books and notebooks open in front of him with a pencil in his hand.

“Morning,” you greeted.

“Mhm,” he barely acknowledged you, focused on what was it front of him. You walked over, looking to see what he was working on. It didn’t take you long to realize it was medical math.

“What are you studying to be?” you asked, completely confused as you figured he was taking some dumb course that would do nothing for him in the future.

“Doctor,” he answered shortly.

“Damn,” you mumbled, looking over the numbers. “Okay, well, your conversions are wrong.” You laid your finger on the L. “One liter is one thousand milliliters or thirty-three point eight hundred and fourteen fluid ounces.” He looked at you wide eyed.

“What are you studying?”

“ER trauma surgeon,” you smiled. “Medicine runs in the family.”

“Oh,” he nodded and you started looking through some of his papers.

“Are you having trouble with these?” you asked, looking at a worksheet that required him to translate doctor’s orders.

“I, just, I can’t remember anything,” he admitted as you rested your hand on his shoulder. “It’s like, I know it, I just can’t get to it.”

“You’re stressed, Ash,” Luke said as he walked in the room. “Relax.”

“I can’t,” Ashton sighed in frustration, running his hand through his hair.

“Lu, go get breakfast,” you instructed. “It’s not good to work on an empty stomach.” Luke nodded before leaving your apartment.

You looked at Ashton. Luke was right, he was stressed. You hated the thought that crossed your mind but you knew it was crazy enough it just might work. There was only one way Ashton was going to relax enough to be able to focus.

You took the pencil from Ashton’s hand, lacing your fingers through his as you pulled him from his seat.

“What are you doing?” he asked as you led him towards your room. “I need to study.”

“You’re too tense,” you explained, leading him inside before closing and locking it behind the two of you. “You have to relax. When was the last time you had sex?”

“What? Why?”

“Answer the question.”

“I don’t know, six months ago.” You laughed, not believing him. “Since my girl left me.” You stopped laughing, looking at him with wide eyes.

“You had a girlfriend?” you asked. He nodded, a frown crossing his face. “Well, forget her.” You dropped to your knees in front of him. “You need to loosen up.” You looked up at him through your lashes as you grabbed the band of his sweatpants and tugged them down his legs.

“Haleigh,” he groaned. “You don’t have t-“

“I know,” you nodded, kissing over his already hard length through the boxers he wore. “It’ll help, promise.” You pulled his boxers down and your eyes widened. You’d figured he was big, but you didn’t realize how big. “Fuck.”

“Like it?” he quizzed, smirking down at you.

“Cocky little fuck,” you mumbled before quickly taking as much of him as you could in your mouth. He gasped, hands flying to your hair as you started sucking him off.

“F-Fuck, Haleigh,” he moaned, his head falling back as you hollowed your cheeks around him. You smiled slightly, letting your teeth graze his skin. His head snapped up, eyes locking with yours before grabbing your hair into a make-shift ponytail. He smirked quickly as he held you head in place and began fucking your mouth.

He hit the back of your throat, causing you to gag and your eyes start to water. You tried to remind yourself to breath through your nose but it was hard. His movements were fast and rough, causing your hands to grab his thighs as tears ran down your cheeks.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Look so good like this, princess.” Something about his praise sent heat straight to your core and you tried to rub your legs together to create some sort of friction. You moaned around him as your eyes closed, feeling yourself relax. “That’s it, baby girl. I got you.”

He continued fucking your throat at a rough pace, mumbling words of praise mixed with curses and your name. When he came, he stilled in your mouth and you picked back up on sucking, determined to get everything he had to offer. You swallowed his cum as you pulled off, opening your mouth to show him.

“Fuck, baby girl,” he groaned. “So fucking sexy.”

“Thank you, daddy.” It left your mouth before you could stop it. Your eyes went wide as his mouth dropped. You stood up quickly. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t-“

He cut you off by crashing his lips to yours. It took you a minute but you kissed him back, tangling your fingers in his hair as he walked you over to the bed. Your knees hit and he laid you down before crawling on top of you.

“Wanted to do that since Luke introduced us,” he admitted, attaching his lips to your neck.

“Ash,” you moaned as he sucked on your sweet spot just below your ear. You bucked your hips up, desperate for his touch.

“Relax, baby. I’ll get there.”

“Now,” you whined, causing him to laugh against your skin.

“Be patient, love. Good things come to those who wait,” he hummed.

“But, I-“ You were cut off by someone banging on your door.

“Haleigh, are you in there?” It was Luke.

“Shit,” you whispered. “Thought we’d have more time.”

“It’s okay,” Ashton mumbled, placing another kiss to your lips. “We’ll have time later.” He stood up with a wink and pulled on his sweats before opening the door. He walked past Luke, who stared at you laying on you bed, breathless and covered in Ashton’s marks.

“I have food,” Luke said awkwardly.

“Yeah,” you nodded, standing up and walking past him. “Food’s good.”

#Ashton Irwin #Ashton Irwin Imagine #Ashton Irwin Smut #5 Seconds Of Summer #5 Seconds Of Summer Imagines #5 Seconds Of Summer Smut #5SOS #5SOS Imagines #5SOS Smut #Ashton Irwin AU #5SOS AU #5 Seconds Of Summer AU

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bcbdrums · 3 years

Text

Past, Present, Forever

Chinese food being an important relationship thing to Drakken and Shego belongs to @gothicthundra (and stealing dumplings, and wine floats...). The idea of a romantic relationship between Hego and Electronique...also belongs to Gothicthundra. Slowly but surely, her head-canons are becoming canon in my brain... And I have no complaints whatsoever.

Enjoy a little future slice of life. Also for the "Dinner Date" prompt from @drakgoprompts

AO3 FFn

--------------------------------------

Drakken's brow was furrowed as he concentrated on the task in front of him, his un-gloved fingers carefully manipulating the delicate materials, every movement measured and precise. He pinched the thin dough of the dumpling gently together at its apex as he used his thumb and index finger to make the first fold, sealing it on one side. Once complete, he carefully straightened the other edge before placing it in the crook of his other thumb, moving even more slowly with the second fold.

He placed the finished dumpling in the waiting steamer with the rest, and then moved the bamboo basket over the pot of boiling water and set a timer. He hurried back to his new wok where spicy lo mein and green beans were cooking, giving it all a toss before turning back to his chocolate mousse, ready to be put in individual glasses and then chilled. By the time they had finished dinner, the dessert would be perfect.

When he finally tucked the desserts away into the fridge, happily humming over how well everything was going, he heard the telltale sound of footsteps. He whirled around with a gasp, stepping in front of the stove in a vain attempt to hide what he was cooking. His panic abated however when Shego rounded the corner, a grimace on her face as she dug her knuckles into her neck.

"Shego?"

She looked at him tiredly, her expression softening.

"Hi. What are you making? Smells good."

"Ah, well..." He stepped aside and gestured to the stove with a nervous smile. "Dumplings. And lo mein... T-To celebrate."

Shego had tossed her purse on the table and sat down, but she froze at his words, her eyes widening.

"...What did I forget?" she asked hesitantly. "It's not our anniversary."

"It's...the anniversary of the first time we had Chinese food together?" he said with a nervous smile.

Shego blinked at him. "You remember that?"

The shy look he gave her served to soften her features, and she resumed kneading the muscles at the sides of her neck.

"Wine floats too?"

"Ah, I made something else for dessert... But if you want, I can—"

"No, I want whatever you worked on," Shego answered.

"Is...something wrong with your neck?" Drakken asked, turning back to the wok to stir and toss the noodles.

"Yeah... Ran into an old enemy of Team Go. Electronique."

"So the encounter was...eh-heh...electric?"

Shego rolled her eyes. "Sure."

The lo mein and green beans having finished, Drakken turned and pulled the wok off the burner, moving it to another before serving the hot food onto the two waiting plates. The dumplings would have to steam at least five more minutes, and he turned back to see Shego had closed her eyes in apparent pain.

"She remembers how to fight, at least..." she said absently.

Drakken's brow furrowed, and he stepped around the counter and then gently moved Shego's hands aside. Her eyes opened as he began turning his thumbs over her shoulders, and then started pressing his fingers into the tight muscles of her neck.

"Onhh... Drakken..."

The simple moan that left her lips sent his senses in an entirely different direction, which he tried to ignore as she relaxed into the dining chair, leaning her head back against his stomach as he stepped closer. He continued massaging her neck and shoulders as he mentally counted down the time it would take the dumplings to finish steaming, trying not to hear the pleased sounds that were leaving Shego's lips in response to his ministrations.

"Can we eat in the living room?" Shego asked, opening her eyes and smiling up at him.

"Sure," Drakken said, noting the tiredness in her eyes. The count in his head was nearing completion as well, and he smiled at her. "Just let me get the dumplings...Dumpling."

Shego's grin of response thrilled him, and she stood up and gave him a come-hither look before exiting the room. He stared dumbly after her for a moment, and then moved back to the stove and hurried himself about perfecting the special meal. He carefully placed the dumplings on each plate next to the noodles, and then tucked the tiny ramekins with soy sauce onto the edge of the plates. After arranging the chopsticks just right, he carried both meals on one arm and the two glasses of white wine in his free hand.

Entering the living room, he found Shego in the middle of the sofa with her head tilted back and one hand rubbing her neck and the other hand balled into a fist as she dug her knuckles into her hip. He found his curiosity piqued as he sat the plates down on the coffee table and moved to sit next to her, opening his arms after a moment of hesitation.

Shego leaned into him and molded up against his side, setting her head on his shoulder. Then she smirked and wiggled her fingers toward the food. Drakken gave her a look of mock-irritation as he handed her both her plate and wine glass before taking up his own. He noted with slight concern that Shego went for the wine first.

"Should I ask what happened?" Drakken finally said.

Shego set the wine down with a grimace and took up her chopsticks.

"It was a trap," she said as she picked up some noodles and vegetables. "Not sure if she was after just me, or all of Team Go again. But I walked right into it. An electronic pulse immobilizer."

Drakken tried to envision such a thing. "Was it—"

"Pressure pad activated," Shego said with her mouth full. Drakken took the moment to take a bite, pleased with the warm and spicy flavors that filled his mouth. He hoped Shego was enjoying it as well as she continued. "Four beams like lightning zapped me and I was on the ground. All my muscles were like jello, but twitching and hurting and buzzing..."

Drakken's brow furrowed in worry. "How did you get out of it?"

"Blasted her during her rant, and then took out the sources. It took all my concentration... You made these?" Shego interrupted herself, having finally dipped a dumpling in the sauce to sample.

She was holding the morsel up with her chopsticks, examining it critically as the soy sauce dripped off of the steamed bite and onto her plate. Drakken too observed the symmetrical folds he had created and the way the filling just showed through the thin dough. He couldn't look long though, as Shego grinned and plopped the entire dumpling into her mouth.

"Yes...how are they?" Drakken asked, though from the look on Shego's face he hadn't needed to.

"Delicious," she said after swallowing. She set her chopsticks down and took another drink of wine before digging back into the meal. He returned to his own plate after watching her for a moment.

"So, you're...not injured?" Drakken asked after swallowing another bite.

Shego considered. "Everything aches and feels a little...like my body isn't mine. But yeah, I'm okay. This is what it always felt like before, if I was stupid enough to get zapped by any of her stuff."

Drakken looked at the grimace on her face as she was clearly recalling some memories from her old Team Go days. He was able to take her word for it about her physical condition. But the way her eyes had gone distant had started him wondering...

"And you don't know if she was just...after you, or your brothers too?"

Shego chewed a bite of dumpling and considered. "This might have been just about me... Since I caved and took that call from Global Justice. But she could have wanted any of us and it happened to be me."

She paused to take another bite, chasing it with a swallow of wine. Drakken thought about the strange obligation they felt to the organization after the various circumstances that had forced them to work together after he'd saved the world. But was the unsteady association worth it, if it was going to give their enemies a possible advantage?

There were a few minutes of silence, save for their respective chewing. Shego's occasional pauses to knead her neck or hip were accompanied by a slight straining sound of pain from her throat that furthered Drakken's concern. It was her expression of suppressed agony when she hit a certain spot in her neck that finally spurred him to speak.

"Perhaps we should stop taking their calls..."

Shego lifted a brow toward him before going back to her food.

"Should probably stay on their good side," she said after a few moments of thought.

Silence fell again as they resumed eating, Shego nestling deeper against Drakken as they both slipped into thought over the situation they had landed in regarding the alliance with the former sponsors of Team Go. But it wasn't something Drakken wanted to think about. Ever since becoming a couple, more chaos had seemed to befall them than when they had been trying to take over the world. And they weren't even the heroes the world wanted them to be.

Drakken drank heavily from his wine glass as he determined to put uncontrollable circumstances out of his mind, and hoped he could do the same for Shego. The celebration of one of their earliest relationship memories had been long-planned, and he determined in that moment that nothing else would mar the evening.

He shoved one more dumpling in his mouth before setting his unfinished plate aside, and after swallowing the bite down, he took Shego's free hand away from her hip and began kneading the spot himself.

"Mmmh," was her delighted hum, a smile quickly replacing the swirl of thought in her eyes that their conversation had caused.

Drakken's own thoughts calmed at her response, and he fully set himself to making sure the rest of their evening progressed with the calm and intimacy he had originally planned.

He massaged Shego's hip until she finished her meal, and then set her plate aside for her. He shifted until he was leaned back against the arm of the sofa, guiding Shego to move with him until she sat between his legs. She continued to sip her wine as he began massaging her neck and shoulders.

"Onh, mmmmh..." Shego moaned, and Drakken bit his lip against the renewed flush of feelings her voice sent through him. He cleared his throat.

"What did you do with Electronique?"

"Messaged my brother that he'd lost something," she answered. "And left her tied there with a tracking device."

Drakken could hear the smirk behind her words, and he slowly mirrored the expression. The teasing of Shego's eldest brother about the perceived attraction between he and the electrical villainess was a secret Drakken had only been recently let in on, but one he was more than willing to entertain.

"What will he do with her?"

Shego leaned back into Drakken's touch as he pressed harder into her shoulders, his knuckles kneading the tension in her neck while his thumbs turned in circles just above her shoulder blades.

"I know what he wants to do with her," Shego said after a snicker. "But, that's a no-no. A hero can't fraternize with a villain."

The last was said in a mocking-tone that mimicked the Team Go leader. Drakken considered her words and then leaned forward to whisper in her ear, a devious smirk filling his face.

"Good thing we don't have that problem," he said.

Shego's brow rose as she turned to catch his gaze, her own smile broadening. Something flashed through her eyes that made Drakken both curious and a bit intimidated, but he only lifted his brow in response. There was a pause as Shego looked away and sipped her wine.

"It could have been, had we met at a different time..."

Drakken's eyes widened. Shego started using her free hand to rub gently up and down Drakken's shin as she continued.

"I know I was a lonely, young heroine, dissatisfied with my life. Desperately looking to change my identity..."

Drakken took a moment to process where she seemed to be leading, and then with a renewed flush of desire he shifted nearer to her and began slowly rubbing his hands up and down her back, occasionally letting his fingers press into her waist.

"I was an unappreciated, unrecognized genius... A failure. Eager to create a new identity and make my mark."

"And you turned to villainy?" she said, a knowing smile in her voice.

"It was all I had left."

"So you came to Go City..." Shego prompted the fantasy, then finishing her last swallow of wine. She leaned over to set the glass on the coffee table and then ran both hands up and down Drakken's shins.

"I staged a bank heist with the Bebes 2.0, but they were a mere distraction while I infiltrated the vault myself."

"And while the rest of Team Go fought your robots...the young, disillusioned heroine—"

"So much smarter than her brothers," Drakken interrupted.

Shego grinned. "—Slipped away to the vault and caught the clever, mad genius in the act."

Drakken's hands had wandered up and down her sides and below her hips in his firm but tender attentions to her aching muscles. Certain touches elicited small hums of desire from her lips, and they caused him mild distraction from the fantasy they were creating. But he was sure before long the imagined scene would catch up to where they were were in that moment.

"I would have been tempted to try to intimidate you, and point out that you were confronting me alone, without your brothers to help you."

"If you had, I would have told you where to shove it before blasting you."

Drakken shook his head as he took more time to knead the muscles of her hips and around them where some of her pain seemed to be concentrated.

"I would have been smart enough to know better. I would have asked your name instead."

"Trying to charm me out of arresting you?" Shego asked, glancing over her shoulder with a smirk.

"And because you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," he said.

"You mean I would have been," she corrected.

"No," Drakken said, leaning forward to speak into her ear, "you are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. That would have been the same. And I would have taken the chance."

Drakken massaged up her waist toward her shoulders again as there was a pause.

"Not sure you'd have thought so with the old costumes we used to wear," Shego finally said.

"I would have that you were amazing... Strong, and powerful. And I would have asked what someone with your abilities was doing as part of a superhero team when clearly your talents lend more easily toward villainy."

"I would have secretly agreed with you, but outwardly would have mocked you to distract you so I could take you without violence."

"I would have been frustrated," Drakken said distractedly as he imagined the scene, everything bad that had ever been said about him then being spoken by the young, green, beautiful heroine.

Shego turned around to face him, moving his hands to her waist before setting her arms around his shoulders. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and with love.

"I would have arrested you...and kept to myself how cute I thought you were."

"I would have written you from prison."

"I would have written back."

"And eventually...?"

Shego answered by melting over his frame where he leaned back against the sofa arm, pushing him even further down as her lips met his in a warm kiss.

"Prison break," she said, once their lips parted. "I might have ditched you after we were out of the city though... I wouldn't have wanted you to think I actually cared."

Drakken slid his hands down to knead her hips again, and lower.

"That would have broken me... Pushed me to be more evil."

"But a cute genius is hard to resist," Shego said, laying her head down on his shoulder. "The only reason I would have left is my pride..."

He could visibly see the tension in her neck, and he ceased his self-indulgence to return to massaging the sore muscles there. Shego's gaze upon his face was nothing but adoring, and he wondered if such a fantasy as they had vaguely concocted really would have gone that way.

"How long would we have resisted our feelings then?" Drakken asked.

"Mmmh... I was eager to rebel. So probably not long. We might have had a rougher start though... Not knowing each other the way we do now."

Drakken impulsively leaned down to kiss her neck, his lips following after his fingers as he continued to massage the tension from her flesh. And then Shego reached her arm out to the side.

He lifted his eyes just in time to see her pinch a dumpling from his plate between his chopsticks, a playful smirk curling her lips upward. His frown of disapproval only brought more mischief to her bright, dancing eyes, and she stared back at him with a look of challenge as she bit into the soft morsel.

"I take it you're...not ready for dessert?" he said, ignoring the bait to banter. She had made it a habit to steal his dumplings from their first time sharing Chinese food, to every time after. He was secretly pleased that wedded bliss didn't change that.

"Mmmh, depends on what kind of dessert," she said after finishing the dumpling. She pressed into his chest very deliberately, giving him a knowing look.

"Ah, w-well..." he stuttered as another flush of desire heated his blood. It was tempting to resist, but... "I made chocolate mousse."

Shego leaned up at his words, her brow rising in interest. Drakken quickly continued.

"We could...eat it in the bedroom. I can probably do a better job of this there," he said, nodding to where his fingers were still massaging the tight muscles of her neck.

Shego grinned. "We either need more anniversaries or I need to get caught by old villains more often."

She moved away and stood, stretching with a less-pained grimace than before Drakken was relieved to note.

"I would prefer the former," he said pointedly.

"We can also chat more about what would have happened if we'd met when we were younger," she said with a knowing glance, turning to head down the hall. "Maybe the young mad genius asks the rebel heroine who broke him out of prison out for dessert?"

Drakken looked after her as she grinned at him enigmatically. When she had rounded the corner he snapped out of his daze and hurriedly gathered up their dishes to take to the kitchen. Whether they furthered the fantasy over chocolate mousse, or he simply soothed her aches until she fell asleep, he would be content.

Shego was his reality, and together they had past, present, and forever.

He grabbed the two dishes of mousse from the fridge, and then paused to consider. He set them on a tray and added a carton of ice cream, a couple of spoons, their glasses, and the wine bottle. And with a smile and a satisfied sigh, he went to Shego.

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pixieungerstories · 4 years

Text

The Captive - 2

“You are getting fat faster than your kind usually does,” George observed.

Elly gritted her teeth. “Maybe if I got to go out and exercise more it would be less of an issue.”

George rolled his shoulders and shook like a dog shedding water. “Of course you can leave! You can go anywhere you want, as long as you are back on the property by sundown.”

Elly shivered. “You ate my cat.”

“I don’t know what happened to your cat,” George protested. “Besides, it’s not like we have mice, what do you need a cat for?”

“Company?”

That made him snarl, “You are supposed to be here as MY company.”

Elly took a step back. George fought to get himself under control. “You just need time to get used to me, treasure, I’m sure we can-”

Elly turned and headed back to the stairs.

“Wait!” George commanded.

Elly paused on the bottom stair and waited, but she didn’t turn to look at him.

There was an award silence for a moment, then George blew out a stream of air through his nostrils. “You are right.”

She looked over her shoulder at him.

“I don’t remember your name.”

She turned to look at him, “I’m Elly.”

George nodded awkwardly. “You are going to need to remind me of that.” He paused for a moment then added, “Elly.”

“I’m the only person you talk to, George. Try harder.” With that, she headed upstairs to get ready for the day.

Ben was already in the kitchen, laminating puff pastry. “Soups today will be chicken and dumplings for the non vegetarians and french lentil as the vegan option.”

“Sounds good, Ben.”

“You ok, Boss?”

Elly smiled weakly at him, “I’m just a little tired.”

Ben grinned, “The storm kept you up too, huh?”

“Something like that.” Elly mumbled. “Now are you going to teach me to run the coffee maker or what?”

“What!” he announced triumphantly. “Go sit down, I’ll bring you a cappuccino.”

They had french toast and coffee together. Ben always made her breakfast, and technically lunch. It was just that they staggered their lunch breaks to cover for each other. He had given up on asking her out when she kept putting him off.

How do you explain to a guy that you can’t be out after dark and that he can’t stay over because the monster in the basement might eat him? Hell, she couldn’t even become that crazy isolated cat lady. George hadn’t ever admitted it, but for how guilty he had looked that first morning when she asked if he had seen Mittens, she was sure he was involved in the disappearance. She had put up signs anyway. No one had called.

“Elly?”

She blinked at looked up. “Sorry? You were asking me something.”

“I was,” he agreed frowning slightly at her. “But now I’m wondering if you just need the day off.”

She shook her head, “I don’t have anyone to cover for me.”

Ben leaned back in his chair. “Well, I can run the register and I’m pretty sure the Wednesday morning group could pretty much take care of themselves. You could always ask to see if any of them want a job as your emergency back up.”

Elly looked down at her plate, “I’m not exactly raking in the big bucks here, Ben. Honestly, after expenses, my take home is less than yours. The only reason I’m not folding is the free rent.”

“Shit,” Ben whispered under his breath. “I mean, I knew it was slow but…”

Elly just shrugged. “You bring in more customers than the yarn does these days.”

There was a long moment of awkward silence. “You know if we go out to dinner, I’ll pay, right?”

Elly’s head snapped up and she looked into a pair of worried brown eyes. She laughed, even if it was a bit on the bitter side. “Funny thing about that. There is a long standing clause in the title. I have to be on the property every day from dusk to dawn. I can’t go out to dinner with you without losing the business.”

“That doesn’t sound real, Elly,” Ben said softly.

Elly pursed her lips, “Do you have anything in the oven that will burn in the next, oh, say, ten minutes.”

Ben glanced at the clock, “three minutes on the cookies, then I’m all yours.”

Once the cookies were out cooling on the racks, Elly lead Ben up to the attic. “I hate it up here,” she explained. “It just feels creepy.”

Ben watched the light bulb flicker, “Bad wiring?”

Elly shook her head. “I insisted the place be rewired before I moved in. There was a fire that destroyed most of the property a hundred years ago. The rest was structurally unsound and had to be demolished. Somehow this survived,” she pointed at huge bronze plaque

Ben read for a moment. “Wait. The king bestowed this land upon your family in 1595. There wasn’t even a town here in 1595.”

Elly nodded sadly. “Look, it’s complicated, but-”

“Oh, come on!” Ben protested. “No one is going to take the farm if you go out for drinks with me!”

Elly looked at the floor and shivered. “The last time the owner of the house was out after dark, a fire burned down most of the house, and a good chunk of the town. People died.” She wanted to say more but she was aware this was sounding crazing all ready, so she turned and climbed down the ladder instead.

“You really believe that?” Ben asked from above her. Then he stumbled awkwardly and mostly fell out of the attic, barely catching himself on the ladder. He looked back up. “That was weird. It felt like something pushed me.”

“Come down!” Elly hissed.

“I have to go turn off the light,” Ben protested.

“Come down! You go bake; I’ll get the light!” she insisted.

The light turned itself off with a click.

“That was weird,” Ben commented. “Is it on a timer or something?”

“Just go, I’ll take care of it.”

Ben frowned at her. “Just think about taking a day off. Even if you have to be here after dark, you can at least go out and see a matinee. Get some fresh air. Something.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Ben watched her for a moment then turned and left. Elly went back up the ladder. She noticed the switch was firmly pointed down and therefore off. “I have enough issues to deal with. If you want me to be here, you leave him alone.” Then she stepped down to the second floor and pushed up the ladder and went back downstairs to have another coffee and set about her day.

----

“Come here.”

“I don’t think so. I’m fine over here.”

George rolled his eyes then he heaved himself to his feet, “I can come to you, but you are much more nimble than I am.”

Elly grabbed tightly on the hand rail, “Sit down. I don’t want you close to me!”

George froze, “I want to see your face. Hold the lantern up then.”

“Why do you care what I look like?” Elly sulked but she did as she was told.

“The boy thinks you are unwell.”

“And?”

“I do not want you to be unwell,” George said patiently.

Elly snorted. “Why does it matter? I can’t leave.”

“Neither can I,” George growled. “That is the arrangement. I do not leave and hunt you. You do not leave and abandon me. You promise to keep me fed and I promise to keep you wealthy. I am holding up my end of the deal, treas- Elly-” he stressed her name, “you aren’t exactly -”

“I am HERE!” Elly snapped. “I gave up my life and my love to be here. I did that. I am here. I don’t have to be happy about it.”

George fell silent and sagged.

Elly watched him looking for the trick.

“If the boy makes you happy, he can stay. I just don’t want you coming home smelling like him.”

“What?”

“Don’t fuck him,” George quailified.

Elly blinked, “You don’t actually think I’m a virgin, do you?”

George made a sound of disgust. “Go. I am done talking to you now.” He huffed out a stream of steam and turned his back on her. Elly fled.

----

It was sometime after midnight when Elly sat bolt upright out of a dead sleep. She had forgotten to feed George. She had been angry about not being able to take the day off and then he reminded her she was trapped. She had been dismissed before she had organized his dinner. In theory, he would be ok if he didn’t eat for a few days.

But.

Mittens.

Shit.

She hauled herself out of bed and trudged down the stairs to the shop, then down more stairs to the basement.

The kettle and her cup and saucer was sitting on the walnut table next to the chair. The room was dark, no electricity down here. How would she ever get an electrician in? Tonight though, there was no faint glow coming from George. She held the lantern up over her head, but the darkness just sucked the light away.

No dragon.

“George?” Her voice echoed. The basement shouldn’t be big enough for that. Then she realized that if he was asleep, maybe waking him wasn’t the best idea. She crept carefully forward. Nothing. She looked over her shoulder and was relieved she could still see the light coming from the doorway at the top of the stairs. She took a few more steps and found a leather couch with deep button tucks that seemed to match the chair. Holding the lamp up over her head she could see a large stone arch way further ahead. Through it there was only darkness. Elly swallowed and tried to listen for the sound of George’s breathing.

Then her nerve broke and she sprinted for the stairs.

#exophilia #dragon boyfriend #novel #free fic friday

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steve-rogers-new-york · 3 years

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Recipe Wednesday #41

Happy Holidays and Happy Recipe Wednesday!

These are real period recipes, taken from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle, a local newspaper that would have been accessible to Steve, his mother, and Bucky during their time in Brooklyn.

For the month of December, Recipe Wednesday is being extended to all month long with Christmas Treats!

The recipes come from the Saturday 18, Wednesday 22, Monday 27, and Thursday 30 December 1937 editions of the Brooklyn Daily Eagle. For context, Steve would have been 17 (comics) / 19 (MCU), so these are recipes that Steve might have learnt/inherited from his mother or read himself in the newspaper.

A Holiday Eggnog 6 eggs ½ cup granulated sugar 3 quarts of milk 1 pint of cream 1 quart of whiskey 1 pint of rum Beat the eggs in a chilled bowl until they are light and foamy. Add sugar, blending it in thoroughly. Add milk and cream and beat to a froth with a rotary egg beater. Then slowly add the whiskey and rum, beating continuously. Add a sprinkling of nutmeg. Place the bowl in a tub of ice until time for serving.

Fruit Punch But you might not care for punch that strong. In that case make a fruit drink. Mixtures of the juices of several fruits are always good. Blend your own choices. Then give the concoction a little zip but filling the bowl with ginger ale or bubbling, charged water. Mix in pieces of fruit; they dress up the drink.

Egg Nog Yolks of 6 eggs—beat until light. Beat ½ pound of sugar into eggs. Add 1 pint Victor Hugo Brandy (90 proof). Stir continuously and add 1 quart milk. Whip ½ pint cream and stir in slowly. Sprinkle with nutmeg.

Decorative Ice Cubes Whichever liquid you fill the bowl with, you should have a generous cake of ice floating on the surface. Use a plain chunk, if you choose, but arrange some sliced fruits, cherries and some green on top to dress it up. A better idea is to make your own cake of ice, freezing the decorations into it. You need a mechanical refrigerator for that. Proceed thus: Take the cube partitions out of the large tray. Fill with cold water and chill it. When the water is half frozen, insert slices of candied fruits and preserved cherries, arranging them in some attractive pattern. Then when the block has frozen solid, float it in your punch.

Claret Punch 8 orange juiced 8 lemons, juiced 2 quarts pineapple juice 8 ounces granulated sugar 1 quart claret 2 quarts cracked ice Combine fruit juices and sugar. Chill and add claret. Pour over ice. Garnish with cut fruits and mint.

Shrewsbury Cakes ½ cup butter 1 cup sugar 1 egg, beaten 1/8 teaspoon salt ½ teaspoon lemon extract ½ teaspoon soda 2 cups flour ¼ teaspoon nutmeg 1/8 teaspoon mace ½ cup buttermilk Cream butter, add sugar, add beaten egg, and beat well. Sift dry ingredients and add alternately with the buttermilk to the first mixture. Add flavoring. Sprinkle with sugar and bake about 10 minutes in a moderately hot oven (400 F.). To dress the cakes up a bit increase the buttermilk to ¾ cup. Spread dough on a buttered baking pan and bake as above. Then cut into fancy shapes, such as Christmas trees, stars and Santa Clauses. There are many recipes for Shrewsbury Cakes, but this is a particularly simple one. The cakes are delicious with milk or with hot chocolate, and they make excellent partners for ice cream.

Coconut Date Goodies 1 ½ tablespoons flour ½ cup sugar 1 cup shredded dates 1 ¼ cups shredded coconut ¼ cup cream ¼ teaspoon almond extract ¼ teaspoon orange extract 1 beaten egg white Mix the flour with all but two tablespoons of the sugar. Stir in the dates and coconut. Add the cream and flavorings. Beat the egg white until frothy, add the remaining sugar and continue beating until stiff and dry. Fold this lightly into the mixture and bake on a well-buttered pan for 20 or 25 minutes in a slow oven (300 F.). Remove carefully while hot and place on rack to cool. These goodies may be called either candies or cookies. They are delicious with a glass of milk.

Holiday Apple Cups 2 cups McIntosh apple sauce 4 McIntosh apples 2 tablespoons lemon juice 1 cup sugar Mix 2 cups applesauce—the kind made from McIntosh apples has a lovely tinge—with 2 cups water, lemon juice, sugar, and freeze. Cut tops from McIntosh apples and scoop out as much plul as possible. Fill cups with frozen mixture, piling it in a mound. Decorate top of mound with green cherry and candied mint leaves or leaves of angelica.

Christmas Bread 1 yeast cake 3 tablespoons lukewarm milk ¼ cup sugar ½ cup butter 2 cups scalded milk 7 ½ cups flour 1 cup raisins 1 cup currents 1 cup candied fruit peel 3 eggs, beaten Soften the yeast cake in 3 tablespoons of lukewarm milk. Add sugar and butter to scalded milk. Stir well. Cool to lukewarm. Add yeast and 4 cups of flour. Beat. Cover and let rise overnight. Add eggs and fruit to dough and add enough flour to knead (about 3 ½ cups). Knead dough until it is smooth and does not stick to board. Shape into buttered cake pans or buttered bread pans and let rise until double in bulk. Punch down lightly, sprinkle with sugar and let rise again. Bake in a moderately hot oven (400 F.) until the bread is done.

Spicy Baked Apples 6 Baldwin apples 1 ½ cups sugar ½ teaspoon cinnamon 1 tablespoon butter Blanched almonds Pare and core Bladwin apples. Cook sugar in 2 ½ cups water for 3 minutes. Cook apples in this syrup until tender, turning frequently. Drain apples and place in baking dish. To sirup remaining in pan add butter and sugar and surrounding space in baking dish with sirup. Dot apples with almonds (6 to 8 to each apple) and bake in 450 degrees F. oven long enough to brown nut tips. Cool and serve with whipped cream.

Savory Apple Salad A simple and savory salad that’s bound to be popular with your guests can be made quickly and easily. Just slice apples—Cortlands are best because they stay white even after being cup up—into rings, leaving the skin on. Spread each ring with softened cream cheese and place on a lettuce leaf. In the center of each ring place a date—sprinkle with nutmeats and serve.

Chestnut Stuffing (Bureau of Milk Publicity, Albany) 3 cups bread, crumbled ¼ cup butter, melted 1 tsp. salt ½ tsp. pepper 3 tbsp. parsley, chopped ½ small onion, minced 3 tbsp. cream 1 lb. chestnuts Mix ingredients in order given. Prepare chestnuts as follows: Drop them in boiling water for a few minutes to loosen shells. Remove shells and inner skin. Boil until tender. While still hot, run them through coarse sieve.

Mashed Potatoes (Bureau of Milk Publicity, Albany) 1 tbsp. butter, melted 2 tbsp. cream ¼ cup milk, scalded 6 medium-sized potatoes Salt and papper When potatoes are cooked, remove skins and mash with fork or wire potato masher. when free lumps add above quantities of butter, cream and milk to each of mashed potatoes. Beat until light and creamy.

Sting Beans en Creme (Bureau of Milk Publicity, Albany) 1 lb. string beans Salt and pepper 2 tbsp. cream Cut beans in short lengths and cook. When done, drain off water and pour on cream. Put cover on pan and shake beans up and down until they are covered with cream.

Ground Meat Logs 1 pound ground pork 1 pound ground beef 1 pound ground veal 2 eggs 3 teaspoons salt ¼ teaspoon pepper 6 slices bacon Have beef, pork and veal ground together. Combine with eggs and season with salt and pepper. Pat into thin rectangular cakes about ½-inch thick and as nearly 3- by 5-inch thick in size as possible. Spread with bread dressing [see below] and roll. Place in a baking pan and cover with thin bacon slices. Bake in a moderate oven (350 degrees F.) until done, about 1-hour. These may be served with tomato sauce, if desired. “The meat logs may be served with potato chips, tiny burr pickles might be included to add to the tart flavor of the meal. A piquant or crisp vegetable salad or an escalloped vegetable dish might complete the main part of the meal. For a luncheon, fresh fruit makes a good dessert for dinner, perhaps you will want a baked dessert such as apple dumplings, which may be baked in t[he?] oven along with. meat rolls.”

Raisin Stuffing 3 cups small bread cubes 1 small onion, chopped ½ cup chopped celery ½ cup raisins Salt and pepper Meat stock to moisten Combine bread crumbs with finely chopped onion and celery. Add raisins ands season with salt and pepper. Moisten with meat stock, enough to make a quite moist dressing. Spread on ground meat rectangles.

I’d love to hear if you try out any of these recipes! Take photos and I might post them on the blog.

Visit the Recipe Wednesday Masterpost for the all the Recipe Wednesday posts, and the Indexed Recipe Wednesday Masterpost for all the recipes broken down individually!

[ Support SRNY through Patreon and Ko-Fi ] And join us on Discord for fun conversation! I also have an Etsy with up-cycled nerdy crafts

This post is the result of meeting a Patreon Goal. Thank you to all my wonderful Patreon subscribers for enabling the return of the Recipe Wednesday posts!

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keelywolfe · 3 years

Text

FIC: The Royal We ch.5

Summary: Finally the concluding chapter of 'The Royal We'! Wonder what's gonna happen here, hmmmm.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Kustard, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

Edge woke far later than normal to the sound of the shower running. He jerked halfway upright in the bed, briefly disoriented, before the events of the day before came back to him in a rush. The baby shower planning, the discussion with Stretch about having children, or rather not having them, Janice’s son getting lost, and learning that Stretch’s abilities as a Judge allowed him see Monster souls, including his own.

Small wonder he’d overslept, Any one of those things would be tiring but put together it was entirely too much for a single day, particularly one where he and Stretch finally came upstairs in the wee hours of the morning, barely taking the time to shed their clothes before flopping together into their bed.

At least Stretch seemed to be somewhat recovered if he were up to taking a shower. Edge sank back against the mattress, kicking the blankets from his feet as he stretched with joint-popping bliss, luxuriating in a moment of uncommon laziness. As stressful as the day before had been it had also been cathartic in some ways, certain issues clouded between him and Stretch discussed then cleared away.

This morning his leg felt fine even without the brace, without even a trace of a pain. It was actually healing as the doctor promised it would, despite Edge’s occasional loose interpretation of their directions, and as time passed it would keep getting better until the injury was only a memory and an occasional ache on very cold days.

Getting back to normal, that was all. The term ‘normal’ when it came to their lives was certainly up for creative interpretation, but it honestly felt like they were getting to it. Of course, that was dependent on nothing new cropping up in their lives and it surely would. It didn’t matter, whatever came he and Stretch would face it together.

Thinking of togetherness, Edge rolled out of bed and made his way to the ensuite bathroom. Muffled strains of music were coming through the closed door and when he opened it, it poured out, bright and pop-cheerful. Behind the shower curtain, oblivious to his audience, Stretch was singing along. He’d always have a lovely singing voice, husky sweet and pitch perfect but it was the lyrics gave Edge a pause.

“i’d get down on my knees, i’d do anything for you…ohhhh, i don’t want anybody else, when i think about you, i touch myself…”

Well, that was an invitation if he’d ever heard one.

Edge only took long enough to strip of his pajamas, casting them off in a rare messy pile on the floor before sliding around the shower curtain. He was ready for Stretch to yelp and jump, catching him before he could slip on the wet porcelain. His lovely bones were slick with water and soap and he was blinking through the spray, his pale eye lights still bright from the surprise.

“holy shit, babe,” Stretch sputtered, licking water from his teeth. “a little warning would be nice!”

Edge only shifted Stretch in his arms, settling him with his spine pressed firmly against Edge’s chest. At his silent urging, Stretch let his head drop back against Edge’s shoulder, huffing a groan as Edge murmured against his skull. “And miss the chance to sweep you off your feet?”

“you can get in your gropes without giving me a—oooh,” Stretch broke off and Edge smirked, mouthing lightly at his scapula as his hands wandered lower, his bare fingers seeking out places he knew were sensitive, pressing and stroking until Stretch shivered in his arms despite the heat of the water pouring down on them.

“What was that?” Edge crooned. “I couldn’t quite hear.”

“baaaaaabe,” Stretch moaned. He squirmed, his pelvis scraping tantalizingly against Edge’s. “this isn’t fair.”

“No? I was only trying to confirm the truth of your statement,” and before Stretch could ask, “Do you, then? Touch yourself when you think about me?”

“heh.” That squirm turned into a deliberate grind and Edge caught his breath, “want a demonstration?”

As it turned out, by the time Stretch was finished ‘demonstrating’, they both needed another shower and Edge was never more pleased to have splurged on their hot water heater. The chance to hold Stretch in his arms for longer without any chilly surprises was well worth the extra cost.

~~*~~

It was a few hours later that Edge was finishing buttoning his shirt, giving his husband a sideways look where he was still sprawled out on the bed, entirely naked except for a single sock that was still sagging at the ankle. The other was in his hand, waiting for its owner to either work up the energy to put it on or to abandoned it to its lonely fate.

Tipping the scales in favor of wearing might be in order. “Are you planning on putting that sock on or do you need longer to bond?”

“i’ll put it on as soon as i can feel my feet,” Stretch sighed out dreamily, “babe, you sure know how to make an entrance.”

“In a variety of ways,” Edge said serenely. “I do well with entrances.” He sat on the side of the bed next to Stretch and leaned in to give him a lingering kiss before snatching up the sweatshirt beside him and dropping it on his head. “Come on, get dressed, we need to check on the chickens. I believe there may have been an event we missed.”

Stretch lurched upright, fighting his way out of the clinging folds of the sweatshirt to give Edge a stricken look, “fuck, i forgot!” The sweatshirt was only half on when he started for the door and he was still struggling to pull it over his skull when he made for the stairs.

“Pants!” Edge shouted after him. Their neighbors asked so little of them and he really didn’t think that no unexpected nudity was an unreasonable request.

A shout floated back up, “bring ‘em with you and i’ll get the coffee going!”

Edge only shook his head and retrieved a clean pair of track pants from their dresser. However this might end, at least it would be with a reasonable amount of dignity.

Well, that might be a tall ask of Stretch and if he couldn’t be clothed in dignity, pants would have to do, so long as it wasn’t the bare minimum.

Edge stifled his grin and headed for the stairs, pants in hand and ready to share that particular witticism with his husband. Anytime was a good time for pun to Stretch, but over morning coffee held a certain brewtiful appeal.

It was with puns exchanged (among them was Stretch declaration that so many jokes this early was a latte to handle) and coffee in hand that they finally made their way to the chicken coop to investigate yesterday’s happenings. The morning air was still tinged cool, only hinting at the afternoon’s predicted warmth and Stretch shuffled through the fallen leaves to the coop door where Noodle and Dumpling were already waiting impatiently for the bringer of their breakfast.

“yeah, sorry, gals,” Stretch set his coffee cup down outside the coop before opening the door. He leaned over to give them each a brief pat before heading to the feed trough. “i know, we’re running late. let’s get you fed before checking on your sis, okay?”

“I wouldn’t get your hopes too far up,” Edge cautioned. He set his cup alongside Stretch's and followed him inside. “I can’t even calculate the odds of her not only finding a fertilized egg but also managing to hatch it.” Her finding an egg at all was a question that Edge already decided not to look into too deeply.

“i can calculate it and trust me, it’s a lot of decimal points. don’t worry,” Stretch said as he measured out a scoopful of feed. “i won’t. not even sure i wanna meet whatever’s supposed to come out of the cryptid egg she stole. hope nugget isn’t too disappointed when her basilisk doesn’t hatch.”

The sound of feed pouring into the trough was enough to summon the smallest of their wayward poultry. Nugget poked her small head through the coop’s door flap, chirring inquisitively, and then darting out to beeline right for the feed. Hungry indeed, she didn’t detour even briefly in Edge’s direction, intent on her pursuit of tasty grains.

But it wasn’t Nugget that had their attention. Behind her, coming from the coop was a faint sound, a peeping reminiscent of those Edge heard on the farm back when he was considering whether to invest in chickens of their own. Stretch only stood frozen, staring at the coop door and Edge was the one who finally opened it and stepped inside.

They’d persuaded Nugget to abandon the plastic bucket she’d nested in for one of the coop boxes, lining it with soft hay and that was where the sound was coming from. The single caged bulb overhead didn’t provide much light and Edge peered into the darkened nest, his sockets narrowed. Nearly buried into the hay was a tiny ball of yellow fluff. Edge reached for it, scooping it cautiously into his hands and bringing it out into the light.

Stretch hovered over his shoulder anxiously, “is that…what is it?”

From the rounded cup of his hands, a tiny, billed head poked out. Webbed feet shifted against his palm as the little creature peeped anxiously, its eyes dark against the bright yellow fluff.

“it’s a duckling! holy shit!” Stretch managed to keep his delight to a muted squeal, reaching out with cautiously grabby hands. Very carefully, Edge deposited it into his hands, watching as the little bird settled against the warm bones. “this is way better than a basilisk!”

“I believe the neighbors will agree,” Edge said dryly, watching as Stretch very gently inspected their newest acquisition, petting that feathery softness. “Is it male or female?”

Stretch rolled his eye lights. “welp, all the years i spent studying physics instead of zoology are letting us down here, babe. i’ve barely got ‘duck’ cleared, if you want a more detailed report, you’re gonna have to hire a pro.”

“Understood,” Edge said. He looked out the door at their backyard, freshly layered in falling leaves. “What on earth are we going to do with a duck?”

Stretch only held the little duckling closer to his chest with a gasp, “we can’t get rid of it!”

“Of course not,” Edge said, exasperated, “I’m not suggesting we drop it off at the local livestock orphanage, it was a legitimate question. We’ll need to make arrangements for it, ducks may have different nutritional needs than chickens. It will need some sort of pond to swim in and—” He broke off as Stretch gave him a look. “What?”

That gentle smile matched the softness in Stretch’s eye lights as they briefly flashed into hearts, shining with love, “nothing, babe. you’re really gonna let me keep cheese?”

Edge blinked. “Did you just call that duckling ‘Cheese’?”

“yeah.” Stretch grinned. “short for cheese and quackers.”

“Oh, for—” Edge sighed. “I walked right into that one.”

“headfirst,” Stretch agreed. “don’t feel bad, i left the door wide open.” At that moment Nugget came wandering back into the coop and started to make concerned motherly noises. Stretch hastily set the duckling, no, Cheese back into the nesting box. Nugget hopped up into it, squirming back to bury her child beneath the bulk of her feathery warmth.

“guess introductions are over.” Lacking a tiny duckling to hold, Stretch settled for flinging his arms around Edge and giving him a hard squeeze. “c’mon, hot coffee waits for no fowl and cold coffee is foul, so let’s get ours.”

“You’re an endless font of hilarity, love.” Edge followed him out and the two of them retrieved their cups. By unspoken agreement, they settled to sit at the patio, sipping their coffee as the trees rustled softly around them.

His phone buzzed, breaking the silence, and Edge checked it to see a text from Papyrus. Ah, another loose end from yesterday’s tapestry to tie up. He opened the text to find not a jumbled of excited words but a picture. Of Undyne in a hospital bed, looking both weary and elated, Alphys at her side, but it was the small bundle in their arms that drew Edge’s gaze.

The only thing visible from the swaddling of striped blankets was the child’s face, the same deep blue skin tone as their mother and a small tuft of red fronds falling over their forehead. Childbirth seemed to have left a certain squashed quality to that face that hadn’t had time yet to fade, puffy cheeks and swollen eyes, and as Edge studied the picture another text came through.

It’s a girl!

A girl, a little niece to spoil and teach, and Edge could already picture her toddling along and joining the other children as they followed Stretch around very much like ducklings as he taught them science and experiments, spending his weekends building snowmen and painting excited faces. Without making any undue assumptions, Edge could imagine the formidable child that Undyne and Papyrus’s genes would produce and the adventures that might come of it, the coming years would certainly be interesting and—

“is that the baby?”

Almost, Edge twitched his phone away before Stretch could see the picture. But none of yesterday's upset or melancholy appeared, Stretch only looked at it with an appropriate expression of interest, smiling widely.

“aww, what a cutey,” Stretch cooed. “tell undyne she does good work.”

“I will,” Edge agreed, and did so. Before he set his phone aside, another picture came through, this time with Papyrus holding the baby, the very vision of a delighted uncle and why his arm was in a sling, Edge decided not to ask. The story of Undyne’s labor and delivery was likely an epic one and not to be heard before plenty of coffee. He was nearly ready for a second cup when Stretch spoke again.

“so,” Stretch began. He shuffled his feet against the porch, his coffee cup held tightly in both hands. “you wanna get started on the pond today?”

Edge smiled faintly. “Of course, love, best to get it ready before Cheese needs it.”

He watched as Stretch lit up, equally delighted by his answer and his ready use of Stretch’s chosen name. It was hardly more ridiculous than Noodle, Nugget, and Dumpling, and besides, their baby deserved the best, too, did it not?

A pond and some research into their little duckling’s needs, that was the challenge for the day and Edge was more than up for it, so long as Stretch was by his side.

Edge set his cup on the table and reached over to take Stretch’s hand in his, slender fingers tangling with his own. He ran his thumb over Stretch’s wedding band, the smooth metal body-warm. Together, no matter what, and Edge was ready for that adventure as well and any that came along with it, for the rest of his life.

Even when it included unexpected additions.

-finis

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

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milktyama · 4 years

Text

— ☕︎ FALL IN LOVE

a/n: ok this was originally an idea to mock my friend about her and her crush and then I realized i put too much effort and reminded me of Oikawa because him plus friends to lovers is an absolute YES

pairing: oikawa tooru x female reader, third!person

genre: fluff, slight angst, friends to lovers

wc: 1.5k

❥︎ slight swearing

Oikawa Tooru is a magnet for tough love. It’s not his fault; he’s always caught in the bad crowd, whether he likes it or not. But he has one person that sticks with him in all circumstances, L/n Y/n, his best friend.

Y/n is your happy-go-lucky that can’t take anything seriously, even during serious times. Though, she’s always witnessing her best friend get broken time after time. And it hurts; a lot. She wishes she could do more than just listen and maybe crack a joke here and there to lighten the mood.

One night, during their daily late night calls at ungodly hours, Oikawa opens up a little too much to Y/n; letting his emotions from his previous failed relationship overflow him.

“She just used me like a toy. I feel so dumb for falling for her tricks like that. She rubbed it on my face and even told all her friends, which I thought were also my friends, how much of a piece of shit I am. When can I find someone who won’t break my heart anymore?” Oikawa sighs as he brushes his long locks over his head. His hair glimmers in cool shades of blue reflecting from his LED lights in his room. Silence spreading eerily throughout the room. Why is she so quiet? He thought to himself. He rubs away the warm tears in his eyes as he slowly glances at his phone, seeing a single tear dropping from his best friend’s face. “Wait Y/n what’s wrong! Don't cry over my sad love story, this isn’t anything new...”

She sniffles hard and harshly wipes the single tear with her sleeve.

“Exactly why I’m crying. Tooru, I know I’m not great at being serious, but you can’t keep getting into these relationships that break you apart, because when I hear them, I break a little too.” tears choking up in her throat. She doesn’t last much longer until they start falling again. It just hurts a lot. Watching him in so much pain. But why does it hurt so much more tonight?

“Dumpling stop crying, you’ll make me feel even worse.” he coos, calling her by the nickname he gave her in attempts to help lessen her tears. He can’t watch her cry like that. Not her.

Oikawa sighs deeply, trying to find a solution to lift both of the aching pains in their hearts.

“Wanna come over and cuddle a little and watch movies? I can play Disney movies, your favorite.” he trails off, the corner of his lips lifting into a gentle smile to the screen of his phone. God, how much does she love that smile. She could look at it all day. Y/n looks up from her hands and shines a smile at her best friend. Her smile is just as beautiful as the autumn leaves turning into their beautiful burnt caramel red at the peak of fall. She shyly nods her head, embarrassed that she just cried so much in front of him.

“I’ll come pick you up in 10. Get ready and dress warm. It’s the peak of autumn and I don’t want you to catch a cold. Or… do you want my hoodie?”. She perks up at the statement. Intensely nodding her head, unconsciously clapping. Just how perfect can she get?

Ending the call after the elongated farewells, even though they will be seeing each other very soon. Oikawa hops off his chair and moves into his closet. He picks his favorite white hoodie and folds it neatly in half. She will look so adorable in this one. And it’ll be so big on her too. Oikawa chuckles and smiles to himself.

Y/n is not short. She is considered to be on the tall side for girls, but Oikawa just loves teasing her about it, especially since he is a solid head taller than her. He just loves laying his chin on top of her head, calling her minimizing nicknames suggesting that she is petite in height.

He makes his way to Y/n’s house and when he arrives, he texts her to come down. Y/n tiptoes her way down the stairs, quickly leaving a note for her mother in the kitchen counter that she will be at Oikawa’s. Opening the door, she is greeted by a chilling breeze of a fall night and his very tall and well built friend, with a hoodie hanging over his arm. He extends the hoodie to her and without another word, helps her into his hoodie that lingers with his scent. Y/n stuffs her nose into the clean hoodie, slightly warm from his body heat while carrying it. Fooling around the sidewalk, they walk back to Oikawa’s, hands in each other’s pockets because ‘the body heat will keep them warm’. They really just needed each other’s presence; the teary call from a few minutes ago fading from their heads.

Y/n jumps onto his plush bed, allowing her body to relax on the cloud-like surface, muscles releasing tension. Oikawa comes inside with select snacks and her head perks up. Of course he knows her favorites. Snuggling up onto one another, they watch the TV in peace; breathing became slow and his heartbeat pulsing against the side of her head. Hands interlocking with one another as his thumb gently rubs circles onto the back of her hand.

As the credits roll, he catches her mumbling to herself, palms clasping together and eyes tightly closed. Pressing his lips closer to her ear, he whispers out in a low tone.

“Dum dum what are you doing?” After a few seconds, she looks up through her lashes, eyes sparkling as a teasing smile curves at the edges of her thin lips.

“I’m praying to get a boyfriend like how the princesses get their prince charming!” He could only chuckle at her. Fuck she’s so adorable. How can someone mesmerize him as much as she did? She truly possesses some sort of power that allows him to feel this comforting heat swelling in his heart.

“Don’t be stupid, these are fairy tales ok? There won’t be a prince charming in a horse coming to your rescue. Plus, you are the last person to fall for such an act.”

“hEY that was mean! Let me just have my fantasies Lazykawa”. She rebuttals with a nickname for him of her own. It suits him; and his reactions were cute. Her attachment to his nickname was evident.

It was rather unintentional. After calling his nickname, Y/n brings her hand to the top of his head, slightly ruffling his hair while gently patting it at the same time. Her fingers brushing through his brown locks. She’s so enthralled by his hair and he’s too busy watching her expression that the space between has grown only shorter. Faces only a few centimeters away from the other, both of their gazes fixes on each other’s eyes, locking eye contact for what feels like an eternity.

Both of their breaths hitch and as if on queue, his hand gently rests on her left cheek, lifting her face up slightly. The world around them stops, as if they were the only people there. His free hand snakes around her waist, closing the gap even more. Snapping back to reality, she softly pushes against his chest, finally breaking eye contact.

“This… isn’t what friends do...” she mumbles under her breath, a deep shade of red tinting her cheeks. It was wrong. They were best friends and there were certain lines they cannot cross, no matter how close they are. He pulls away a little, as if agreeing to her statement, but why does she feel disappointed by it? Their bodies are still dangerously close together, Oikawa takes a leap of faith and brings his fingers under her chin, pulling her face up once more. Leaning into her ear, the words slips through his lips as if it were a melody.

“Well… do you want to stay as friends?” His words were gentle, yet possessive. His heart pounding against his rib cage; he really hopes he didn’t mess the bond with the one person he cared about most. She is everything to him. There is a sudden push, airing a little gap between them, and in that moment, regret flashes through his mind. He messed up didn’t he?

Well her actions say otherwise. Gripping onto the collar of his hoodie, she pulls him closer until their lips brush, pausing for a moment in case this isn’t what he wanted. Though the pause didn’t last long, as he gripped her waist once more, connecting their lips into a deep kiss full of emotion. Threading her hands through his hair, responding to his deep kiss with passion. The need for oxygen finally separates them, foreheads leaning to the other while panting. He gives one final peck in the middle of her forehead, looking at her eyes fondly whilst caressing her hand.

“So… it’s official now, my princess?” She nods in response to his question, slamming her body into his for an embrace, cuddling her face against his chest. Every year, they would spend time together like this, and this fall, was a particular special one full of love.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu writing #haikyuu x reader #third person #oikawa #tooru #oikawa tooru #friends to lovers #oneshot #oikawa x reader #hq-branch

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boxoftheskyking · 4 years

Text

Something Good, Part Eight

In which the children learn some things

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

---

Wei Wuxian lights three lamps and spreads his discarded curtains on the wooden walkway outside the servants quarters. The cultivators at Cloud Recesses retire at nine, leaving a good three hours for servants to work in the main areas, cleaning and mending and tidying with no bothersome children or late meetings to interrupt them. It’s actually a little fun—the laundry yard is far enough from the sleeping quarters so they can be a bit loud, singing and laughing while they work. The servants try to sleep by midnight if they can in order to grab three or four hours to rest before fires need to be lit and breakfast started.

The Lan Clan rules have quite a lot to say about setting aside the proper number of hours to sleep. These rules don’t seem to apply to the servants. Wei Wuxian wonders sometimes who knows what actually goes into running a place like Cloud Recesses. Does Lan Xichen? Lan Qiren? Has Lan Wangji ever stayed up late and seen the flurry of work in his beloved library? But they are all such diligent students, they’d never stay up so late. Cultivators. So studious in topics of importance, so clueless about everything else.

Sometimes—though he tries to avoid it—he thinks about the servants back at Lotus Pier. Yunmeng has no such rules about sleeping and waking hours, and Wei Wuxian remembers many late nights entertaining guests, holding silly sword tournaments in the training yards after a few jugs of wine, even Jiang Fengmian holding discussions with other sect leaders that ran long into the morning. When had their servants cleaned, swept, repaired the things broken by careless bursts of spiritual energy? He’d always thought Madam Yu’s servants to be so cruel, extensions of her fury and rigidity. But maybe they were just tired.

In any event, he hasn’t slept a full night since he lost his golden core, so he doesn’t mind much.

After a lot of thought, he’s decided that the children’s play clothes won’t be robes but rather a version of a laborer’s shirt and trousers. He’s only got one full set of clothes himself, but he’s picked apart the seams and laid out the pieces as a pattern. If he can figure out how to make children’s versions, then he’ll be able to stitch his own back together. If not, well, Madam Xiao likes him now. He can come up with some story to justify running up to her in just his sleeping robe. He’s kneeling in it now, bony knees sticking out at odd angles and night breeze raising gooseflesh on all his exposed skin.

He doesn’t think of warm hands on his neck as he bends to his work. He traces around each piece with charcoal before cutting them out. By the time the sky turns purply-grey with sunrise, he has a neat little stack of various sized patterns, each set rolled into a dusty blue cylinder.

It takes another week and a half of spare hours during lessons and after dark to make a full set of clothes and another week to improvise adjustments to hems and inseams. He finds himself saved by the addition of drawstring belts, and while they hardly look tidy, he ends up with an army of midnight colored miscreants that he’s quite proud of.

The little ones are the most delighted—only a few months or years out of shirts and trousers themselves. The older children are uncomfortable initially, so used to the many layers of robes and sashes that they’ve been wearing. Wei Wuxian asked Wen Ning whether he wanted a set of play clothes, as he’s practically an adult himself. Wen Ning’s deep bow and “It would be an honor to wear clothes made by Wei-qianbei” made Wei Wuxian blush and threaten to dump him over the waterfall.

He’s a bit disappointed that Lan Wangji leaves for an important council before he’s finished—he’d rather have liked to show off his new skills. But politics are politics, and the rumor among the servants is that he’s visiting with the family of his betrothed.

“But who is it?” Wei Wuxian whines at Madam Xiao as he helps her fold a set of bedsheets. “Surely if anyone knows it’s you.”

Madam clicks her tongue and takes a swipe at his head. “I don’t bother myself with the noble family trees. At my age you’ve seen so many cultivators come and go, so many weddings and funerals, it hardly pays to keep track of it all. Sure, won’t she need to eat and sleep and relieve herself just like the rest of them? We’ll all get to know her better than Young Master Lan himself does before too long.”

Wei Wuxian laughs, though there’s something inside him that flinches, like picking off a scab when you haven’t finished healing beneath.

With Lan Wangji gone, the juniors have fewer classes. Lan Xichen teaches a few here and there, which is surprisingly enjoyable to watch. Wei Wuxian can tell he doesn’t spend much time with children so young, and he finds his delighted smile and swallowed laughter somehow gratifying. It’s not right, and it’s dangerous to start thinking yes, these are my children. Aren’t they clever, aren’t they funny? My children. But his command over his own mind has always been tenuous at best.

The result of all this means that Wei Wuxian has many extra hours with the kids in their new play clothes. He’s taken a few day trips down to Caiyi town, not bothered by the impropriety of junior disciples running about in trousers. As far as he’s concerned, there’s nothing shameful about being dressed like a farmer or a laborer. One day he found himself exhausted from hustling them all down the mountain, so he asked a few of his new friends in the Caiyi market if they’d mind taking on a few apprentices. The day turned into a highlight for the children—some learned to make delicately spiced pork dumplings, some wrapped sticky pastries for customers, some sanded down slats of wood for chair building, and some tried their hand at painting cleverly stitched kites. Su Meiling has declared she is going to be a carpenter when she grows up, and Wei Wuxian finds himself hoping that she will.

He wonders if his new life would have been less jarring if he’d been allowed to learn more as a kid—to truly befriend the townsfolk of Yunmeng instead of drifting in and out as the benevolent gentry. On darker days he almost wishes Jiang Fengmian had never found him and that he’d grown up as he deserved on the streets of Yunping City. It hurts to imagine never knowing Jiang Yanli or Jiang Cheng, but if he’d never had that artificial sense of nobility, his fall from grace would have truly meant nothing.

The walk from Cloud Recesses to town and back is unsupervised by anyone but him, so he takes the risk and teaches his charges little songs as they march. He makes up funny tunes about rabbits and sets his favorite Lan Sect rules to music. When the clothes are done he stays up at night figuring out rhymes for “silence” and “forbidden” and “floppy-ears.”

“Little, little rabbit, oh! Up the mountain you must go Grass is sweeter up the hill Salty seaweed makes you ill! Rabbits, rabbits, time to run Up the mountain one by one Quick, before the sunlight ends Run and run to meet your friends!”

After Lan Wangji has been away for a full week, Wei Wuxian gets a bit bolder. He’s had a number of days now running the children around the back hill, teaching songs and some basic hand-to-hand combat.

“But Wei-qianbei,” Ouyang Zizhen had said. “Once we are fully grown cultivators we will have swords. Why would we need to know how to fight without them?”

“Ah, Zizhen, but what if some clever demon takes your sword from you? What if you are cursed and your spiritual power is locked away? Don’t you want to be prepared, so you are not caught off guard? And after all, your Wei-qianbei has neither a sword nor spiritual power. Don’t you want to know how I can protect you if something dangerous comes?”

Zizhen had hung his head and nodded, embarrassed, but after a hug and a one-on-one lesson in punching his good nature had returned.

Today, Wei Wuxian decides to push more boundaries. He’s created a stack of talisman paper woven through with spells. First, a spell that imbues the whole paper with the same qualities so it can be cut into smaller pieces without disrupting its power. Second, he’s added what he calls a safety lock, which prevents the paper from being used for anything overly powerful or damaging. The last character he’s added makes all of the power of this stack of talisman paper subservient to one specific piece—a piece he keeps in preparation for any coming problems.

The activity of the day is to make papermen. He passes out the paper and lets each of them cut a little stack of figures in whatever shape they like. Some are standard—one round head, two stubby arms and two legs—while some have long hair or funny pointed feet. Lan Jingyi’s have rabbit ears.

“All right, juniors. Now take your brush and ink. You are going to take one paperman and give him an action. This might be to walk or to run or to do a somersault or anything else. Do not command him to hurt anyone—I don’t need to tell you that! Make your command simple and write it in the middle of your paper.”

He goes around to help the younger ones with their characters. Lan Sizhui has chosen “Dance,” while Lan Jingyi has chosen “Climb.”

“All right! Now you have your commands ready. Focus your energy and take some full, deep breaths. What you are going to do is think very hard and clearly about your paperman. Imagine that he is you. Imagine what it feels like to be as small as he is, as thin. Imagine that you are your paperman, and imagine standing up.”

At first, nothing happens. Then Wen Ning’s paperman stands up from the ground. Everyone around him gasps and cheers, and as he blushes and hides his face, his paperman falls back to the dirt.

“Very good, Wen Ning! But you all must focus on your own papermen. Come now, quietly, focus.”

One by one, a few little cutouts rise to stand. When about seven of the eleven look at least partially alert, Wei Wuxian instructs them to focus on their commands.

“This is your first time making papermen, so it may help to perform the action along with them. Try to imagine yourself as a little piece of paper, running or climbing or stretching as you’ve instructed.”

At first, only two are moving. Wen Ning’s paperman bends into one perfect kowtow after another. Surprisingly, little Sizhui is the next most successful, his little man rising to spin and dance around the clearing. Over the next fifteen minutes more stand and begin to move. Those who are unsuccessful are frustrated, but Wei Wuxian gives them each a squeeze on the shoulder and lets them play with the others who are running and jumping and dancing along with their paper avatars.

“Yes, well done! Look at them go!” he cheers, swinging Jingyi around as his little man climbs the nearest tree. It falls back to the ground after about a minute, but nothing can discourage Jingyi’s grin.

“It feels so odd, Wei-qianbei!” Yao Hualing cries as her paperman does a series of stretches. “I feel like I’m in two different places at the same time!”

“Yes, that means you are successful, A-Ling!” he cries and drops a kiss on the top of her hair.

He has an armful of two ten-year-olds when the rest of the children suddenly fall silent and stand at attention, papermen falling to the ground. He spins back around, dropping Zizhen and Lan Ting to the grass. He looks at the ground, following Jingyi’s paperman as it finds and begins to climb a set of luxurious red robes. He sees familiar set of boots leading to white and sky blue robes, though he hesitates to look Lan Wangji in the face.

When he finally does, he’s almost gratified to see red in his cheeks and down his neck, his fists clenched at his side. And next to him, elegant face turned to the children, eyes wide and lips parted in surprise—

“Jiejie!” Wen Ning cries.

Wei Wuxian feels all the breath leave him as he sways on the spot. He reaches out for Lan Ting’s shoulder to steady himself, his other hand flying to his abdomen, down low where the scar tissues sits, twisted and ugly and still sore.

Wen Qing looks over the crowd of messy children dressed as servants and then, finally, meets his eyes.

Part Nine

#assorted writings #the untamed #cql #mo dao zu shi #something good #wwx votes DFL btw

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qatirna-can-read · 3 years

Text

Tsagaan Sar - Q

Khadagan chopped feverishly at a head of garlic. A young Qatirna - still too small to look up and see the tears painting her mother’s cheeks - toddled up to the woman, gripping at the fabrics of her skirts for balance.

“Mama! <What cooking?!>” the child shouted excitedly in a broken Eorzean Xaelic tongue. She nuzzled her face into the layered fabrics and giggled.

Khadagan set the knife down on the cutting board and used the back of her clawed hand to wipe away the tears from her eyes. She looked down at her daughter and smiled an earnest but sad smile. Before picking the affectionate child up and balancing her on her hip so she could use a free hand to stir a pot simmering on the stove.

She looked so much like her father. Little freckles dancing across her nose just the way Batu’s did. Her strange purple eyes that appeared to shine differently depending on her mood. Even the child’s tail, long and slender and tipped with spines, mirrored that of her late progenitor.

Khadagan kissed her daughter’s nose, just below her scales, right on her warm purple freckles atop her soft hematite soil skin. “Mama is making feast of Tsagaan Sar.” She gave a gentle smile, “In Mama’s homeland this is very important time.”

She placed the child back on the ground, “You want to help Mama?”

Qatirna looked up at her mother with a broad confused smile and nodded enthusiastically.

“<Will you help me mix this, please?>” Khadagan handed a small wooden bowl to a tiny outstretched clawed grasp. With the bowl in Qatirna’s hands, Khadagan picked her up once more to set her down at a table nearby. She handed over a small wooden spoon then began pouring dry ingredients into the bowl as the little girl mixed with delight.

“<Thank you, my sweet desert rose.>” Khadagan kissed the dark hair on her daughter’s head and beamed at the display in joy and amusement as the two prepared for the feast together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Qatirna playfully kneaded the dumpling dough as her mother fussed over the fillings she had simmering in several pots over a single fire. She still required a stool to reach over the counter, and even standing a fulm higher from the ground, she still only came midway up her mother’s arm.

“Mama, done!” she shouted proudly.

Khadagan looked at the little girl with a bemused smile, coming over to help her child. “<Let Mama show you.>”

Qatirna stared at her mother with a serious expression, nodding her head to indicate her readiness to learn.

Her mother brought over a dull stone knife, placing it on the counter between them. She showed her daughter how to roll out the dough. "<Like this, Little Flame. Make it like a snake.>"

Qatirna rolled the dough, more playing than working, but learning all the same.

"<Please be cautious not to cook the dough.>" Her mother added.

"<Okay Mama. I careful.>" Qatirna had recently come into her magic and still struggled to not catch her hands on fire when she got excited. “<Mama?>” she paused her rolling to ask, “<Is friends come to Tsagaan Sar?>”

"" she answered softy with a grin.

The child blushed, burying her embarrassed face melodramatically in her folded arms. Petra was Qatirna’s best friend. She was Qatirna’s first friend. Kind, funny, adventurous. Qatirna also thought she was really pretty, and her mother knew that and found it adorable.

"<Mamaaa!>" she whined at her mother's teasing.

Khadagan tousled the little girl's hair before moving to show her how to cut off the pieces of dough and pull them out flat. "<Like this, little one.>" and she cut off a piece of dough for her daughter to practice with as well.

"<Like this, Mama?>" Qatirna pulled the dough flat, although the shape she made was somewhat laughable.

Khadagan giggled at the child, "<You're getting it. Now let's practice folding. Watch carefully.>" she neatly took the edges of her own flattened dough and tucked them into the center, twirling the whole thing at the end to create a shape reminiscent of flower petals.

Qatirna stared in awe before attempting to do as her mother did. She folded everything into the middle, creating an oddly shaped cone. "<What do you think?>" She scooped up the cone dough with both hands before holding it out to her mother for inspection.

The older Xaela looked at her daughter's practice folds with great scrutiny, her brow furrowed in a serious expression. "<hmm… yes! This is perfect. You keep practicing and you will be Khatun of Tsagaan Sar!>" She beamed brightly at her daughter before booping her nose with a flour covered finger. They both stared at each other for a moment before breaking into laughter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two red Xaela women weaved expertly through the crowds of the farmer's market. Both dressed in colorful wrapped sarongs. The one in browns and reds looked only just of age. Young and pretty, long flowing onyx hair with red undertones matched her onyx scales sitting atop red clay skin. Her eyes burned bright with a unique violet hue and her full clover lips grinned at the older and taller Xaela adorned with gentle blues. ""

The Xaela in blue, despite being twice the age of the Xaela in red, was still just as beautiful as her daughter. She wore her silver peppered black hair held back with a scarf. Her own onyx scales protected her deep red skin, even darker than the crimson of her daughter's.

"" She smiled back, her canines notably sharper than Qatirna’s.

Qatirna shrugged in amusement at her, moving to examine a nearby stand. “ Petra has been showing me some of her family recipes lately.”

“<Hmm..>” Khadagan took her place by her daughter’s side, leaning down to sniff the orange bag of spice Qatirna had her eye on. “”

“<Mama! What? No!>”

“<By the time your father was your age he was already wed.>” she said matter-of-factly.

“” she responded in a restrained hiss.

The man tending the stand stared blankly at the two women speaking in the unfamiliar language. “Did you ladies want to purchase any spices?” He asked, indifferent to their squabbles.

“Yes, please! I would like… a small container of that, and a medium container of that one.” Qatirna pointed to the orange powder, then a yellow powder, before she began digging through her satchel for the gil to pay. Her cheeks had turned a substantially darker red than usual.

"<Qatirna! You should show respect for your father's culture!>" Khadagan pestered, now standing behind her daughter, a good 5 or 6 ilms taller.

Qatirna winced at her public scolding. Despite the fact that no one in the market could understand the two, anyone could see the basic theme of their conversation.

"" Qatirna replied as she turned away from the stand, gently tucking the spices into a side pocket of her satchel. "" she sighed. "<Does everyone know that I invite Kazagg Chah? He is very important mentor to me and I do not wish for discomfort between guests.>"

"<Yes, my desert rose. I've told the other guests. They know of your friendship with the beast tribes and no one should make a fuss.>" she placed a reassuring hand on her daughter's arm and gave a gentle squeeze. "<We can speak more of Petra at another time.> Now where is pork farmer?"

Khadagan wandered off towards the meats section of the market with Qatirna following close behind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Qatirna stirred awake from a restless sleep. Her body felt heavy, like weights had woven their way up and down her arms and legs in the night. With a great deal of effort, she pushed herself up and out of bed.

For a moment, she allowed herself to forget the empty silence in her home. She moved across her room and down the stairs of her loft, graceful yet absentminded. The only thing keeping her mind connected to this time and place was the feel of the cold hard ground beneath her feet. This morning seemed stiller than most, or perhaps the quiet hit harder today in particular.

She placed the kettle on the burner, lighting the fire below with a flame conjured in her palm, same as she did most mornings. She closed her eyes, taking a deep strangled breath, before making her way to the ice box to pull out some pork she planned to marinate. She still hadn't decided if she wanted to use the traditional spices her mother taught her as a child or if she wanted to use the spice mixture she'd created with her late mother and ex fiancé.

While she rummaged through her spice cabinet she began to hum. An old Auri lullaby, taught to her by her mother. Her father sang it to her during their brief time together before his death, or so she'd been told. Sometimes the tune brought her comfort, today it stung her with a sick longing. Despite this, she continued to sing.

She busied herself, trying to keep her mind free, trying to keep any pesky thoughts of tragedy and loss at bay. The new recipe, she thought, to honor all those we lost.

Her mind was still until she began pouring the spices into a small mixing bowl. A memory trickled to the forefront of her thoughts: her mother asking her toddler self for 'help' mixing dry ingredients. A sad smile spread across her lips. She gripped the counter's edge, claws drumming the tabletop as she attempted to hold off any further thoughts of her past.

The trickle of that memory pushed past her efforts to repair the dam of hindsight. It crumbled and burst. Memories flooded back as waves of grief crashed over her. Suddenly she was drowning within herself.

A soft sob escaped her throat. She felt the familiar sting of tears welling in her eyes. Her head spun in a storm of everything that was, everything that could have been, everything she should have done. Teenage arguments with her mother, a first kiss, snacks lovingly prepared and placed near her while she studied, laughing at inside jokes, singing traditional songs in various languages, making a fire on cold nights, soup made for the sick. She crumpled. Falling to the floor like a warrior taking an arrow in the heart. A whimper on the floor of her kitchen became a sob became an agonizing wail. She clawed desperately at the floor, although her hands found no purchase. Even though she was hyperventilating she couldn’t fill her lungs with a full breath of air.

She had no control here in the tempest. She held fiercely to her sorrow, the only feeling she could cling to for any measure of stability, as she slowly pulled herself tighter, smaller, into herself.

The sharply whistling kettle cut through the screams of her weeping. She looked up through puffy eyes, glowing a vibrant indigo. She stopped her sobs, coughing at the thick film that coated her throat, before pulling herself back up to remove the kettle from the burner. She laughed at the kettle for pulling her out of hysteria, although the sound choked out as a half chuckle half sob.

She shook her head, letting out a deep sigh, climbing up the counter to reach the tea on the top shelf. Her mother had been several ilms taller than her, and aside from lalafells, they were the two shortest people she’d ever known. She placed the tea on the counter gingerly before hopping back down. A clay mug sat on a cabinet nearby, she pulled that down as well. It looked like a tankard in her small hands. After pouring the water and leaves she held the steam up to her face, allowing it to soothe her skin, tender from crying.

This would have to be enough. She had no other options than for this to be enough. She breathed in a rough quivered breath before reaching just below where she’d grabbed her mug. Pulling a strong spiced spirit from the bottom shelf, she took a swig several gulps worth. She closed her eyes, allowing the burn to roll through her, numbing some of that pain in her chest.

She could go on. Once again she turned her attention back to the feast she prepared for one. Utterly alone.

#Qatirna #Tsagaan Sar

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