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nb-octopus-writes · 5 days

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once you’re in the hive, the other bees assume you’re supposed to be there

[Masterpost]

Chapter 8: One Could Get Used to This

Wordcount: 1.5K

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No-one comes to drag Virgil out of bed. He wakes on his own the next morning and for a few moments contemplates getting out of bed, but then he rolls over and goes back to sleep. It’s his day off, he doesn’t have any plans, and he is cozy.

He wakes again around noon, and wanders downstairs. There’s no-one in the sitting room, but he finds Patton in the dining room, curled up in the armchair with a book.

“Good morning!” Patton greets cheerfully. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah,” Virgil says. “You?”

Patton’s eyes crinkle up in a pleased smile. “I did, yes, thank you,” he says.

Virgil fidgets, just a little, and he glances back toward the door. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Hm,” Patton says thoughtfully, tapping the book against his chin. “Logan’s in his office, and last I saw him, Roman was still asleep, poor dear.” He chuckles. “You two sure were up real late last night. And Remus and Janus aren’t here right now, but they were going to come to dinner, so they should be arriving in a few hours.” He pauses, thinking. “I don’t think anyone else was planning to be here today, but I might have forgotten something, or they might’ve forgotten to mention it. That happens sometimes.”

“Must make meal planning difficult,” Virgil says.

“It can,” Patton agrees. “But I like to make sure we have plenty of leftovers anyway, so a surprise guest or two isn’t very hard to accommodate.” He smiles gently at Virgil. “Are you hungry? Would you like some breakfast?”

“If you’re offering,” Virgil says, because they have been incredibly hospitable to him so far, but he doesn’t want to presume anything.

“Oh of course,” Patton says, setting his book down. “I hate to leave anyone hungry when there’s food in the house. What would you like? Are you in the mood for a breakfast breakfast, or something more lunchy?”

Virgil hesitates. “I don’t want to make you cook something just for me,” he says.

“Oh, it’s no trouble!” Patton reassures him. “I like cooking. But we do have leftovers in the fridge if you would like something quicker.”

Virgil nods a little. “What are my options?”

“Well, we’ve still got plenty of what we had last night, of course,” Patton says consideringly, getting up and heading towards the kitchen. Virgil follows. “And I made a fresh batch of boiled eggs this morning.” He opens the fridge and peers inside, then waves Virgil over. “Take a look, anything look appetizing?”

Virgil joins Patton in front of the fridge and looks inside. ‘Plenty of leftovers’ may have been an understatement. The fridge is quite full, mostly of containers. There’s no way Virgil can possibly see all the options without taking most of the contents out to see what’s behind them, and he is not about to do that.

Trying to be quick, Virgil scans the food visible through the sides of the containers. He sees white rice, mixed vegetables, something brown that’s probably gravy, mashed potatoes, a couple drumsticks…

He knows, reasonably, that everything in this fridge is probably very good. He is also sure that if he was sat down and served any of these choices, he would eat it without complaint and be pleased with it. But just now, looking at the leftover containers, his stomach and taste buds rebel, and nothing looks appealing.

“I don’t know,” Virgil says. It’s not that he isn’t hungry. His stomach is very helpfully informing him that it is currently empty. It is just also telling him, simultaneously, that there isn’t a single food in the entire world that will satisfy, and unfortunately it has annexed his tongue to its side. His brain, meanwhile, is yelling that he’s taking too long to decide, and he needs to hurry up and pick something before Patton gets upset at him for letting all the cold out of the fridge.

Patton makes a sympathetic sound. “Too many options to choose between?” he says softly. “Would you like me to prepare you a plate?”

Virgil’s very bones go limp. “Yes please,” he says weakly, glad to have the decision taken out of his hands.

Patton rests his hand gently on Virgil’s arm. “Why don’t you go wait in the comfy chair, and I’ll bring you some food in a minute,” he suggests gently.

“Okay,” Virgil says, and goes. Just as he settles, Patton appears in the doorway again with an empty plate in his hands.

“You don’t have any dietary restrictions, do you?” he asks. “I know it’s a bit late to be asking, but…”

“No, I’ll eat anything,” Virgil says, fondness rising in his chest. “Thanks for checking.”

“You’re welcome,” Patton says, and goes back into the kitchen. He returns a few minutes later, the plate now laden with a large slice of lasagna. “Do you want to come eat at the table, or over there?” he asks.

“Table, definitely,” Virgil says, moving. Much less risk of spilling red tomato sauce on their furniture that way, plus he’d rather not try to balance a hot plate on his lap right now. He sits, and Patton places the plate in front of him. Virgil’s eyes go wide. In addition to the lasagna, there’s a slice of home-baked bread with butter and jam, and a small heap of peas and corn. “Just how big do you think my appetite is?”

Patton chuckles. “Sorry,” he says. “Force of habit. Roman would clean that plate and then ask for seconds, especially after sleeping through breakfast.”

“I can believe it,” Virgil says with a laugh.

Patton pats his shoulder, then moves away. “If it’s too much, we can put some of it back,” he says as he reclaims the armchair. “You don’t have to eat all of it.”

He’s certainly going to give it his best go, Virgil’s stomach informs him seriously. His tongue agrees.

Virgil starts with a large bite of bread. It’s no longer fresh-baked, but Patton had re-warmed it. Toasted, maybe? There’s a bit of crunch to it, though it’s still pleasantly soft, not hard as a rock like most toast.

Roman makes an appearance when Virgil’s about halfway through his meal, wearing only a white tank top and a pair of red shorts. Virgil isn’t sure if they’re loose boxer shorts or thin actual shorts, but he’s not about to stare at Roman’s crotch and/or ass long enough to figure it out, and he’s certainly not about to ask.

Probably they’re actual shorts. Roman has so far struck him as having somewhat more decorum than Remus, and probably wouldn’t walk around in just his underwear with a random person in his house.

Probably.

“Ooh, that looks delicious, I want some of that, is there more?” Roman says in greeting, completely oblivious to Virgil’s inner musings.

“There’s one piece of lasagna left, and plenty of the rest,” Patton tells him, and Roman strides into the kitchen.

He returns after a few minutes with a lunch identical to Virgil’s, except that the heap of vegetables is taller, and he has a second, already half-eaten slice of bread in his hand. Also his jam is a different color. Roman plonks himself down in the chair diagonally adjacent to Virgil and grins at him. “Good morning,” he says cheerfully. “I see you did not flee into the night like Cinderella.”

“If I was going to turn into a pumpkin at midnight, it would have happened well before Patton came to tell us to go to bed,” Virgil points out.

“True,” Roman agrees. He turns and points his fork at Patton. “Patty Cake, if he ever turns into a pumpkin, don’t bake him into a pie,” he says.

Patton laughs. “How many times must I promise not to eat him?” he asks.

“Once more, it seems,” Virgil says. “For what it’s worth, I believed you the first time.”

Patton’s eyes twinkle. “I appreciate that.”

“Did you sleep well?” Roman asks Virgil. Virgil nods. As if he could have slept poorly, in that bed. And it was certainly nice to get to sleep in late. “Good, good. After breakfast, do you wanna watch more tv?”

Virgil laughs. “You’re insatiable,” he says.

“We left off on a cliffhanger!” Roman defends. “And I, for one, was thoroughly enjoying myself up until the point at which we were reminded of the cruel passage of time and the physical needs of our frail human bodies.”

“I was having fun too,” Virgil agrees. And, well, he doesn’t have any better plans for his afternoon off. It’ll be fun. He’ll just have to remember to actually bike home before it gets dark again.

“Excellent!” Roman says, clearly taking that as a yes, and tucks into his meal with gusto.

~~~~

Chapter 9: Come for the Bike, Stay for the Game Night - WIP

may have a brief break in my regularly scheduled chapter posting, as I've caught up to myself and am still writing chapter 9. So, we'll see if it's ready next week, but likely not.

#sanders sides #8 #nb octopus writes #polyamory #accidental polycule infiltration fic #multichapter

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kengan-daddies · 1 year

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The Boy Next Door Baki Hanma X Motherly! Older Female Reader

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4

Anime : Baki: Son of Ogre Character : Baki Hanam Warning : Mention of child abuse, child neglect, possessiveness, possessive love

The Boy Next Door Baki Hanma x Motherly! Older Female Reader

The rice cooker beeped, the smell of grilled fish hummed throughout the apartment, and the ingredients for miso soup laid out on the countertop everything was already chopped and ready, and the water was just now starting to boil. The sound of the TV playing in the background was a constant noise, the male news reporter speaking about the weather and anything else that may be of importance as of late. You sighed tiredly as you dumped the vegetables for the miso soup into the boiling water, placing the lid over it so that it could cook properly. You opened the grill on the stove, seeing the fish was just starting to brown. You closed it, looking over at the rice cooker and checking the timer.

It had a good few minutes left in it, you huffed as you walked over to the dining table, pulling a chair out you sat down, propping your chin up in your palm as you rested. 'As soon as this food is done and we eat, I'm taking my tired ass to bed.' You thought as you yawned. You looked over towards the living area, seeing Baki sitting at the small table, his back to you as he sat hunched over, papers scattered over the table as he worked on his homework. He was still in his school pants, he got comfortable, taking off his school top and folding it neatly he placed it on the couch, leaving him in his muscle shirt. You smiled at the sight, happy to see him living the life of a teen.

'He deserves to live a normal life, coming home and doing homework while mom cooks and cleans.' You thought as you watched him scratch his head in confusion and irritation at whatever he was struggling with on his homework. Your smile slightly faded as your gaze trailed along his muscular arms, seeing the scars that littered his skin. 'All those scars, all those years, trying to beat his father, gain his mother's love, to gain their affection... It's so unfair, it's so wrong.' You thought, still bitter with the bitch that was his unfortunate mother. You hated her so much, just thinking about her made your blood boil.

'That stupid bitch had the audacity to tell me, not to interfere with her son's life. "I'm his mother, so it's my job to oversee him how I see fit." ... That bitch... Poor Baki, that sad look on his face as he stared at me, the poor boy felt so bad about getting me in trouble with his mother. But he had no reason to feel bad, I would've faced his mother down a million times if it meant seeing him smile.' You thought your gaze downcast at the table surface, your other hand drew lazy circles with the pad of your pointer finger, you did it for so long till the tip of your finger felt numb. A large scared hand gently weighed on top of yours, stopping your hand. You blinked in surprise at the sudden hand, looking up you saw Baki standing behind you, a small smile on his face but worry could be seen in his eyes.

"You shouldn't do that, you'll wear down your skin." He said his hands scooping yours up in between his palms as he held your hand. "Your wrist will wither earlier with age, causing arthritis." He explained as he held your hand in one palm while the other rubbed your wrist gently. "You need to take care of your hands, Mom, you only got two, and they're beautiful." He said gently, his voice soft yet firm. "They're strong with pride, they're tough with resilience, yet they're still so soft with tenderness, still beautiful with love. Take care of your hands, Mom." He said. You stared up at him, your brain processing what he said, you looked down at his hand and you placed your other hand over his, stopping the rubbing on your wrist. "What about your hands, Baki, they're covered in scars and hard before their time."

You said, your fingers rubbing over his knuckles and the scars on his hand. He smiled. "These are the hands of a warrior who fights to protect, who fights to get stronger, who fights for others... My hands are supposed to be hard so that I can help you." He said. Your eyes softened and your rubbing stopped. "The strength, yes, the scars, no... Your hands are supposed to be still delicate yet strong, that wasn't a choice you were given." You said. Your hand tightens around his. He chuckled as he leaned down, his nose nuzzling into your hair. "It may not be, but it was a choice I chose to carry." He said. It was silent for a while, the both of you just enjoying each other's company, the sounds of the TV, the rice cooker, the water boiling, the sound of sizzling... All of that was the sound of home. This is what home was supposed to sound like.

The Boy Next Door

The house was quiet, the kitchen was clean, everyone was in their beds asleep... Except for one... Baki was up in his room, sitting on the floor deep in meditation, his ears open to everything around him. The crickets outside, the buzzing of the street lamps, the fluttering of the moth's wings, the sound of your even breaths as you slept... All these noises surrounded him, calming him. He opened his eyes and he stood up, a calming aura surrounding him. He stood there, staring at a pencil on his dresser, then in the blink of an eye he threw a sharp kick, he stood there for a moment, his eyes trained on the pencil on his dresser, watching, listening... He lowered his leg he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, the sound of wood splitting sounded out, and he exhaled. He opened his eyes, looking at the pencil that was cut clean in half from the lead to the eraser.

He walked over to it silently, staring down at it. 'Soon, soon I'll be strong enough to protect you mom... I'll keep you safe, I won't let him learn of you, and even if he does, I'll be more than ready to protect you.' He thought, a determined glare in his eyes, the thoughts of the demon back flashing across his mind. He broke from his thoughts when he heard your breathing change, he looked over at his room door, listening intensely at the sound of you leaving your bed and tiredly shuffling over to your bathroom. He looked out the window when he heard a tap, his eyes sharp and on the defensive, but he relaxed when he saw who it was.

'Ah, master... It's good to see you... Sadly, I can't let you in... Mom would freak.' He thought in amusement as he bowed his head in respect at the roach outside on his window. He stood up straight once he heard it take flight, he sighed tiredly as he walked over to his bed, he laid down in it, his arms crossed behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. 'Tomorrow, I should start moving my clothes over here... I like it here better than 'home', this is an actual 'home' and not some cheap imitation. It's real... And I intend to soak it up to the fullest.' He thought. He looked over at his room door for a moment, before he rolled over on his side, his back facing the door, his body relaxing and his breathing evening out.

His door cracked open, and you looked in seeing him in bed asleep, you smiled as you walked over towards him. 'She's coming in... Why?' He thought as he lay there. You stopped by his bed, a smile on your face as you reached out to stroke his hair. 'She's stroking me?... I mean I'm not complaining, it feels really good... Damn, that's actually a really nice thing to feel... It's real relaxing... I could...' His thoughts trailed off abruptly, as the sound of light snoring took its place, you giggled softly. You just had a feeling that he was having a hard time sleeping, this seemed to prove it. 'A woman's intuition is never wrong.' You thought.

The Boy Next Door

You were in your bathroom, doing your hair, you were already dressed, makeup already on. You were deep in concentration making sure that your hair looked nice. You nearly jumped when Baki poked his head. "OOH!! You scared me." You said as you placed your hand over your heart, you stared at him in the mirror. He smiled sheepishly at your reflection. "Sorry about that." He said. You sighed as you went back to doing your hair a small smile on your face. "Good morning, Baki." You said, he smiled. "Good morning, mom." He said. He sounded so happy, just saying those few words and it made your heart flutter. You checked over your hair one last time nodding in acceptance as you turned towards the door.

He shuffled backwards as you walked out and he followed you like a curious child. You smiled sweetly as you walked down the stairs. "Did you sleep well?" You asked him as you walked towards the kitchen, he followed close behind. "Yeah, I did actually, I slept like a baby" he said in a pleased tone, he really did. It was probably the best sleep he ever gotten actually. You chuckled as you opened the fridge getting out eggs, green onions, and sausages. "That's good, I'm glad to hear that, Baki. I want you to always try and get a good night's sleep." You said, balancing all the objects in your hands as you closed the fridge with your hip. He watched you walk over to the counter as you placed everything down.

You reached up, and pulled the square-shaped frying pan down from its hook, putting it on the stove, and turning the heat up to 8. "Baki?" You asked. He perked up. "Yeah?" He questioned. "Can you get me the oil? It's over in the pantry, top shelf on the left." You said as you washed your hands, getting out knives, forks, and bowls. He nodded his head as he walked over to the door, opening it his eyes scanned the food that was inside. It was all sorts of foods, from easy prep to homemade. Seasonings and additives, condiments, and sugary coatings. His eyes soaked in everything as he looked up, seeing the oil. 'Damn, it's right where she said it was too.' He said as he reached up, his eyes widened when he realized that he nearly had to get on his toes to reach it.

'Wait, she reaches up here every day? She must get a chair or something to help her, why placed it so high though?' He thought as he pulled the bottle down. He closed the door and stepped over to you. He watched as you cracked the eggs into a large bowl, he saw 4 yolks in the bowl and you were reaching for another. "Here you go." He said holding the bottle. You looked over your shoulder and you smiled. "Yes, you can put some in the frying pan, the eye is already on." You said as you went back to cracking eggs. He walked to the stove taking the top off before he poured enough into the pan, watching as the oil slowly coated the bottom of the skillet.

'She's making breakfast for us... Should I ask her now?... I'm not sure why I'm hesitant on asking... Why am I so nervous?... I'm just gonna ask a simple question, and hopefully, she'll say yes.' He thought. He was pulled from his thoughts when he felt your hand touch his arm, gently pushing him to the side, he stepped over looking at you in question. "You wouldn't move when I asked you to, so I just decided to push on in, sorry about that." You said with a sheepish but teasing smile. He relaxed against the counter, his elbow resting on the top as he leaned into it. "Sorry, I was just thinking." He said in a soft voice. You looked over at him, the sound of sizzling loud as you poured in some of the yolk into the frying pan.

"Thinking about what?" You asked him. He seemed nervous, his other hand picking at the underside of the counter's edge. "Would it be an issue... If I moved in?" He asked tentatively. You stared at him for a moment before you looked over at the egg, you scooped your spatula under the omelet, rolling it up carefully, you left it at the end of the fryingpan as you poured in more yolk, the sizzling growing loud once more. You looked over at him, an excited gleam in your eyes. "No, Baki... It wouldn't be an issue at all. You can start the process now if you want. I'll just call in sick and you can take the day off school to complete it." You said. His eyes lit up and a bright smile graced his face. "Really!?" He said. You nodded and chuckled at his excitement. "Yes, really!! We can start as soon as we finish breakfast." You said.

The Boy Next Door

After breakfast, you and Baki got busy right away, he didn't live far so it made going to his place easy. You both went to the nearest storage unit, you bought a few nicely sized boxes, the both of you went to his place, folded the boxes, and got to work. He didn't have a lot of things, but it was enough to fill up five boxes. Two of his boxes contained his clothes, neatly folded and organized by you. One box had shirts and pants, and the other had socks and underwear. In another box, you placed all of his school supplies at the bottom and his hygienic products on top in a grocery bag. In the fourth box, you had somehow squeezed in a folded blanket, and his pillows, and even placed his shoes in a nice bag in the same box. In the fifth box, you placed all his dog's stuff in it. Dog food, bowls, leash, and bed.

He looked at all the boxes in wonder and amazement. "Wow... She was able to squeeze everything in, nice and neat... and even kept it clean and reasonable... I guess, this is what they call 'A Mother's Touch.' ... The ability to make the impossible possible." He mumbled to himself as he looked at the boxes, he looked up at you when he heard you sigh tiredly. Your back facing him as you whipped your arm over your forehead. Before you both left your home to come to his, you took off your makeup and put on a casual outfit. A large baggy shirt and some comfortable sweats. "Woo!! Finally done." You said tiredly, you looked down at the box with the dog things in it. You bent down to pick it up, but Baki's hand on your shoulder stopped you. You looked back at him in question.

"You can rest, I'll take it from here." He said. You stared at him in wonder as he gently pushed you aside, he picked up the box, placed it on another box, and then he picked those two boxes up and placed them on another box. He did that till all five boxes were stacked and then he picked them up with a little grunt. "Alright... I'm all packed." He said, a happy gleam in his eyes as he stared down at you happily. You chuckled and you shook your head putting all your weight on one leg and one hand on your hip. "You're something different Baki, you really are." You said fondly. He giggled boyishly. You turned away from him, rubbing his dog's head gently before you continued on to the doors. "Well come on then, we gotta get you settled in." You said as you slipped your shoes on, and slid the door open. He followed suit his dog not far behind. Once outside, he looked back at the place he once called home.

'For 7 years, I lived here for about 7 years... so many things happened while I lived here... both good and bad... it's been one hell of an adventure... and now, it's nothing more but a place to train at... maybe I'll turn it into a personal gym... I mean, I might as well... It'll be like a man cave in a way... Yeah, a man cave.' He thought as he stared at the building, the sound of you walking away caught his attention and he followed after you. He, his dog, and his mom all walked to their new home and life. A happy smile on his face, a pep in his step as he walked, his hair bounced and his eyes gleamed. 'When was the last time I was this happy?... When I met Kouze?... When I kissed her?... When I fight a new strong opponent?... When I win?...No... It was about 5 years ago now... when my mother died... I was sad but I was also happy... Happy that she was free from her torment, happy that he was free from her constant abuse and neglect... he felt relief for both him and for her... It sounded wrong but it also felt so right... That was the last time, I felt this happy.' He thought.

As he followed after you, your home... No... Their home could be seen ahead of them. 'Home... with a family... My dog, my mom, my own room, my own bed... it feels different now... I've always had my own, but it was my home... Now it's under someone else's roof, but it was still mine... it's so different, it's so domestic... I love it.' He thought as he followed you inside, he kicked his shoes off before he went in further, placing the boxes down on the floor. You smiled as you patted his back gently, the dog went to the couch and he flopped down with a yawn. You both looked at him for a while. "Well, glad to know you're already settled in." Baki said, you chuckled at his silliness as you walked past him and into the kitchen. "I'll fix you a snack, until then get your things settled in, the dog things can go on the balcony." You said pulling down a plate and a cup. He nodded his head as he picked up the first box, and he placed it next to the balcony door.

'I'll get his stuff settled in once I'm done with my own things.' He thought as he picked up the other four boxes before he walked upstairs with them.

The Boy Next Door

Baki flopped back on his back, his hair falling back from his face and forehead, a relaxed and pleased look on his face as he stared up at the ceiling. His room was finally officially his room... He's slept in this room many times throughout his younger teen years, finding refuge in your home, his make-believe life with you. Many times he's passed up on his training to spend many days with you. You were his ideal mother, his ideal home... You were his escape from reality. He'd leave his training behind for some time, never coming to his assigned weight training his mother gave him, never going home to that half-ass excuse of a home that his mother gave him. He'd seemingly vanish for days then he'd just reappear like nothing, expecting a lashing from his mother but he'd never care. He'd skip out on training, he'd miss out on getting stronger, just to be with you.

Just to get your affection, your hugs, your kisses, your comfort, your love. Everything he wanted his mother to give him, you would spoil him with. He grew reliant on you, he'd run to come see you after a training session, and he'd hug you, his head buried in your breasts, listening to your heartbeat, your arms wrapped around him tightly, fingers combing this hair gently. He'd lay there for hours in your arms, even falling asleep sometimes, he'd wake up on the couch, the smell of food wafting into his nose, seeing you in the kitchen, cooking up a meal for you both. You'd just happen to look around, seeing him up on the couch and you flash him your beautiful smile. 'I love that smile... It's so full of love, understanding, and acceptance. I love that smile, so much.' He thought, inhaling through his nostrils as he closed his eyes, relaxing on the mattress. 'I don't think... I'd never fall out of love with that woman... The woman who took the place and love of my birth mother... I love her so much.' He thought his eyes opening, a possessive gleam in his eyes.

"I love my mother... And I won't let anything happen to her... I'd kill anyone who'd even try and separate us... No matter who they are." He said.

#baki son of ogre #baki the grappler #baki #baki hanma #baki x reader #baki x y/n #baki son ogre x y/n #baki son of ogre x reader #baki son of ogre baki #baki the grappler baki #baki hanma baki

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madlori · 29 days

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Casserole LeMewl

Do you like comfort food? Are you craving something hot and soft and flavorful? Are you in a Tim Walz-inspired Hot Dish Era? HAVE I GOT THE HOT DISH FOR YOU. Yes, it's out of "Taste of Home." Yes it's probably made up by someone named Sharon from Stevens Point, Wisconsin or some place like that.

It's really called something like "sausage rice bake" or whatever but a buddy of mine dubbed it Casserole LeMewl (I do not know what this means) for some reason and it stuck. It's easy to assemble and packed full of chickeny, sausagey goodness. I make it like once a year.

Ingredients:

2 lbs bulk pork sausage (like the Bob Evans kind, or store brand)

4.5 cups water

2 packets Mrs. Grass instant chicken noodle soup mix or similar (the kind that comes in a box or an envelope)

1 large green bell pepper, diced

1 white onion, diced

4-6 ribs celery (I like a lot of celery so I just use however much I have), diced

1 cup rice (long grain white is fine)

1 can cream of chicken soup (did you think we were gonna get through this recipe without a can of cream soup? think again.)

Preheat to 350. Prep a 9x13 glass dish (I just spray it with a bit of Pam to prevent sticking)

Cook the sausage in a pot with the diced onions/peppers/celery.

Meanwhile, heat the 4.5 cups water in a saucepan and add both packets of soup. Heat to boiling then turn it down.

You will NOT need to salt this. There's plenty salt in the soups and the sausage. Normally I'd salt and pepper onions when cooking them and you can but it's not necessary.

Drain the sausage/veg mixture well. Spread it in the baking dish.

Add the cream of chicken to the noodle soup (check if the noodles are soft - they don't take long). Combine till smooth. Add in the rice.

Now pour this whole mess over the sausage in the dish. Yes, the rice will still be uncooked. It's gonna cook during baking. It will be watery. Mix it around to get the rice evenly distributed and the noodles mixed into the sausage.

cover and bake for an hour. I uncover it about 20 minutes to the end to get some browning on the top. You can cover it with breadcrumbs or whatever but I never do.

Enjoy!

#cooking #casserole #lori in the kitchen #hot dish

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teshadraws · 7 months

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Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Seekers of Soul

[Chapter 53]

<< First | < Previous | Next >

After a tense conversation in the cafeteria, Nia and Tobias make plans with Team Evergreen for a team-up mission.

Conversation bubbles up naturally between Team Scarlet and Team Shellshock as they head down the Lexym Tree in search of food. Nia is delighted when Tobias even joins the conversation of his own volition, bantering with Xander about nearly taking him down with dragon rage during their joint training session. When the group stops by the nursery to grab Xander’s siblings to join them, the shinx cubs tackle first Xander and then Tobias with shrieks of excitement, rubbing their faces against the two with loud purrs.

On the cafeteria floor, Xander’s team splits off to the far end of the room to join the other food line, calling that they’ll grab a table. Nia and Tobias enter the closer line, picking up trays and stepping into the queue behind a weasel-like Pokemon balancing on two paws. Her long fur is tan with streaks of darker brown, and her blue eyes are sharp. The Pokemon scowls at Nia as she gets into line, muzzle twitching, before looking forward again.

Nia tries not to let the brief look bother her, but lowers her voice as Tobias plots how to beat Kry the next time the two of them spar. As the two of them chat, the line slowly moves, Nia holding out her tray to accept food from the grass type behind the counter. She hasn’t noticed the fiery chicken Pokemon working as a chef since the first time she ate here. Maybe they were just working here temporarily? Tobias is still the only fire type she sees regularly around the Haven.

The humanoid Pokemon behind the counter today has olives in her hair (or maybe they are her hair?), and plops two large spoonfuls of something onto Nia’s tray. Usually, Nia doesn’t even question the guild’s meals anymore since the cooking is always delicious, but the food today throws her. Rice, paired with what looks like veggies or berries in an orange-brown sauce.

“Is this…curry?” Nia whispers, just loud enough for Tobias to hear. She pulls her tray closer to eye it. The rich smell of the sauce makes her mouth water.

Tobias squints at his own serving, then shrugs. “Dunno. Smells good.”

Nia hums, fascinated, and shuffles sideways to keep up with the line. “Any idea what it’s made of? The smell kind of reminds me of—"

She’s so distracted that she bumps into the weasel Pokemon in front of her.

Before she can apologize, the weasel bares her teeth in a snarl. “Watch it!”

Nia jumps back a step, startled by the animosity in the other Pokemon’s voice. “S-Sorry! Sorry. I didn’t mean to bump into you. I wasn’t paying attention—”

“Clearly!”

“Sorry! I was just, um. I’ll be sure to look out better in the future so I don’t bump into anyone. I mean, I wasn’t trying to right now, of course, but—"

“Just watch where you’re walking, human.”

Human. While Nia is long since used to eager Pokemon running up to ask if she really used to be human, this feels…different. This feels like Ghatha. Like Fort Asra. Maybe there’s a reason why this Pokemon seemed to drop into a foul mood as soon as Nia stepped into line.

“Lay off,” Tobias says, tuning into the conversation. “She already apologized.”

“I wasn’t talking to you, wisp!”

There’s a notable drop in volume from the voices around them.

…Wisp?

Tobias’ expression darkens further. “Oh, so it’s gonna be like that. You really want—"

“I-I’ll be more careful!” Nia cuts in, ready for this conversation to be over. “I’m really sorry again.”

“Stop apologizing!” Tobias hisses. “You didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Her being here is wrong,” the weasel snaps. “And if you’re really sorry you’ll go back where you came from and leave us alone.”

Nia takes another panicked step back, nearly toppling both her and Tobias.

“That’s it,” Tobias says, a bit louder. He shoves his tray towards Nia. “Nia, hold my tray.”

“What?! No!”

She doesn’t want this to escalate. Already Nia can hear the quiet murmurs around them growing louder, can feel a tension building in the air as the weasel’s striped fur spikes. So Nia panics and backs out of line, pulling Tobias with her despite his protests. They’re only missing dessert, anyways.

Even if that is her favorite.

The weasel snorts something that sounds suspiciously like coward before continuing forward in line like nothing happened. Nia's eyes stay glued to the weasel’s back as she moves away. Her heart beats loud and nervous in her ears.

She…wasn’t ready for that. Wasn’t ready to for that kind of hostility in the guild. Sure, it was from someone who clearly wanted a fight, but still. The weasel had decided that Nia being human was enough to make her a target. That because she's human, she's allowed to be a target.

Nia thought it was safe here.

They've ran into scared Pokemon taking their fear out on humans a couple of times now, namely in Ghatha and Asra. But not here, where everyone has been neutral towards her humanity at worst. She heard August, she knows the sentiment has been spreading, but…

It isn’t even our fault, Nia thinks, hollowly. Now that she’s talked to Giratina, now that she knows it isn’t anything the humans have done, knows that their displacement is just an unfortunate side-effect of the dimension’s borders breaking down, the accusations hurt even more. They aren’t doing anything wrong. They’re just existing. Trying to fit in and find somewhere to belong until they can go home.

Nia sniffs, blinking back tears. Her throat is tight. She stares down at her tray and the cooling curry. She isn’t so hungry anymore.

Tobias, who had been grumbling insults at the weasel’s back, turns to Nia. “C’mon, you can’t take anything that idiot says to heart. She was a jerk to both of us so she probably walks around everywhere with that terrible attitude.”

That does remind Nia of a beat in the conversation that had confused her more than it had upset her.

She frowns at Tobias. “You mean when she called you…wisp? Is that bad?”

Tobias' expression twists. “Maybe don’t say that too loud. It doesn’t bother me anymore, but it’s, uh…kind of an insult for fire types. Like…saying that we’re so weak our fire got snuffed out.”

Nia’s eyes widen. “That’s horrible! B-But Azami calls you Spitfire. And Andyn calls you flame-brain and stuff—are those..?”

Tobias snorts a laugh and shakes his head. “Nah, those are fine.”

Nia knows she looks as unsure as she feels. Tobias elaborates.

“Seriously, Nia. You’d know if they were actually insulting me. It’s more…playful than that, I guess? They poke at me being a fire type, sure, but they aren’t really implying anything…bad with it.”

“Flame-brain doesn’t sound very nice.”

“Neither does ‘kindling,’ but Arceus themself will not stop me from calling your stupid deerling friend that. It’s not any worse than us just calling each other dummy. Wisp just has…a different tone to it.”

Nia slowly nods, brow knitting. So it’s something about the social context that makes it different. Makes one worse than the others. She supposes human slang is equally confusing, if she really thinks about it.

“C’mon,” Tobias says with a jerk of his head. “We still need to eat.”

Nia takes a breath and nods. Not like they can do much about the weasel right now anyways. They could go tell Maggie or August, she supposes, and August did say long ago to let him know if anyone gave her trouble, but…

“Should we tell August about this?” Nia asks.

Tobias shakes his head immediately. “No. August means well, but all that would do is make that linoone angrier. Much as I’d love to set her stupid pelt on fire, we don’t need to be dealing with a fight on top of everything else.”

“But he could tell her to stop, right?”

“Trust me. When I was younger, telling only made them get better at doing stuff like this quietly.”

And isn’t that a loaded statement. Nia stares at Tobias for a moment, suddenly far more upset about how easily he brushes off any insults thrown his way. It speaks of practice.

She thinks of his aura earlier, of how desperately he wanted to hide it away from her, afraid she would hate him. Does he even realize how much his isolation from the rest of the guild these past eight years has affected how he sees himself?

Tobias raises a brow at her, so Nia gives a weak smile and gestures for him to lead the way. She’d been so excited to come down here to eat with everyone, and now it feels like her heart is hanging heavy in her chest. But they might as well join their friends.

Tobias takes the lead and Nia trails after the charmander to the table, where Xander’s team and the shinx kids are already sitting with their food, talking as they eat. Tobias moves around the table to sit by Laine, giving the cub a noogie as he sits that makes her shriek and duck away.

Nia heads for the empty spot on the closer side, next to Felix. The wartortle is seated oddly on the wooden bench, one short leg thrown over it so he’s perched sideways as if he’d been about to get up. He meets Nia’s gaze as she approaches, his usual jovial expression subdued.

Felix leans closer as she sits, brow furrowed. “You all right?”

Nia blinks, surprised. Is it that obvious that she’s still upset?

“Heard what happened in line,” Felix whispers. His fluffy ears wiggle. “These aren’t just for show. So. You okay?”

The concern make Nia smile a bit more genuinely, some of the tightness wound up in her gut loosening. There may be rude people even here in the guild, but at least there are also sweethearts like Felix.

“I’m all right,” she murmurs. “Thanks for checking in. It just…caught me off-guard, you know? I’m used to the guild being a place I don’t need to worry about that. It’s getting worse, I guess.”

Felix returns her smile, though there’s a crook to his brow that belies his lingering worry. “Well, let us know if anyone starts giving you trouble. Xander and I would be happy to put them in their place—" He winks. “—and I have a feeling we could do it a bit more subtly than your partner.”

Nia laughs and nods. Felix turns back to his food, but Nia sees him send Tobias a covert look, as if to check on the charmander while knowing he wouldn’t want to be fussed over. Nia smiles, warmed by the concern, as she starts picking at her meal—the curry is good, even if it takes her a moment to get used to the soft texture.

Soon enough, both Nia and Tobias are swept into the conversation at the table. Kry is slamming a fist against the wood, the fraxure arguing that yache berries are objectively better than nanab berries, and Avery is fighting an uphill battle against her. The kirlia offers up well-worded reasoning for why nanab berries are superior, but Kry shoots down each argument with counterpoints of, “But they’re pink!” and “They taste like rotten river water!”

Avery stops pointing out that those are subjective opinions after the fourth rebuttal, changing strategies instead to point out the physical benefits of each berry. Xander gives Kry a scolding look (that she promptly ignores) after the third table-rattling slam of her fist, and the shinx cubs laugh and laugh as Felix jumps in to suggest mago berries are actually the best choice, making both Avery and Kry turn to him with offended expressions.

Throughout the lively debate, Nia glances at Tobias to try checking in on him. He seems all right, although Nia can’t help noticing that he isn’t using his flames to cook his berries like he sometimes does. Maybe he just isn’t feeling like cooked berries today, or maybe that Pokemon’s comment got to him more than he wanted to admit.

Eventually, Felix moves the conversation on to regaling both the shinx kids and Nia and Tobias with the daring tale of Team Shellshock’s latest dungeon crawl. Nia has a feeling a few embellishments were made to make their team sound extra cool—Xander rolling his eyes and Kry’s snort all but confirm it—but she enjoys it all the same.

“I wish we could go exploring already,” Laine sighs when the story is done.

“We’ll be a team soon too!” Luca says, little paws on the table so he can stand up in his seat. “Me ‘n you, Lainey!”

“Oh? What about Leor?” Avery asks.

As all eyes turn to the shyest shinx cub, Leor squeaks and huddles down on the bench, wide gold eyes peering over the table.

“He’s gonna be a medic,” Luca says, chin tilted proudly.

“Like Fen!” Laine adds.

Xander looks as surprised about this news as Nia is, leaning down to meet his younger brother's eyes. “This true?”

Leor looks nervous, but glances over at Tobias before giving the barest nod.

Xander grins, one giant paw squeezing the cub closer. “That’s great, Lee! You would be a fantastic medic.”

“Really?” Leor asks, looking unsure.

“Of course! You three can do whatever you set your minds to. And I’m not just saying that because I’m your brother.”

Luca and Laine cheer while Leor leans into Xander’s side. The luxio purrs and nuzzles the top of his little brother’s head.

It’s a sweet moment, but Nia can see the instant Leor’s eyes crack open and he registers most of the table watching the exchange. He squeaks and wriggles free of Xander’s hold. Xander laughs and lets him go, and the cub almost tumbles himself right off the bench.

“Leor’s gonna train under Fen, and Laine and I are gonna make a Seekers team together!” Luca says, little tail lashing. “Team Thunderspark! And we’re gonna be stronger than any other team!”

“Even ours?” Felix goads, grinning.

“Duh!” Laine says. “You’re a water type! You won’t stand a chance!”

Felix laughs, then tilts his head towards Kry. “True, but our team’s also got the meanest ‘mon this side of the continent.”

Kry looks torn between taking that as a compliment and an insult, and eventually just flicks a piece of rice at the wartortle as punishment.

“You’re going to be great Seekers,” Xander agrees, popping a berry into his mouth. “When you’re old enough.”

Laine and Luca whine in unison, the latter plopping his chin down onto his tray.

“Do we have to wait that long? We’re already strong!” Laine protests.

“Yeah! We should be able to make our own decisions by now,” Luca grumbles, batting a berry around his tray.

“Those are the rules,” Xander says, giving them both a stern look. “It’s only a few more years. If you two can stay out of trouble and stop tormenting poor Arlo, that is.”

The kids groan again, and Nia bites back a smile as she chews. Xander is sweet with his siblings. Sometimes he acts more like a father to them than a brother, but Nia supposes that’s to be expected, between how they were brought here and raised in the nursery their whole lives, plus Xander’s protective nature. It reminds her of her own brother, in a bittersweet way.

Nia feels lighter by the time they finish eating and part ways with Xander’s team. Both Avery and Xander give her a hug before leaving, and Felix offers a fist bump and an easy grin. Kry lightly smacks Nia’s legs with her tail as she passes, and outright punches Tobias in the arm. He glares at her back, but Nia thinks the exchange is a friendly one, somehow.

After the stressful morning talking to Maggie and August, aura training with Val, and the moment in the cafeteria—not to mention the exhaustion still present from their journey—Nia is ready for a nap when they finally make it back to their room. Tobias starts unpacking their bag and taking inventory of their items, so Nia forces herself to write back to Hazel before crashing. She thanks the raichu for the offered discount on a human bed, but explains that they’re pretty busy right now and need to save on money. She’ll absolutely be buying one in the future, though! She also mentions meeting up with Beck and asks her to tell the floatzel and his crew hi.

By the time Nia is finished, her letter sealed up and placed back into the mailbox with the flag up, she's practically asleep on her feet. Tobias has moved over to the window, leafy curtain pulled high to let fresh air and sunlight flood the room. He’s propped against the wall and framed by blue sky, guitar in hand as he starts plucking at scales.

Nia yawns. “I’m gonna take a nap.”

Tobias spares her a glance. “I’ll wake you for supper.”

Nia hums her thanks and moves to their nests to flop down, wiggling to get comfortable on the bed of moss and straw. It’s soft enough, not scratchy at all with her fur as a barrier, and her muscles relax.

Quiet falls over the room, save for Tobias’ playing and the whistle of the wind. A gust blows directly through the window and skims over Nia’s side, making her skin prickle with goosebumps. It’s a little chilly, with fall in full swing and winter fast approaching. Over the past few weeks, even sleeping outside hasn’t been a problem, but…well. Usually Tobias is sleeping at her side, and he gives off heat like a little campfire.

Whining, Nia picks up her head and looks at Tobias, squinting against the bright light of the window. Normally she would be more hesitant about being so needy, but she’s tired and she’s cold so she pushes herself to her feet and stumbles over to him, rubbing her arms. It’s even chillier by the window with the wind wrapping around her.

Tobias stops his playing, looking up.

Nia shifts on her feet. Her brain is mushy with fatigue and tantalizing snatches of sleep. All she manages to say is, “Cold.”

Tobias snorts. He glances at the window. “Want me to close the curtain?”

He doesn’t sound upset about the prospect, but Nia can guess that he likes the chill of the breeze combined with the heat of the sun. His orange scales glow in the light, like embers. Even with her fur, Nia just isn’t built to stay warm like a fire type is.

Nia’s mouth presses into a line. “Can I just sleep by you?”

Tobias blinks, and a flush rises to his cheeks. They usually sleep next to each other nowadays, and Nia hasn’t made it a secret that she enjoys the warmth he puts off, but she admittedly doesn’t usually…ask. Out loud. Somehow putting it into words does make it sound more embarrassing.

But she’s tired, dang it!

After a moment, Tobias wordlessly flicks his tail over to make room. Nia doesn’t let herself hesitate before sinking into the empty spot, curling heavily into his side. Immediately, heat seeps into her fur to warm her up.

“Sure, just make yourself comfy,” Tobias grumbles, no bite to his voice even as she accidentally elbows him in the ribs.

Finally, she settles, melted against his side with a happy hum. It’s like falling asleep cuddling a heater. Even lying closer to the window, she’s immediately warmer.

“Why don’t you guys use blankets?” She mumbles. “We had blankets in Asra. I miss blankets.”

Tobias snorts. “We do use blankets. We just keep them in storage until the end of fall when they’re actually needed.”

Nia picks up her head to give Tobias a despairing look. “I could’ve had blankets this whole time?!”

Tobias visibly bites back a smile. Jerk. “We’ll get you a blanket later if you’re that upset about it, you big baby. I didn’t realize it was a problem.”

“Stupid warm fire types,” Nia gripes, flopping back against Tobias. She’s absolutely getting herself a blanket. For now, Tobias’ heat will suffice.

Slowly, sleep washes over her brain like bathwater, soothing and inviting. Before she slips under completely, she hears Tobias start playing his guitar again, shifting his posture just enough to accommodate her. The cords he picks at are slow and gentle.

She’s asleep in seconds.

She feels like she’s only been asleep for seconds when the door to their room slams open with a bang. A harsh note from the guitar follows, as well as a yell of, “Nia!”

Nia bolts up. She blinks away the haze of sleep, cringing at the late-afternoon sunlight painting their room in bright tones and deep shadows. She must’ve been asleep longer than she thought.

“Ever hear of knocking?” Tobias hisses.

Nia rubs at her eyes, following his voice to look at the doorway, where Andyn, Ezra and Jaz are frozen in the middle of what looks like a grand entrance. The sneasel and stufful seem remorseful despite their comically stiff poses. The deerling, on the other hand, seems strangely flustered, gaze flicking from Nia to Tobias.

“Sorry,” Jaz finally says. “Are we, uh…interrupting?”

“Nia was asleep, you idiots,” Tobias says, sitting back and clutching his guitar close.

Nia yawns. “‘S okay. I shouldn’t nap too long or I won’t sleep tonight.”

The trio that makes up team Evergreen still seem oddly hesitant to enter the room. Nia laughs at the shy behavior and waves them in.

Finally, slowly, they do, sitting down in front of the window as well and getting comfortable.

Ezra’s ruby eyes land on Tobias’ guitar and stay there, going wide. “Whoa, you play guitar?!”

“No,” Tobias lies, removing the instrument from his lap and tucking it behind himself.

“Aw, c’mon!”

“I think it’s great to have a hobby outside of Seeker duties,” Jaz says, meeting Tobias’ sour expression with a smile.

Andyn just looks weirded out, although Nia can’t tell if it’s from the idea of Tobias playing an instrument or something to do with how she keeps looking suspiciously between Nia and Tobias.

Tobias crosses his arms. “What do you want?”

Ezra and Jaz turn to Andyn. The deerling jolts. With a stomp of her delicate hoof, she says, “Right! Since someone didn’t even bother to tell us she was back—honestly, Nia, I had to find out from Kry of all ‘mon—we decided we’d come see you instead!”

“We haven’t even been back a day,” Tobias huffs.

Nia shrugs with an apologetic smile. “I figured you'd still be on a mission."

Andyn narrows her eyes, then lifts her nose into the air with a dainty hmph. “Fine. You’re forgiven.”

“Forgiven?” Tobias says, annoyed. “For what? Not checking in? You’re not our mom.”

Andyn gives him an acidic look. “That attitude is why Nia is forgiven and you are not.”

“You have to be trying to pick a fight. Is Kry kicking your tail on the daily not enough for you, you masochistic little—"

Nia claps her hands together with a single sharp sound. “No fighting until I’m awake enough to deal with it!”

Her voice is firm, but she’s more amused than irritated now that she knows Tobias enjoys the bickering on some level. Andyn has to enjoy it too, considering how often she instigates.

“We didn’t come here for Andyn to pick a fight, believe it or not,” Jaz sighs.

“We wanted to see you as soon as you got back!” Ezra adds. “I feel like you two travel a lot more than most low-level Seekers.”

There’s a question in that sentence, subtle enough to decide whether they want to answer it or not. And for a moment, Nia wants to share everything, just like she wanted to with Xander and Avery in the training hall. It would take some weight off her shoulders, to be able to vent about it. To get her friends’ reassurances.

But those same fears hold Nia back. She doesn’t want to be the reason these three lose that playful spark of adventure they bring to every room they enter. She doesn’t want them to feel weighed down as heavily as she does every time she recalls Giratina’s words.

So Nia just smiles and says, “I-I like getting to see more of the Pokemon world, that's all. You know, since I’m not very familiar with it.”

Which isn’t strictly untrue, but the words still leave a bitter taste in her mouth.

“Are you planning on heading out again soon?” Jaz asks, either not catching onto the half-truth or choosing not to call her out.

Andyn sticks her lip out in a pout and drops her ears, giving Nia the most pitiful baby deer expression possible. Oh no. She’s like Bambi but even sadder. How can you be sadder than Bambi?

“We are,” Tobias says, totally unaffected by the face. “We plan to stick around for a few days and do some missions. Then we’re heading back east.”

Andyn’s pout drops for a genuinely worried expression. “Ghatha again?”

Ezra shifts uncomfortably. “Didn’t you two get caught up in that fire last time you were there?”

“Not Ghatha,” Nia says. “We’re going to find Will. The yamask I told you about? We’re hoping he can help us with something. Um. Human stuff.”

Andyn’s gaze slides to Tobias, as if expecting him to protest. He’s too busy glancing over his shoulder to notice, probably debating whether or not to get his guitar back out even with their current company. Nia knows he’s been trying to get comfortable with the basics again and he hates leaving things unfinished.

“Safe travels,” Jaz finally says. “Especially over the sea. The winds have been rough lately.”

“What hasn’t been rough lately?” Andyn groans. “The world’s unhappy and she’s letting us know it.”

Nia swallows against the lump in her throat. “We'll be careful. But enough about us! What’s going on with you three? What have you been up to?”

Ezra sighs. “We've been even busier than usual. Since more and more disasters and dungeons are popping up, it feels like we're constantly on the go.”

Nia gives the sneasel a sympathetic look.

“We’re racking up Seeker points, though,” Ezra adds with a grin. “And cash.”

“We would have more than enough points to reach C-rank if we could just get another team mission finished,” Jaz says, her dark little eyes trained on Andyn.

The deerling looks away, frowning.

“Oh!” Ezra sits up, feathery red ear flicking. “Right! Remember what we talked about last time you were home? While you’re around, you guys should do a team-up mission with us! I know you’re only E-Rank, but you still need both of your team-ups, right?”

“D-Rank, actually,” Tobias corrects, smug.

“What?!” Andyn’s jaw drops, outraged. “You’re already D-rank? How?!”

“Got an upgrade from the second-in-command in Ghatha,” Tobias says, clearly enjoying every second of this exchange. “For helping in the fire.”

Andyn glares at him, looking like she wants to snap something rude. Then her gaze flicks to Nia and she backs down, huffing.

“Well, congratulations then,” Jaz says, giving her teammate an amused glance. “That’s impressive, considering how recently you formed your team.”

“This means you definitely need to do a team-up with us!” Ezra says, leaning forward. “Since we’re the same rank now we don’t need to worry about trying to find a mission ranked somewhere in the middle!”

“We do need to do our team-up missions at some point,” Tobias grumbles, clearly reluctant. “Cordelia wasn’t impressed by our rank and most other ‘mon won’t be either. We need to keep rising so we don’t get turned away from anything important.”

“Awesome!” Ezra says. “We could—"

“I didn’t say we’d do it with you,” Tobias growls.

“Yeah, Ez,” Andyn agrees. “I mean…technically they’re D-rank but they’re still pretty new, so—"

Uh-oh.

Tobias straightens up at Nia’s side. “You think we can’t keep up with you?”

Andyn scoffs. “I didn’t say that, but if you’re thinking it—"

“You didn’t say it but you sure meant it—"

“Stop,” Nia and Jaz say at the same time, exasperated. Tobias and Andyn shut their mouths.

“Are you really worried we won’t be able to carry our weight?” Nia asks, a little hurt. “I know we’re new, but we are still the same rank as you guys.”

Not to mention Nia and Tobias been through a lot more than most other Seekers their rank. At least from what Tobias has said.

Ezra and Jaz look to Andyn, clearly the one taking issue with the idea. The deerling winces, posture uncharacteristically small.

“It’s not…I do want you there, but it’s just…”

Ezra speaks up. “Andyn’s parents are a bit, uh…tough on her. High expectations. If we ever mess up a mission, then…”

All three members of Team Evergreen shudder.

Nia blinks at them, surprised. “Your…parents?” Honestly, Nia had never given them any thought before.

Andyn nods, looking miserable but trying to hide it. “Yeah. They’re great, really! Just, um. They’re really high-rank Seekers so they kind of expect me to uphold their legacy, you know?”

“Who are your parents?” Tobias asks, brow furrowed. “I’ve been here eight years and I don’t think I’ve ever seen them.”

“You have,” Andyn sighs. “Just…not often. And probably not, um. With me. They’re both sawsbuck so they kind of blend in with all the grass types. They’re Team Sequoia.”

The name doesn’t ring any bells for Nia, but Tobias’ brows lift. He almost looks impressed.

“Yeah,” Ezra laughs. “Big prints to fill. They’re pretty strict, too, so we have to make sure we do our missions well or Andyn gets an earful. Sometimes all of us get it.”

Andyn shoots Ezra a look that clearly says to shut up, so he does.

“That…seems like a lot of pressure,” Nia murmurs, doubly glad now that she didn’t tell Andyn anything about Giratina or the dying world. The deerling clearly doesn’t need more things to worry about.

Andyn suddenly seems to register the gloomy atmosphere and Nia’s concerned expression, because she sits up with a strained laugh. “Sure, but it’s really cool, too! Everyone knows my mom and dad since they’re such amazing Seekers.”

Nia frowns.

“But since they’re so great and they expect me to be great too,” Andyn adds. “That means you two have to keep up with us if you’re going to join us on a mission. Got it?”

Nia wants to push, but Andyn is clearly trying to move the conversation along, so eventually she just nods. Tobias rolls his eyes and finally pulls the guitar out to settle in his lap again, but he doesn’t argue. He refuses to look up from his tuning as he asks, “What kind of things do you even do for a team-up mission?”

“Pretty much anything,” Jaz answers. “At least for D to C rank. It can be dungeon work, cleanup, construction, escort missions, foraging, even guild tasks. As long as both teams do the mission together, it counts.”

Tobias gives her a doubtful look. “That seems...”

“Too easy?” Ezra laughs. “That’s what I said. But I guess they save combat missions as a team-up requirement for B to A rank. This is just getting teams used to working with other ‘mon they usually don’t.”

“That makes sense,” Nia says, purposefully not looking at Tobias as he starts plucking at the guitar strings in a scale. Ezra didn’t get the memo and is watching Tobias’ hands like a transfixed cat, his claws twitching like he wants to try it too. “What kind of mission should we do, then?”

“Easier missions would be, well. Easier. But my parents wouldn’t be impressed.”

Something about that sentiment rubs Nia the wrong way, but she doesn’t interrupt as Andyn goes on.

“And a dungeon would look good but that’s a bit of a risk if we aren’t already familiar with each other’s fighting styles. I don’t trust flame-brain here not to char me to a crisp.”

Tobias stops playing long enough to shoot Andyn a glare.

“So something in the middle,” Nia surmises.

“I guess that would work,” Andyn hedges.

“One average mission will be fine, Anne,” Jaz says. “We don’t need to take on the most difficult mission on the board every single day. Even with your parents.”

Andyn visibly stops herself from retorting, probably with something sharp. She sighs. “Fine. Just don’t be late! Meet us at the job boards at dawn, okay?”

Nia snorts. “I wish I could make Tobias sleep in past dawn. He’s a morning person.”

Ezra’s face screws up. “Gross. So is Andyn. Must be a grass and fire-type thing.”

Andyn and Tobias look disgruntled about being on the same side of something for once. Nia laughs.

With their plan in place, Team Evergreen heads out soon after for an early supper. Nia, now wide awake but not yet hungry enough to eat, turns to Tobias with her best puppy dog eyes.

“What?”

“Blankets?” She says, hopeful.

Tobias seems unimpressed by her pleading expression, but after a moment he sighs and puts his guitar aside to get up. “Fine, fine. Come on. We’ll have to go down to storage to pick ‘em up.”

Nia cheers and hurries to follow him out of the room. They're only halfway down the hall when a thought occurs to her, and she steps up to his side to better see his face.

“Hey, storage is on a lower floor, right? Could we stop stop by the archives on the way back? I bet they have some music books you could check out."

Tobias has been figuring out the basics of his guitar-playing pretty quickly, and she can only imagine he'll want to move on to more actual melodies soon. He just looks so content when he plays that she can't help wanting to encourage the renewed hobby, even with the world teetering on the brink of destruction. Maybe especially because of that. She wants to make sure he takes the time to check out some books before they have to leave again.

Tobias looks thoughtful at the suggestion. Hesitant, but definitely interested. "We could.”

Nia beams.

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

That night, Nia wakes to the ground rumbling beneath her.

For a split-second, she thinks she’s back in Asra, the desert town cracking like broken porcelain beneath her and bringing buildings down with it. She scrambles to free herself from the net of her blanket. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Tobias doing the same from the wild movement of his tail flame.

But no—the sliver of moonlight peeking out from the bottom of the curtain isn’t right. The room smells of forest instead of dusty desert. The sound is different, too—a distant rumble, a loud creaking, muted cries of alarm from next door that are higher than Granite and Takeo’s voices.

It takes Nia a few seconds while her brain rattles around inside her skull to realize that they’re at the guild, in the Lexym Tree. It takes a beat longer for her to register that the slowing vibrations are, however, still an earthquake.

Slowly, so slowly it’s hard to tell if it has actually stopped, the earthquake stills. Nia, heart racing, looks wide-eyed at Tobias. The charmander stares back in the dim light of his tail, brow furrowed and expression cautious.

“You okay?” He whispers.

She nods. “You?”

“Yeah.”

Voices start up, quietly, in the hall. Wordlessly, Nia and Tobias stumble to unsteady feet and poke their heads out the door.

Many of the Seekers who live on the floor are standing in the hallway, talking to one another. Some have shaken expressions, while others just look quietly concerned. Nia picks out a few sentences amidst the babble.

“—earthquakes now. I thought the winds were bad enough. How—"

“Do you think there’ll be any aftershocks? What if some ‘mon were down in the tunnels? I don’t—”

“—I’ll be all right. Just scared me, mostly. Terran bumped his head but—"

“What if they get worse? I can’t—"

Nia tunes out the conversations then, everyone else’s nerves and uncertainty only piling onto her own. It looks like in this hall at least there weren’t any serious injuries, but what about everywhere else?

“What should we do?” Nia whispers to Tobias. “Seekers…help, right? Are we supposed to go check on everyone?”

“I don’t know,” Tobias admits. “Nothing like this has happened at the guild before. At least that I can remember.”

The reminder of the increasing number of natural disasters makes Nia’s stomach sink. The linoone’s words from earlier echo in her head. It’s not her fault. It’s not any of the humans’ fault.

(But the other Pokemon don’t know that, do they?)

“Can we go check on Xander and Andyn’s teams?” Nia whispers. “A-And maybe Maggie?”

She won’t be able to sleep if they don’t.

Tobias nods, then leads the way out the door and down the hall. Nia can’t tell if she’s imagining the way some of the other Pokemon send her wary looks as they spot her. She steps closer to Tobias regardless.

Thankfully, everyone seems to be physically fine, save for Felix startling himself right into Team Shellshock's cabinet and knocking off some knick-knacks. The rest of Xander’s team—down one luxio after he ran off to check on his siblings—is unusually quiet and pensive. Andyn, Ezra and Jaz seem equally rattled, trying to cover up their unease with light tones and jokes that fall painfully flat. The tight hug and comforting smile Maggie gives Nia and Tobias helps a little, but not enough.

Eventually, Nia and Tobias try to get a few more hours of sleep before dawn. Their floor of lower-level Seekers was assured by Verene a few minutes prior that the higher ranking ‘mon would take care of checking on the Haven for now. Lower ranks will take the dawn shift.

Nia almost wishes they were asked to head out now. She can’t seem to get her mind to settle despite the exhaustion tugging at her fur and the soft warmth of the blanket around her. From the way Tobias shifts throughout the night at her side, she doesn’t think he gets much rest either.

#pmd #pokemon mystery dungeon #pokemon #deerling #sneasel #stufful #pmd seekers of soul #tesha writes #tesha draws #team evergreen

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aesethewitch · 1 year

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Learning to Cook Like a Witch: The Absolute Beginning

So, you're looking to dip your toes into kitchen witchery, but you have zero experience cooking. Or, maybe you have experience that's not so great or that wasn't informative. Or, maybe you just don't know where to start, because no one ever taught you how to cook.

Great! Cooking can be intimidating to even approach when you're not used to it. I'm lucky in that I grew up cooking with my family and had the chance to take several cooking-based classes in high school. Not everyone has that sort of opportunity, so I'd like to pass on my experience to others!

(Note that you definitely don't need to be the best cook in the world to be a kitchen witch. No one's perfect! But it's okay to want to improve your skills, too.)

If you want to learn to cook, the first step is to familiarize yourself with the basic terms, measurements, and tools you'll be working with. Start with the following:

Learn the names and uses of the tools in your kitchen (for example, spatulas for spreading frosting vs. spatulas for flipping burgers)

Measurement conversions (how many teaspoons in a tablespoon, how many tablespoons in a cup, etc.)

Familiarize yourself with commonly used measurement phrases such as "dash" and "pinch," and learn exactly what they mean by that

Abbreviations for measurements (teaspoon = tsp = t, tablespoon = tbsp = T, etc.)

Various cooking terminology and the difference between terms, such as the difference between mixing, creaming, folding, and emulsifying

Read recipes and look up words you're not familiar with

Knife safety! Learn how to hold a knife properly and cut things without risking your fingers, and also learn how to keep your knives sharp. Remember, a sharp knife is a safe knife!

Once you've got knife safety down, learn how to cut an onion - dice, chop, and slice your way to delicious victory!

Learn fire, oven, and stovetop safety!

Familiarize yourself with what's in your spice cabinet; taste things if you've never had them, and look up common recipe usages for them

Learn about the Maillard reaction (this is what turns meat brown!)

Familiarize yourself with common substitutions, such as for cornstarch, buttermilk, and shortening/lard

Start with simple recipes; many chefs say you should start with omelets, white sauce, and homemade stock, and I tend to agree. Learning just these three things teaches a number of techniques that translate to a hundred other recipes!

Eat more food! Try new flavors, experiment with dishes from restaurants, ask questions about what's in what you're eating. Sample dishes and spice combinations from other cultures. Smell things before you eat them. Think about the flavors and how they're working together.

Watch videos from cooks on YouTube, or watch cooking tv shows! Honestly, Alton Brown's Good Eats was a foundational influence for me as a child, and I cut my teeth on Food Network. YouTube-wise, try Basics with Babish!

Pick a recipe you think looks good or that you've had before and just make it! Simple as that, just follow the recipe. Get the ingredients, follow the steps, eat the food!

Not everything you make is going to be good. And that's fine! Learn what went wrong and why. Figure out what tastes good and what doesn't. Let other people try your food and give you honest feedback. If you think your taste buds are biased or not "good enough," having someone else tell you "this needs more salt" or "this is really balanced" or "this would go nicely over rice instead of potatoes" is powerful.

Remember that you're learning. Look things up. Fuck up a recipe. Burn something. Realize you're missing an ingredient and figure out a substitute last minute. Leave something out, put something else in. Taste, taste, taste. Taste everything. Every time you put something in or complete a step, taste it. So long as it's not going to be a health hazard (such as with raw meat), taste it.

Take your time with it. Cooking is a skill that's earned over time via trial and error. Know that you're not alone in your worry and struggle. Millions of home cooks have stood where you stand, spoon in hand and apron tied tight. Practice, practice, practice.

Once you understand cooking by itself, you can more easily incorporate magic and weave spells into your meals, which I'll cover in another post, since this one is already quite long.

Happy cooking! 🍳🌿

If you enjoy my posts or would like to support my blog, consider throwing a couple dollars in my tip jar! ✨

#witch #witchblr #witchcraft #witch community #kitchen witch #hearth witch #cottage witch #cooking #cooking skills #cooking witch #food magic #practical magic #aese speaks #beginner witch

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exemplarybehaviour · 1 month

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Today on making recipes I saw on my dash: I wanted to make this "Mongolian chicken" recipe and then did one of those "loved this recipe! I added several things and made a ton of substitutions :)" recipe review moves. Instead of chicken, I used tofu, and I also added broccoli and mushrooms. There's also some rice hidden under there.

Revised recipe under the cut for my own notes (vegan & gluten free!):

First I want to give a direct link to the original recipe. Flavor text indicates this is meant to be a slightly healthier take-out food mimic. I also referenced this recipe when deciding how to fry tofu (which I've never done before!). Small text indicates notes. I usually don't measure things so not everything has an amount.

Ingredience (tm):

cooking oil of your choice

extra firm tofu (I used a 16 oz block but if I repeat this i'd probably do two blocks)

corn starch (2 tbsp for frying the tofu)

soy sauce (or tamari for the gluten free) (1 tbsp for frying the tofu)

garlic powder

2 crown broccoli

small tub of mushrooms (8 oz? maybe??) (i bought pre-sliced mushrooms and then broke them up into smaller pieces by hand)

yellow onion, chopped (will probably only use half an onion in the future lmao)

4-5 green onions/scallions

you could also use all sorts of other veggies: peppers, snow peas, carrots, zucchini, etc. the world is your oyster..........

Sauce Ingredience (tm):

1 1/2 teaspoon sesame oil (this has a strong flavor so definitely actually measure)

chopped scallion whites

ginger (I use ginger paste)

minced garlic (recipe calls for 3 cloves but i use jar garlic and just go wild)

1 tbsp rice vinegar

1/2 cup soy sauce (or tamari sauce)

1/2 brown sugar

1 tbsp corn starch

1/4 cup vegetable stock or water (or chicken stock if you prefer)

something spicy. i used red chilli flakes but you could also try something like sriracha

Technically this is a one pan recipe (or wok, if you're fancy) but you will also use several other bowls and plates. Okay here's how to make it.

Fry tofu:

Press water out of tofu (wrap the block in paper towels, then balance a plate on it and put something heavy on the plate. leave like that while you putter around the kitchen trying to find where the FUCK the vegetable stock concentrate is. or use a tofu press if you have one).

Cut tofu into small blocks

Toss tofu with 2 tbsp corn starch + 1 tbsp soy sauce + garlic powder

Add enough oil to pan to coat the bottom and heat. Add tofu and let sit until bottom browns. Flip tofu pieces to brown other side. If you want to also get the sides you can do more flipping. Or you can get bored and stop

If you're smart, prep veggies by washing and cutting them while tofu fries. I was not smart

Move tofu to plate or bowl

I was surprised by how fucking tasty the tofu was right out of the pan? The garlic powder elevated it to something almost addictive. I ate several pieces while cooking everything else. I did think that later tossing the tofu with the sauce detracted from the crispiness of the tofu. So, next time I will probably keep the tofu separate and add it in last.

Also, if you want rice, start it up around here.

Cook veggies:

prep by cleaning and cutting up veggies

in the same pan as the tofu, add a small amount of oil (or don't, if you have left over oil from the tofu)

toss in veggies in reverse order of how long they will take to cook to the degree you want them. i wasn't smart in my organization so i did the mushrooms by themselves while i cut up onions and broccoli

cook, stirring frequently, until they're as cooked as you want them

move veggies to plate/bowl

Make Sauce:

prep: whisk together 1 tbsp corn starch and 1/4 cup vegetable broth in a small bowl

in the same pan, add sesame oil, scallion whites, ginger, and garlic

cook ~1 min, or however long it takes you to get your shit together to add other ingredients

add rice vinegar, soy sauce/tamari, brown sugar. stir to combine. yes 1/2 cup soy sauce AND brown sugar seems like a lot. yes it will taste fine, i promise

add corn starch/broth slurry. stir

add your chili flakes. stir.

sauce should have thickened

Now dump your tofu + veggies into the pan and then toss to coat with sauce. Garnish with scallion greens. Done!!!

#resippy #i woke up at a weird time due to low blood sugar and couldn't get back to sleep #and then made this at 4 AM. i have lost control of my life

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it-was-funeral-grey · 2 years

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Celestia-sent (Al Haitham x F!Reader)

Prequel Part 1 Part 2

Summary: There's a weird guy lying outside your house.

Warnings: Vulgarities, food (stew) , mentions of injuries , crying, reader mistakes al haitham as a old guy lmao, reader lives in vimara village, spoliers for al haitham's lore,

Word count: <1.7k words

Inspired by: -

Author's note: it was kinda therapeutic to write al haitham's part- the first half. not sure why. it just felt so easy. i miss my grandma. i should visit her once i feel better.

Please give criticism! Also, if i missed any warnings, do tell me so i can add them!

He's just lying there, faced down. His grey hair sticks out painfully against the brown dirt path, and you fight the urge to squat down to take a closer look. It's a shade of grey you have never seen before. It kinda looks like the moon.

Another old drunkard, you think. There's been many of them recently in Vimara village. Ever since the scandal in the Akademiya three months ago, Port Ormos had crashed. The whole port is a mess- what once was Sumeru's most efficient had become disorganised and stagnant overnight. Now, it's akin to a ghost town- especially after the mass layoff of port employees.

Trading has halted completely, the Wikala Funduq citing 'awaiting instructions from Akademiya higher ups'. But so far, no one from the Akademiya has come down to remedy the situation and help revitalise Port Ormos.

As a result, private traders can't do business, and trading companies can't do business, so no one is making money anymore. Traders from Inazuma and Snezhnaya had stopped docking in Sumeru. In a couple more months, Port Ormos would lose its position as the central trading hub of Teyvat. Sumeru will lose a terrifying portion of its national income. It will only get worse from there.

Vimara village was outraged at the mass layoff. Most port employees lived there, after all. In an instant, families lost all sources of income. The village community had tried to help each other, sharing food and whatever they could with each other. But this was only a temporary solution. The stress of unemployment is beginning to weigh heavy on many, which is why many have taken to drinking recently.

Which is why you aren't surprised that a guy's passed out on the ground. What was surprising is that you had never seen this dude before.

He's wearing expensive clothes, you note. He's definitely not from the village. Clad in green, he'd almost look like a plant if not for his grey hair. There's a cape hanging off his back, and on a shoulder is what you think is a vision.

Damn, you wonder. What kind of guy is this?

Curiosity gets the better of you. Squatting down next to the old guy's side, you lay your groceries down. Strangely, you don't smell any alcohol on him. So, not a drunkard?

"Hey, uh… sir?" you shake his shoulder, brushing your fingers over his vision. It's cool to the touch, the green orb emitting a gentle glow amidst the fading daylight. "Wakey wakey, mister?"

The man doesn't wake. You sigh. What are you going to do? It's almost nighttime. You can't just leave him here. I mean, you could, but still…

There's a pleasant aroma in the air, accompanied by the sound of sizzling oil. Onions, Harra spice… stir-fried with snapdragon leaves?

It reminds Al Haitham of his grandmother's cooking. Maybe she's making dinner now. He's pretty hungry.

Huh. Now that he thinks of it, it has been a long time since he's had dinner with her. When was the last time he even spoke to her? Or visited her?

He has so much to tell her.

He has to tell her about his job as a Scribe. Well, for now, he's the ACTING Grand Sage. Not for long, though. He'll make sure of that.

He's got to tell her about the stunt he pulled to save Lesser Lord Kusanali. She'd enjoy that tale. Probably scold him for being so reckless as well, though.

Yeah, he'll do that. Maybe he'll ask for a second serving of rice too. He's really, really hungry.

Then, he'll ask for advice on how to handle the whole shitshow that he has been assigned to run. She'll know what to do. She always does. She'll teach him how to manage the infinite number of impossible tasks thrown his way.

She'll comfort him. She'll tell him that in no time, he'll be back to his usual job: stress-free and not responsible for saving the nation from a crisis that may result in future generations growing up in poverty and political instability.

She'll hear him out as he rants about the mess Azar and those fuckers ("Language, Al Haitham!") had left him. And how everyone was so reliant on the Akasha terminals and the sages' leadership that when all that disappeared, they were clueless. They can't function anymore. Systems fall apart. People stop working. And because of that, he has to do everything on his own, and he's so tired and-

The sizzling sound has stopped. Is it dinner time already?

But he doesn't want to get up. Not now. Just ten more minutes, please?

There's a faint scraping sound. A spatula against a wok. If he tries hard enough, he can hear a plopping sound. So, it's a stew. He hopes it's Sabz Meat stew. That's his favourite.

How long has it been since he had a homemade meal?

Footsteps. Ok, no ten minutes, then. He'll get up.

Wincing, he sits up. His whole body aches. His knees feel sore. That's weird. He hadn't fallen or hit anything, but he feels bruises forming all over his arms and legs.

Trying to adjust to the bright light, Al Haitham slowly opens his eyes. He's in a small living room. Huh, he doesn't remember his grandmother moving. She never had this couch he was resting on either. Or the wooden coffee table in front. Or that many Liyue magazines.

"Ah, you're awake!"

That's not his grandmother's voice. Wait, what did her voice sound like again?

Al Haitham whips his head towards the voice so fast he pulls a neck muscle. Groaning, he reaches for his neck, massaging it before attempting to turn around, slowly this time.

"Hey, relax!"

There's a soft click from behind, and then frantic footsteps. Someone runs around the couch.

It's a woman. Not his grandmother.

Oh.

Oh yeah. Of course, it isn't her.

"Are you feeling alright?"

Hah, what was he doing, dreaming? Someone like him? Dreaming?

"Uh…sir?"

Of course, it isn't her. The dead can't come back to life. He's alone now. He has been for the past decade.

"…sir?"

He'll always be alone. Now, and for the foreseeable future. If he can even ensure that Sumeru still has one.

There's a hot sensation on his face, snapping him out of his thoughts. It's the woman again. This time with a bowl in her hand, holding it right in front of him.

He'd recognise that aroma anywhere. It's Sabz Meat stew.

"Um, I'm not sure what's going on," she says, placing the bowl into his hands. "But why don't you eat first?"

She pulls the coffee table closer towards him and walks back behind the couch to retrieve cutlery from the kitchen and a plate of rice. Laying them on the coffee table, she then sits on the floor, watching him.

"I didn't add lemons, but I can get you some if you want?" she asks when he doesn't move.

A minute passes. Al Haitham can't move. He can't, and he honestly doesn't want to.

What's the point of moving? Everything moves too fast. He'll never catch up. There's too much. There will always be proposals he can't clear in time. A question he can't answers right now. A policy he needs time to understand. Time that he doesn't have. Time that Sumeru can't afford to lose. He'll always be behind. And because of that, Sumeru will fall behind. Because of him.

It's almost funny. Before all this, he had never worried about being behind. He barely worried about anything.

"Come on," she prompts, taking a spoonful of rice and handing it to him when he still doesn't move. "Eat. You'll feel better after you eat."

Al Haitham doesn't have the energy to resist or deny her. Taking the spoon, he dips it into the bowl, letting the rice soak up some of the stew before lifting it to his mouth.

And suddenly, he's 19 again. He's in the dining room, having dinner with his grandmother again. She's lecturing him about spending too much time alone at home. Again.

"You may not understand now, Al Haitham. But there are people out there- good people. People willing to listen, be patient with you, and shoulder burdens with you. Comfort you."

Al Haitham reaches over to scoop another spoonful of rice. His eyes feel funny. So does his nose.

"You are never alone, child. I just want you to know that. "

Am I really?

Then just send one person, please. I'm waiting.

I've been waiting for a long time now.

"And one day, you may find someone that you can bare your soul to-you do have a soul, child. Everyone has one- no, yours isn't as dark as that 'black coffee'."

His vision is blurry now. With hydro. How strange. He chomps down another spoonful of stew. It's delicious. He hasn't had comfort food like this in a long, long time.

Just one sign. Please. I can't do this anymore.

"But until then, grandma is here to stick by you, hm? Until you stop being stubborn and go make friends!"

The woman shifts in her seat on the floor. In his peripheral, he sees her reach over to a box, pulling out tissues.

She moves closer to him, a little bit hesitantly. But when she realises that he isn't moving away, she gently dabs his eyes with the tissue.

"There, there?" she comforts awkwardly. She then reaches over to pat his back. "It's gonna be ok. Just let it out."

And that's all it takes. It's so weird. Hydro Tears begin to flow freely. He chokes back a sniffle.

She doesn't stop patting his back. The weight of her palm is comforting- almost grounding.

He cries. In the presence of an absolute stranger, he cries ten years worth of tears in a night.

Later on, as he drifts off back into the realm of sleep to the rhythmic pats on his back, Al Haitham wonders if this is what his grandmother meant.

Maybe there really are people that are willing to stand by someone like him.

Join the Taglist!

#alhaitham #alhaitham genshin impact #alhaitham x reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #hereandnow #al haitam x reader #al haitham

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somanyratsinthewalls · 8 months

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Burning Hearts Chapter 3

Pairing: Law x Straw Hat Zoan Type (named) FemOC

Word Count: 3000

Summary: You were teleported across the globe in an instant, away from your crew. Your body was badly broken and beaten, thrust into the harsh landscape of a Northern island. You are discovered by the Heart Pirates and brought back to health. Startled upon waking up in a foreign place with an unfamiliar crew, you are shocked with the news that you’ll be spending two years there. Trafalgar Law, the captain of the Heart Pirates has made a promise to train you, but will it become something more than a mentor relationship?

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 - Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

TW: Trauma, alcohol use, smokable plant usage. ;)

Hours went by. Or was it 5 minutes?

Time didn’t feel real.

The pillow under your face was soaked through. You had been crying for so long that your eyes had nearly swollen shut. Every time the tears slowed, the deep ache of your damaged bones and muscles throbbed and reminded you of your harrowing ordeal, causing the sobs to begin again.

*knock knock knock knock*

You sit up in bed. Do you answer? Should you bar the door? You realized you were still covered in flimsy hospital clothes so you throw on the sweatshirt from your bag and sit back down on your bed.

“Um… Yeah?” You hesitantly call out. The door handle turns and the door cracks open. A woman’s voice responds from the crack in the door.

“Hey… uh… you missed dinner… I brought you some food anyway… Can I come in?”

“Ok…” You wipe your nose and eyes on your hand, sitting up straighter.

Carefully, a woman with long, curly brown hair entered your room with a tray of food and some folded clothing. She was clad in the same off-white coveralls that all of the Heart pirates wore. She had a pointy nose and high cheekbones, long dark curls framing her face and shoulders. A yellow headband pushed her hair back into a curly crown around her head.

“Hi.. I’m Ikkaku…” She smiles slightly and takes a tentative step towards you seated on the bed.

“I’m Daisy.” You respond.

“It’s just some stew and rice, nothing fancy. We don’t really have a cook so we alternate kitchen duty. You’re lucky it wasn’t Shachi this week… he can barely boil water.” The woman chuckles.

“Shachi…?” You say mostly to yourself.

“Yeah. Pointy teeth, orca whale hat, stupid long greasy hair?”

“He was one of the ones who kept watch over me…”

“That was him and Penguin. They’re complete morons, but they’re loyal guys. In fact, most of the people here are idiots. The captain is often not excluded from that. You’ll get used to it. I’m the only girl around here. Until now, I guess.”

She sets the tray down in front of you on the bed. You also notice that the tray contains several off-white jumpsuits stacked together. Ikkaku sees you eyeing them.

“The captain asked me to bring them…”

“I’m not wearing the fucking uniform.” You turn your head and shoot a vicious glare at the woman.

She puts her arms up in defeat.

“I don’t blame you.” Ikkaku swallowed nervously. “You don’t even know us and you’ve just experienced the most insane thing that’s ever happened to you. I’m not going to force you into a boiler suit.”

Your glare softens. You drop your head and sigh. You realize your sweatshirt had ridden up and exposed the large brand on your lower stomach. Quickly, you pull your sweatshirt back down.

“Listen. I have some old clothes I wear on laundry days, I’ll drop them by later. They might be tight in the chest…” Ikkaku gestures at your ample chest and then back at her much smaller one and chuckles. “But it’s something clean.”

“That… that would actually be great…” You sigh again and look back at Ikkaku.

Ikkaku softly smiled.

“Of course… I met your captain, you know.”

You rubbed your eyes.

“And? How was he?”

Ikkaku laughed.

“He’s a weird little dude. Pretty ripped up about losing his brother, though. One thing I do know, Daisy, is that he loves you and his crew a whole lot. I heard him tell our cap, he wants to make sure he never loses anyone he cares about ever again. That’s why he wants you to stay here and train with Law. It’s because he cares about you.”

You feel the tears bubbling up again. Ikkaku’s woman’s intuition makes sure this doesn’t go unnoticed. She crouches next to where you were seated on the bed.

“Hey… I know this sucks. You have to do what your captain asks. Just like I do… even though more than half of me was convinced you were going to rip my arms off when I knocked on your door. My captain was right. We have to trust them.”

You bring your hand up to your nose and mouth to try and cover your crying face.

“If it makes you feel better… I got your weed back.” Ikkaku pulls out a red satchel and dangles it in front of your face. You sniff up your tears and lift your head.

“No way… how?!” You grab it greedily out of Ikkaku’s hand.

“I was cleaning the halls and found it in a wastebasket. I thought it had Berries in it so I grabbed it. Imagine my shock when I find this instead.” Ikkaku giggles.

“Oh my gods, I seriously can’t thank you enough.” You genuinely smile for the first time since your incident. “I’m going to roll something right now. Care to stay? I owe you one. For the food, too.” You nod towards the tray of stew.

Ikkaku looks at your bag, then turns her neck to make sure she had closed your door.

“As long as you don’t rat me out to my captain, I’d love to indulge.” Ikkaku smirks.

You smile back and begin rolling a joint. After masterfully creating your signature spiked cigarette, you light the end carefully with your beautiful, gold engraved lighter that Sanji had given you for your birthday. You take a deep inhale of the sweet smelling herb and your eyes nearly roll back in your head in relief.

You feel a twinge of pain in your back.

“Hey, can you crack the window? I don’t need your weird captain barging in and apparently I can’t lift my arms anymore.”

“Yeah, I’ll get it.” Ikkaku rises from the bed and opens your small window. You feel a rush of polar air from the crack in the window. Tiny snowflakes tickle your nose. She returns to her spot at the foot of the bed. You take a few more hits off the joint and pass it to your newfound acquaintance.

Ikkaku wordlessly takes the smoldering cigarette in her fingers and takes a drag. She coughs violently. You offer her the glass of water on your tray that she accepts. After her coughing fit subsides, she laughs.

“Man it’s been while. You must have a serious supplier, this is strong. Law is a real square when it comes to this shit.”

“Trust me, I noticed that. And I grew it myself, she’s my pride and joy.” You rolled your eyes. “What’s his deal, your captain? He isn’t exactly warm and fuzzy.” You take another long pull of the joint.

“He’s seen a lot of shit. He seems hard and scary, but he’s really just a nerd. He collects ancient coins, for fucks sake. He’s got a strong sense of justice, he’s crazy powerful, that’s why we stay with him. He’s a gifted surgeon, saved countless lives. He may be a weirdo, but he’s our captain. I’m sure you can relate.” Ikkaku takes the joint from your fingers again.

“Yeah… I get that…” You lean back against your stacked pillows.

“What’s with the ‘Room’ thing? How does that work?” You asked, feeling that the altered state of consciousness would allow Ikkaku to open up to you more.

“The Op Op Fruit, yeah, he ate it when he was a kid. He doesn’t like to talk about it. Shit, he’d kill me if he knew I was talking about it now, haha!” Ikkaku laughs, clearly less acquainted with medicinal herbs than you were. “He can make an operating room and control the laws of physics within it. He can swap people into each other’s bodies, he can do all kinds of weird shit. It’s the only reason you’re still alive. That, and his gifted skill as a doctor.”

You finish the joint and snuff it out on the windowsill.

“And your power?” Ikkaku asks.

Your breath hitches in your chest.

“My power?” You ask.

“We… we saw your wings… I just assumed it was a-“ Ikkaku shakily inquires.

“I… I don’t know… I was forced to eat the devil fruit when I was a teenager. I’ve only used the wings. I guess a bat, there’s claws, though, maybe a lizard, or something, I guess… I don’t know nor do I want to. I can prove myself without devil fruit powers. I much prefer to use my blades in a battle.”

“I see…” Ikkaku responds.

“But your captain, he’s a swordsman… that’s why Luffy wants me to learn from him, right? He wants me to hone my skills with my blades?” You ask.

“I don’t know what he meant. All I know is you’re here to train for awhile.” Ikkaku sits up. “After you’ve healed, of course. Eat up, gods know how long it’s been since you’ve had solid food. Thanks for the flower, I’m about to get the best sleep of my life.”

Ikkaku rises and heads to the door.

“Thanks for the food. I’ll see you around.” You nod.

“Yeah, you will.” Ikkaku shoots you a warm smile before leaving.

— — —

You spent the next 3 days brooding in your room, accepting food trays from Ikkaku and sneaking to the bathroom when you were sure the rest of the crew had gone to bed. Time had still felt immeasurable, never able to sleep more than a few hours without waking from violent nightmares.

“You can’t stay in here forever, you know.” Ikkaku had told you the night before. The sentence bounced around in your skull all night. She was right. You were feeling better physically and knew you couldn’t complete your captain’s assignment simply by wallowing in your bed for two years.

This morning was the morning you were going to get up and start your new life.

You haul yourself to the showers and spend an hour cleaning your hair, body, and face. Once finished, you dried off and pulled on an old set of Ikkaku’s clothes.

Instead of trekking back to your room, you proceeded to find your way to the galley.

“Haha! There’s no way you ever got that girl to come home with you, I call bullshit!”

“No no I swear! Remember that time-“

The chatter in the galley ceased. Each crew member dropped their conversation to stare at you as you gingerly stepped into the kitchen. There were almost a dozen sets of eyes on you, all silent as you moved through the door frame.

“Don’t mind me…” You awkwardly slid towards the fridge, trying to be as small as possibly.

“Hey, Straw Hat Girl! Heard you’re stuck here for awhile!” A large, brutish man shouts in your direction.

“My name is Daisy.” You scowl. You grab a bowl of white rice that was on the kitchen island.

“There’s fruit and eggs in the fridge, Miss Daisy. I can grab something for you, if you’d like-“ The large polar bear you recognized from the first time you regained consciousness rose from his stool and moved towards you.

You frantically moved back, still apprehensive of the creature.

“I’m fine!” You huffed out. “The rice is fine, thanks.”

You scurried back to your room with rice and chopsticks in hand, sweating from the awkward interaction. Breathing heavily you slam the door of your room shut and sit down at your desk to inhale your breakfast.

— —

“Well that was fucking weird.” Penguin finally blurts out after the girl’s sudden exit from the galley.

“Leave her alone, she’s just lost her crew. Give her some grace.” Ikkaku states.

“Yeah I’m still mad she tried to slaughter Penguin and I multiple times, though” Shachi remarks from across the dining table. The men around the table laugh.

“You guys don’t get it. A woman being thrown into a situation with strange men she doesn’t know? You’ll never understand that fear. She’s handled it better than any of you could ever.” Ikkaku rises and leaves the table.

A heavy silence fills the air of the galley.

— —

The day turns into evening and you roll over in bed to change the pressure on your damaged hips. You could barely walk still so you were mostly bound to your room, against your will.

*bdpp bdpp bdpp* *bdpp bdpp bdpp*

You hear the hum of a mini transponder snail somewhere in your room. You rise from your pillowed nest to try and find the source of the call. You rip the closet door open and see a ringing snail on top of the clothing rack.

You cock your head in interest. Who put that there?

You grab the ringing snail.

“H-hello…?”

“Daisy? It’s Ikkaku. The boys are finally in bed. I found the whiskey stores unlocked. Come down to the galley.” *click* The snail call ends.

Whiskey? Your mouth waters at the mention of it. Normally you preferred to smoke your mind altering substances instead of drinking them, but a cold shot of whiskey sounded like heaven on earth. You pull on a pair of spandex shorts but don’t bother throwing anything on over your sports bra. You quietly creep towards the kitchen. You push the double doors open and find Ikkaku pouring two drinks into rocks glasses.

“Hey girl. Glad you made it. I’m on watch and it’s been painfully boring.” Ikkaku pushes a very full glass of whisky in your direction.

“I’m not one to turn down a drink.” You tiredly smile at your newfound friend.

Silently, you and Ikkaku “cheers”ed your cups before each taking a large sip.

*bddpp bddpp… motion detected. South Gate. Bddpp bddpp…”

“Oh my god, these stupid monitors. Law makes us check them constantly. He’s so paranoid. I’ll be back in a bit.” You nod and Ikkaku excuses herself.

Now that you were alone, seated at the kitchen island with a drink in your hand, you decided this was a perfect time to forget your present struggles.

You slam your glass in one gulp. The alcohol was beginning to warm your veins. It felt good. Comfortable. You grab the bottle and pour another glass. You try your best to sip it slowly but find yourself chugging the whole cup.

More.

The heartbreak and pain of losing your crew drifted further and further from your mind as you ingested more alcohol. On your 5th glass you stumbled and ended up catching yourself against the cool metal wall of the galley.

“I’m so fucked…”

— — —

*CRASH*

The clatter of dishes and cups brought Law out of his office. He trudged down the hallway from his office to the kitchen to investigate the commotion. He swings open the double doors to the galley and looks around.

Nothing.

“Hnnnn… fuck…”

Where was that voice coming from?

Law storms into the galley and investigates the noise. He finds the source quickly. He sees a tangled lump of brown hair with a grey streak laying on his kitchen floor. The body held an empty whiskey bottle in their hand.

“Gods, Daisy.” Law sighs and rubs his forehead.

“Luffy I think it’s fuckin great nnnhnn we can have more chips it’s a great idea. More chips, more dip. You an I… we fuckin get it…"

“You’re wasted. I’m going to take you to your room.” Law states casually.

“Who the FUCK are you… can’t take my dip..” Daisy lazily rolls over to try and resist, but falls again, pinning her own elbow onto the floor.

Law takes a deep breath to calm himself and picks Daisy up off the floor, bridal style. Immediately, arms wrap around Law’s shoulders and neck.

“I wanna go home…” Daisy whispers drunkenly into the crook of Law’s neck.

Law hears a weepy sniffle.

“I just wanna go home…” A wet sob is croaked into his neck.

He knows what she means.

"Please, I want to go home..." Daisy chokes out through sobs and drunk syllables.

“You’re going to go to bed now. We can train tomorrow.” Law trudges towards Daisy’s stateroom. Pushing the door open with his shoulder, Law enters the room.

He walks carefully towards the bed and tries to gently drop her down, awkwardly letting her fall onto the sheets with an “oof!”

“You need to sleep, I must-“ Law starts.

Suddenly a hand grips the back of his neck.

“Can you stay?” A trembling voice calls out.

The air is thick again. Law feels shaking fingers against his neck.

“What?” Law asks.

“Every time I sleep… it happens again. I see it again. It all happens over again. I can’t stop having these nightmares…” Daisy’s drunken grip on the back of Law’s skull tightens. “Can’t you stay here… with me?”

Law was shell shocked. Not in his life had anyone ever asked for his touch or his presence. He knew anything he could ever contribute would make it worse. Daisy needed to grow… and his veiled comfort would only impede that.

“I-I can’t…” Law pulled the blanket over her exhausted body.

He stood up from the bed and peeled Daisy’s hands from his neck. Law shut off the overhead light and exited the stateroom with haste. He pretended he didn’t hear your wracked sobs and cries as he shut the door behind him.

Law returned to his office and poured himself into textbooks, trying to forget the pain you were going through. His vision was blurred with thoughts of your desperate, curled up form as he tried to further his studies…

Law knew you were going to be a bigger problem than anticipated.

Author’s Note: Something fun might happen in the next chapter hehe! Law is feeling conflicted. Should he leave Daisy to deal with her emotions on her own, or should he give in and comfort her? Who even knows what she wants right now. Also sorry OC is a stoner, it's suuuuch a devious self inset, LOL. Suggestions are open :)

#one piece #one piece anime #one piece fanfiction #one piece fanart #one piece live action #one piece netflix #one piece fandom #law x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar op #one piece smut #trafalgar law #trafalgar one piece #trafalgar d law #law one piece #doflamingo #law x y/n

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kairiscorner · 1 year

Note

hellooo,musta po kayo??. is it ok if you could right one of those Filipino!reader but hobie? if you can,,, thank youu!!

HI ANON, OKAY LANG PO, SANA OKAY LANG PO RIN KAYO /pos :>> MAAAAAAN YES, PLEASE, hobie would be the nightmare of all conservative filo parents frfr YES LET'S DO THIS 🫂🫂🫂

hobie brown x filipino reader

ngl, i think he'd intimidate a lot of your family members into silence if you bring him over to family dinners or get-togethers LMAO. like just seeing this tall boy with a bunch of piercings and unconventional clothing for guys his age would, yes, earn him a lot of stares, but he'd also kind of intimidate those tryhard male cousins you might have (you know the type, the wanna get jowas and emo sadboys ueueue).

despite how hobie looks like, he's actually super friendly to all your relatives, he doesn't judge by how they look, in fact he doesn't judge, he observes and bases his opinions of them from there. he always has something nice to say to your relatives, even if they might have a lot of criticisms to say about him.

that's the other reason you got together with him, actually. even if you have a lot of negative things to say or think about yourself, or internalized bad thoughts about who you are or look like from your family or peers, he always has kinder words that you deserve to hear and will consistently inconsistently (through other words, actions, and gifts) remind you of who you, the amazingly wonderful individual who came into his life, really are all the time.

i think he'd also be a wonderful cook. if you were assigned to take care of cooking for your family, he'd wordlessly just saunter over to you by the kitchen, lean against the door frame of the kitchen like the rizz master that he is, raise his eyebrows, smirk, and ask you, "need any help, mahal ko?"

if you say yes, he'd get right to work, doing what you ask of him in the most unconventional ways possible. he'd chop vegetables and meat so freaking fast man, and in SUCH NEAT SLICES. if he were on rice cooking duty, he'd probably make rice with the kawali in the traditional way because he doesn't believe in rice cookers when he has two functional and capable hands, a kawali, a fire, and you to watch over him. and surprisingly, the rice he makes is FUCKING AMAZING, IT HAS FLAVOR?????? A REALLY GOOD ASS FLAVOR????? LIKE YEAH???????

after dinner, he'd do the cleaning up with you, even if your parents will insist upon him not to do anything because he's a guest.

"pasensya na po, tito at tita, pero hindi po ako naniniwala na porket ako'y isang bisita, i'll be leaving all the work to my beloved. cheers."

he'd be fluent in tagalog or your local dialect, and when he talks to you, he loves switching up his accent from the dialect you speak to speaking in a cockney accent in fluent british english chockful of slang.

OH AND IF YOU HAVE LOUD ASS NEIGHBORS WHO SING KARAOKE EVERY NIGHT, MOFO WOULD GET THE HELL UP, HOOK UP HIS ELECTRIC GUITAR, AND AS MUCH AS YOU TRY TO DISCOURAGE HIM, HE'LL JAM THE FUCK OUT AT THEM TO RETALIATE TOWARDS THEIR LOUD KARAOKE SESSIONS LMAO

he also lives, breathes, and is lato-latoing. like when he caught you playing with the toy, he got interested and made one for himself. it's much louder than the plastic lato-latos being sold, so it makes a lot of racket. he plays it in the spider society HQ when things are too quiet or boring, he just whips it out and brags about how you're the real lato-lato master, not him.

he lato-latos when miguel is chewing out the members of the spider society after a bad mission or someone did something to piss him off. OR EVEN WHEN MIGUEL'S JUST ANNOUNCING SOMETHING OR ISN'T EVEN DOING ANYTHING, AS LONG AS MIGUEL IS THERE, HOBIE WILL LATO-LATO, THAT IS HIS ROUTINE (of inconsistency).

he loves opm rock bands. he listens to eraserheads, itchyworms, AND ASIN. BRO, HE'D COLLECT ASIN CDS AND LISTEN TO THEM WITH YOUUUUUU.

you'd tell him he could just listen to them on spotify or youtube, but he says, "nahhh, i don't believe in spotify or youtube," and just listen to music with you, one earphone in the other's ear as he holds you close :>>>

HE LISTENED TO LIGAYA BY ERASERHEADS, AND WHEN YOU CAME INTO THE ROOM AS HE WAS BLASTING IT, HE TOOK YOU BY THE HAND AND STARTED DANCING TO YOU AND SINGING ALONG TO THE LYRICS <333

he isn't really very big on tradition, but if you wanted, he'd bust out his skills at the acoustic guitar and in a good old fashioned loverboy manner, HARANA YOU TO FALL IN LOVE WITH HIM ALL OVER AGAIN <333

he has tried jollibee before per your request, and he liked it, but he made his own twist on it from food he's scrapped together that jollibee makes, and THUS HE SERVES YOU JOLLHOBIE. it tastes so good man fr, i'm a living witness.

i think the filipino foods he'd like a whole lot would be pork liempo, taho, leche flan, and halo-halo (the different kinds of ingredients in the halo-halo really makes me think of hobie bc of how versatile that dude is). but tbh, he doesn't really claim to have a favorite food, he just loves all the food you have to offer him and make him. YOUR VERSIONS OF LOCAL PINOY FOOD ARE HEAVENSENT TO HIM, HE EATS THEM UP SO QUICKLY AND CRAVES FOR MORE <333

he's super inconsistent, so it's not a surprise he'd call you all kinds of nicknames ;> like earth 42 miles, HE'D CALL YOU NICKNAMES FROM OTHER DIALECTS BC HE THINKS NO SINGULAR NICKNAME IS ENOUGH TO EXPRESS HOW DEAR YOU ARE TO HIM <333

he'd use multiple nicknames in one sentence when talking to you. "mahal, wanna go out tonight, pangga?", "aking sinta, i'd like to some attention right now, beh," "ang sarap ng lahat ng niluluto mo, mahal ko, i can't get enough of it, iniirog ko"

also if you had younger siblings or cousins, HE'D BE THEIR NUMBER ONE FAVE BABYSITTER. he lets them get away with a lot of things, but he never, ever endangers them. he promotes their learning and good behavior, but he doesn't teach them blind obedience.

if your younger siblings or cousins did the mano po to him, he'd appreciate it, but would rather prefer to be casual around them. but if it's in the kid's nature to do mano po, he'd let them do it all the time, he really respects your culture and wants to let you know that he loves it as a part of you, too.

a/n: in short, ginoong hobart brown is a green flag po <333

tags !! @thecoolerdor @k4tsu3 @luvstarrstruck @ii01vq @maxoloqy @pixqlsin

#hobie brown #hobie brown my beloved #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x filipino reader #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x y/n #atsv imagines #atsv x filipino reader #atsv x reader #atsv x you #atsv x y/n

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tiny-wooden-robot-fics · 4 months

Text

Egg Fried Rice

Rating: General Audiences Pairing: Geto Suguru x Original Female Character Characters: Geto Suguru, Original Female Character of Color Additional Tags: Fluff, Mentions of food and alcohol, Flirting, Pre-established friendship, Geto and OC are roommates, There is some suggestiveness near the end, This is part of a series

Summary:

“I was,” she admits, “but I realized I didn’t feel like working out tonight and decided to make greasy food instead.” She raises an eyebrow, taking his spoon from him and helping herself to his bowl of fried rice. “And anyway, I’m allowed to eat and drink whatever I want, Suguru.”

“The point of cooking enough for both of us is so we can each have our own… is it not?” He looks pointedly at the spoon in her hand.

“It tastes better when I take it from you,” she laughs. She holds a spoonful of rice up to his mouth. He hesitates only for a moment before letting her feed him.

“You’re definitely different,” he chuckles once he’s done chewing. He doesn’t realize he’s said the words aloud until she goes quiet, her brown eyes wide and staring.

Part 1: Sundane (it isn't necessary to read this one first, but it gives you some context)

A/N: What kind of writer would I be if I didn't use my personal issues as inspiration? :)

Read on AO3

He feels a little like a creep watching her this way, but he can’t help it.

There’s something different about her. Suguru has been trying to pinpoint it for months - the change in her that’s made her seem less sweet, less timid and accommodating to the world around her. It’s almost as if there’s something that’s been lying dormant inside of her for a long time and is now finally starting to awaken.

Perhaps it’s the confidence she’s gained from the way she’s been sculpting her body. The little corner of the living room that they’ve designated as their home gym has undergone its own changes over the past half year to match her increase in strength and endurance: heavier free weights added to her personal collection, more resistance bands, a wider variety of kettlebells. She likes to say that she can’t completely change the body she was born with, but she’s trying her best to make it into the body she wants.

He hasn’t said as much to her, but her efforts are paying off in a way that makes him look twice at her sometimes.

Or perhaps the change is because of her hair.

After four years of letting it grow long, she’d decided she needed something different. He’d come home one day to find her in her bathroom with trimming shears in her hand. “I feel so liberated,” she’d told him, a satisfied smile on her face as she admired the haircut she’d given herself. He’d certainly been impressed that she’d had the courage to cut it at all, let alone to do such a good job of it on her own.

He likes it. He thinks it suits her.

And while those things have brought about changes that Suguru can see, he thinks it’s probably the things he can’t see that truly make her look different.

The sadness in her eyes is gone. He doesn’t see that wistful look in her gaze whenever certain songs come on. Suguru knows who those songs reminded her of.

He doesn’t hear her crying in her bedroom anymore, the way she did every night for long months after the breakup. There is no longer the sound of her trying to muffle her sobs into her pillow.

She frowns less and sleeps more.

She seems less… haunted. Suguru knows that those feelings that once pained her haven’t disappeared completely - and perhaps they never will - but he has noticed the difference in how she carries them. They no longer seem as heavy as they did before.

He’s always liked the way she looks, but the things that are different about her now have enhanced that.

They’ve made her more appealing.

She hasn’t noticed him yet. She’s shimmying and shaking around the kitchen to whatever is playing through her noise-canceling headphones, chopping vegetables and combining ingredients to the beat of the song she’s listening to.

Suguru could watch her like this forever, but he doesn’t want to get caught.

He waits until she’s turned part of the way towards the living room before raising one hand in a lazy wave to catch her attention.

And then he promptly curses his own heart for the way its tempo increases as her eyes light up and she smiles at him.

“Welcome home,” she calls loudly. She seems to remember that she’s wearing the headphones and pulls them off of her head to let them rest around her neck. “Sorry,” she says sheepishly, in a softer tone. “I can never really hear how loud my voice is when I’m wearing these.”

“Mm,” he grunts softly, making his way over to the bar that separates the kitchen from the rest of the apartment. He leans forward, squinting at the skillet on the stove. “What’s that? It smells good.”

“Just egg fried rice,” she answers as she stirs oyster sauce into the skillet. She looks at him over her shoulder. “Nothing as fancy as what the magnificent Geto Suguru would make for one of his clients, I’m afraid.”

“My clients are all rich, picky assholes with weird food preferences,” he replies. “I wouldn’t want what they eat anyway.”

She makes a little noise of agreement as she scoops fried rice into a bowl and sets it on the bar in front of him. “Beer?”

“Yeah, please.”

Rummaging in the fridge for a few seconds yields two bottles of the IPA they both favor. She smiles triumphantly and pops the caps off of them, setting one down on the bar and taking a swig from the other one.

“You allowed to have beer?” He asks the question teasingly around a mouthful of food, motioning to the clothes she’s wearing. “Thought you might be getting ready for a workout.”

“The point of cooking enough for both of us is so we can each have our own… is it not?” He looks pointedly at the spoon in her hand.

“It tastes better when I take it from you,” she laughs. She holds a spoonful of rice up to his mouth. He hesitates only for a moment before letting her feed him.

“You’re definitely different,” he chuckles once he’s done chewing. He doesn’t realize he’s said the words aloud until she goes quiet, her brown eyes wide and staring.

“Me?” She shakes her head, filching another spoonful of his rice. He lets her. “Different?”

He’s said the words now and there’s no point in trying to recall them. The question he asks himself now is how much of what he’s thinking does he want to reveal. “Different,” he repeats.

She gives him a measured look. “Is that good or bad?”

“Isn’t that a trick question?”

Suguru doesn’t know why his rebuttal question makes her laugh, but it does. She doesn’t seem upset, so he decides to take a gamble and be honest. “I’ll say that it’s good,” he starts slowly, watching in amusement as she continues eating from the bowl of fried rice she’d fixed for him, “but I don’t want you to think it means everything about the way you were before was bad.”

“Oh?” She takes a swig of her beer. “And how was I before?”

“Sad,” Suguru answers bluntly. “Heartbroken… insecure.”

The hand holding her bottle of beer pauses in midair, halfway to the counter. Instead of setting it down, she raises it back to her mouth, draining what’s left. “Congratulations on seeing something not many people have gotten to see,” she murmurs. “Me at my worst. How you can say that wasn’t bad is beyond me.”

“You’re still you, just different. More confident… and happier.” He picks up his neglected spoon. “You ate all my rice,” he laughs, pointing to the empty bowl in front of him.

She laughs with him. “I’m sorry. Here---” She leans over and kisses his cheek. “A kiss to make it up to you.”

He shrugs, trying to ignore the way an innocent kiss on the cheek makes him feel and hoisting himself off of the barstool to join her in the kitchen. He scoops more rice from the pan into his bowl, and she watches him. “You look good,” he tells her solemnly, his eyes still on the food. “Not just your body---”

“Oh, are you saying you’ve noticed my body?” She teases him, bumping her hip against his playfully. “In what way, if I may ask?”

Suguru actually short-circuits for a split second as his brain decides that it needs to conjure up specific images of the two of them in compromising positions. “What the fuck, Val… I’m trying to be decent here.”

His explosive words seem to catch her by surprise. “Wait… what?”

“I said, I’m trying to be decent here.”

He expects her to laugh, to brush off what he’s saying - and what it implies - as a joke.

She doesn’t.

“Since when have you worried about being decent?” She studies him, her head inclined to the side curiously. “You know one of the things I’ve always loved most about you is that you say what’s on your mind, no matter what it is.”

“I don’t think you want me to say what’s on my mind right now.”

She gazes at him levelly. “What makes you think I can’t guess what’s on your mind right now?” Before he can answer, she speaks again. “What makes you think what’s on your mind isn’t what’s also on my mind?”

He stands in the middle of the kitchen, a steaming bowl of food in one hand and his half-drunk beer in the other. There are a million and one thoughts racing through his mind, and somehow his brain pinpoints just one to voice. “What about… that guy?”

She takes a beat to digest his question and what it means. “He’s…” She trails off and looks briefly away from him. When she looks back, her mouth is twisted into a bitter smile. “Weren’t you there? You witnessed it firsthand - how it all blew up in my face. You saw it for yourself… I’m toxic.” She reaches out, plucking his IPA from his hand and polishing it off.

He tries - and fails - not to notice the way her lips fit around the mouth of the bottle, and the way her tongue darts out to taste the beer before she swallows it. “Toxic?”

Her mouth twists again. This time it’s not quite a smile. “Toxic.”

“Hm. Toxic isn’t the word I would use, but that’s a conversation for another time.” Suguru moves closer to her, until he’s backed her up against the kitchen counter and there’s no space left between their bodies. “What you are is a food and drink thief,” he asserts, his voice low and quiet. “Fixing me food and giving me beer just to take it back for yourself.”

“I told you,” she whispers. “It tastes better when I take it from you.”

His eyes are on her lips. “You realize I’m not that guy.” It isn’t a question. “He was a good guy. I’m not.”

“I know who you are, Suguru,” she laughs, a little breathlessly. “We’ve been roommates for three years now. I see how women look at you, before and after they’ve been with you.” She pauses, and her next words are pitched low and quiet. “And I know enough not to get attached. I’d be stupid to think I could ever fill that space.”

“So you’re not looking to?” I’d let you, if you wanted. He doesn’t voice the thought.

“Why would I? I’d never be able to compare anyway.” She swallows the words she really wants to say, looking away from him again with a shrug. “Besides, aren’t you scared I’m gonna poison you?”

Experimentally, he lowers his head and presses a kiss to her neck. He likes the sound she makes when he does that. “The new you seems like she wouldn’t give a fuck whether or not she poisoned me,” he chuckles into her skin. “Or anybody else, for that matter.” He raises his head so he can meet her eyes. “Am I right?”

“Maybe,” she assents, bottom lip caught in her teeth. She pauses, then: “I thought you were hungry.”

He casts a glance over his shoulder at his neglected bowl of fried rice. “I was.”

She reaches up, toying with the tie that his hair is gathered in. After a moment she tugs on it, letting his hair loose and recapturing his attention. “And now?”

He looks back at her. “The rice will be there. Right now, there’s something else I wanna do.”

“What a coincidence,” she laughs, raking her fingers through his newly-freed hair. “There’s something I’d like to do, too.”

Next Part: Onset

Tag List: @strawberry1042 @darkfaerietails @jay220a @fattybattysblog @suguru-nugget @senseifupa @aleigant @gigiculona @rahuratna @tsukimefuku @whatshernameis

About Me | My Other Fics | AO3

End Note: If you'd like to be tagged in it (or any of my other fics), feel free to let me know!

-Val 💙

#JJK #Jujutsu Kaisen #Geto Suguru #JJK Geto #Geto Suguru x OC #Black OC #tinywoodenrobot fics #jjk fic #jjk fanfic #jjk drabbles #writing challenge #writing prompt #jjk fluff #jjk angst #jjk x oc #jjk x black oc

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piratefalls · 11 days

Text

sentences sunday

uh...hi? it's been a minute. i watched one of my favorite lesser known 90s romcoms the other day and a lightbulb went off in my head. will it turn into anything? who knows. but here's too many words of chef!buck and businessman!tommy for those who may be interested.

Buck decides to take a peek into the dining hall and is met with the sight of a room full of people crying, waxing poetic about love and broken hearts over the Duck a L’Orange, roasted green beans, and white and wild rice medley with almonds he never could have made two weeks ago. He’s…confused, to put it mildly. He’s had some enthusiastic reactions to his food recently: some unnecessarily angry and others uncomfortably euphoric, but nothing up to this point has reduced his customers to tears. It’s baffled him since it started, but when he looks back and thinks about how he was feeling when he made those dishes - angry at a rude patron, aroused after Tommy first kissed him - the rapid shift in the quality of his cooking starts to make more sense. Somehow his emotions - his passion, his love, even his current heartbreak - are finding their way into his food, and his customers can feel it too. Now that he’s aware, Tommy’s fear of Buck having put him under some kind of spell makes sense. It hadn’t been his intention, but what he feels is real, and he thinks the same is true for Tommy. He just has to find a way to prove it. So with this knowledge in mind, he heads back into the kitchen and starts thinking about how much he loves cooking. Focuses on how he feels most at home in a kitchen, and the magic of sharing a meal with the people he loves. He closes his eyes and thinks about what feels like home to him. Home is fresh baked bread infused with thyme and rosemary. It’s the dull thud of a knife on a cutting board. It’s flour handprints on an apron and laughing into glasses of merlot. It’s warm soapy water and damp dish towels and the roar of a gas burner igniting. It’s saltfatacidheat. It’s dancing in the warmth of a preheating oven and kissing on the kitchen ceiling. It’s sweet Georgia peaches and Rainier cherries and sour lemons. Home is where love is stored. Home is a kitchen in a tiny little restaurant that, not so long ago, almost ceased to exist. As he settles into the feeling, Buck calls his second audible of this service. Tonight, instead of the pretentious crème brûlée with candied pecans they’ve already started prepping, dessert is a riff on the recipe that started it all: a golden brown caramel eclair, this time with a light vanilla bean whipped cream.

thank you to @onthewaytosomewhere @judasofsuburbia @priincebutt @thinkof-england for being the most encouraging and best people to share a chat with.

and to @blueeyedgrlwrites and @alasse9 and so many people for the tags the last few weeks.

#kelly writes another au #bucktommy #did I get wordy for no good reason? probably but I made words and that's what matters #p.s. psych au is not being abandoned

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tenderlyrenjun · 1 year

Text

Golden Hour

minors + inactive/empty blogs do not interact

includes … celebrity chef!reader x idol-producer!mark, height difference, flirting, themes related to golden hour and child, kitchen sex, fingering, making out, light choking, oral sex (f receiving), penetration, safe sex ... I got a little inspired (?) and wrote this literally today after I got off work.

wc: 5,2k (two scenes)

“So …” You lean across the cluttered counter, most of the cooking utensils used thus far, since the class finished past your instruction ten minutes ago, the other party guests having already moved on to mingling and eating their bibimbap dishes, garnished by a simple omelette. “… how do you like your eggs?”

Mark licks his bottom lip, dragging it behind his teeth, and turns a brown egg, uncracked, in his hands, smoothly gliding the entire oval across his dorsal veins. He opens his mouth, but so many factors surface, once he takes everything into consideration – fried egg sandwiches during 9 AM business meetings at the studio; feta frittata eggs with a Sunday brunch mimosa; fluffy scrambled omelettes, adding an extra dash of protein, before the gym. And those are just scenarios, the last one mostly inspired by the matching, scanty gym outfit you gatekeep below that long apron, making you appear a little more exposed than his hippocampus can handle: crop top tank pushing up your chest, leggings laying so flat that he saw the outline of your thong when you spun the straps around your waist, fastening the long strands twice. Conversely, if he considers just the ingredients – of an omelette – or just the egg, ignoring his personal skill level, as shown by the pulped bibimbap dish nearly starting a fire on the hot plate at the end of his table, Mark … still has too many options.

So, he taps his neatly cut fingernail on one of the three eggs he’d been allotted at the beginning of the class and answers, “Scrambled,” slowly, because he’s used to it, to that technique. A scrambled egg is simple; no finesse. And he can cook it at any convenience, with the bare minimum number of utensils – in a pan, whisked by a fork; cracked over a steaming bowl of ramen, mixed by wooden chopsticks; heated in a microwave, nearly exploding after he sets the timer for five minutes.

Mark puts his egg back in the dispenser, sighs, and glances around the room. He honestly did not know what to expect from this “party”. Three rows of two long kitchen islands stand, placed equidistant in Renjun’s penthouse dining room, extending all the way to the living room where Jisung’s, his roommate, guitar accessories scatter across the coffee table. On his way up the elevator – actually a little before that, too, when he was at the studio, still evicting this tune he got stuck in his head, Mark considered the party to be a casual hangout, having heard that maybe 15 people, max, would be in attendance, not some theatre production, complete with a whole stage refurbishment. Ah, maybe he got his hopes up too high, relying more on the intimacy of a small party to keep him from a spatula, possibly wrapped up in conversation over a potential collaboration, like a networking event, rather than an actual cooking lesson from the youngest celebrity chef in the country’s largest metropolis with peers who doing the same as him, better than him. Mark thought he might excel, once he saw bibimbap on the schedule, the most basic breakfast dish, even though his stomach’s morning routine has been limited to toast or cereal for nearly a decade (much to Haechan’s grievance). Then, he overcooked the steak, resulting in you giving him yours; and he cooked his mushrooms first, the most potent flavor seeping down to the carrots, again resulting in you handing off your dish. The rice, really, was the only thing unscathed, mostly because he threw two cups in a cooker, leaving it untouched for 20 minutes.

“Sorry,” Mark apologizes. He winces, realizing how much of your time he monopolized during class – whether it was messing up a step in the recipe or staring at you too long until you noticed him again.

“It’s okay,” you tell him gently, bumping his arm, quickly, to scoot him down the counter. He complies, feet shuffling tinily, and watches you officially take over his project. “It happens. I think most people tend to, like, really develop their cooking skills around the same time their cells start dying,” you joke, giving him a light grin while you pull a clean glass bowl into frame.

“Mmhmm.”

Mark passes off all three eggs to you, and his fingers brush your hands, nails grazing, briefly, between your knuckles. He glances down at where they meet but jumps back to your face, stumbling at your chest, a consequence of the height difference, sternum hidden by both your boobs squished together and the apron holding them in place, albeit low-cut. You say nothing, instruct nothing, since the class is practically over (and he stays, like a teacher’s pet), so he leans back, checking out the gap in your apron, just to make sure you really do wear, like, actual clothes, including that thong he saw earlier, small triangle branded on your lower back like a tramp stamp. And you do! – wear clothes, which, at least, concludes one of his spinning thoughts today (it’s not even six o’clock yet, the time work usually ends). Then, his stomach rumbles, reminding him that breakfast was 12-hours ago.

“You’re, um, really good at this,” he brings his attention back to the purpose of this party.

“Yeah, thanks,” you accept, tone vocally light, which almost has him thanking you, too – be-because you have given him something to focus on this afternoon, temporarily relieving himself from the mental journalling his brain has been writing since 4 AM (would that be weird?; he doesn’t do it anyways). “I have a degree in physical chemistry,” you tell him, sharply whisking the eggs into a consistent yellow solution. “I’m making them eggs fluffy. I hope that’s okay.” You look at him, pausing the wooden sticks between your fingers, bowl pressed into your stomach, below your chest, and he has to look, bouncing from your eyes to boobs bowl.

Mark nods, twice, eyes widening downward, like a baby cheetah, half his bottom lip inside his mouth again, teeth chewing at the seam. He can’t trust himself not to stutter, not when his tongue falls numbly over his lower incisors and his toes bear his entire body weight, palms pushed into the edge of the counter to balance him.

“Sorry,” you apologize, reflexively, in the silence. And he winces, involuntarily stepping forward to revoke his silence, to verbally answer you so that you don’t have to take your eyes off the food. But you talk again and explain, “I’m not really used to the, like, customer service yet.” Your arms tense again, restarting the whisking, blending out the albumen on the perimeter. His fingers, too, strain, flexed wide enough to display his webbed metacarpal. If you were like his other friends, like Renjun, Mark might have already started massaging your shoulders, getting you to relax. But you’re not. And he barely knows you, mostly knows of you, from all the interviews preceding him in the magazine, little tidbits floating around the Internet as if fact without giving you the opportunity to confirm or deny them. “Sometimes, I just start cooking and forget to ask people – customers –“ You point at him, and he wishes you wouldn’t. It adds to the distance between you, making him count the millimeters you retracted when your fingers brushed tips. “– about their preferences.” You turn the electric stove top on, over medium heat, then reach for aluminium-wrapped slice of butter, unwrapping it at the back and pushing the soggy square (Mark winces again; that is probably his fault, having waiting too long to use it) into the pan via chopsticks. “But I’m, uh, I’m working on it.” You pull the pan off the stove, butter halfway melted, easy for you to slip and slide, coating the entire surface. And once you finish, putting it back to melt the rest, you glance around the room, small whisper drawing his ear to your lips. “It’s just hard … being the youngest person in the room, always obligated to absorb everyone’s opinions, everyone’s advice – whether solicited or not, kinda balancing this dichotomy where people want to guide you into what they think is the right direction or completely takeover the thing you’re doing.” You stab at the remaining butter with your chopstick, wood thumping the metal pan, then, lower the stove heat and sigh, “Sorry, that sounds weird, I know.”

“No, I, uh, I get it,” Mark croaks, stuttering getting even worse after you hand the glass bowl of whisked eggs to him. He tries to, like, replace you in front of the stove, but you stand still and guide both his hands on the rim, fingers filling in the gaps between his. You face the bowl toward his chest, a little lower than he would do on his own, but he keeps quiet at the discomfort, body stiffened, diaphragm concaved all the way. He tilts the eggs out fast, faster than you probably intended because you put up more resistance against him, slowing the pour until the curds form gently in the pan. You pull away first, completing his plan – in which he stands at the stove, you at the side. And Mark smacks his lips, tongue pushing on his bottom lip. “You’re trying to find some equilibrium between your environment – the people, the setting, whatever – and your own identity.” You hand him the cooking chopsticks, temporarily distracting his train of thought, but he bounces back quickly when you nudge his hand over the pan, directing him through scrambling the egg curds, through pushing the eggs outward to inward. “S-sometimes,” he breathes, shakily, grounding his body in cooking, “people will tell me that I’m, like, mature for my age, or – or, like, an old soul, and give me more responsibilities than I know what to do with. And it’s not like I can’t ask for help or anything; everyone gives me enough unsolicited advice to make me feel, like, okay, or whatever, with asking for help. But other times, people feel this need to, like, take care of me.” You hand him a rubber spatula and take away the chopsticks, which slightly proves his point, but he keeps to that point, using the spatula to put around the eggs evenly, fluffing them edges to middle. “Thanks.”

“Mmhmm,” you acknowledge before sitting on the counter, blue Nikes swinging against a cabinet door. And Mark copies you, leaning on the counter, just right of the electric stove and pan, eyeing you up. “Eyes on the pan, Mark.”

“Right, yeah.”

Mark uncrosses his arms and turns back to the last step of his bibimbap, folding the eggs over itself. But they look complete, a little wet, yellow dark and runny, but still, complete.

“Do I, um, do I do anything else?” he asks, holding both the handles of the pan and spatula. He cautiously looks up at you, through his own lashes, careful not to stutter at your chest again (even though you sit with your palms digging into your knees, biceps supporting their weight higher). You stare at him a second, something indiscernible crossing your mouth, then you shake your head, fringe falling in front of your ears, prompting you to tuck them back.

“Is there something else you want to do?”

Ask you out.

Maybe.

A beat passes.

“I don’t know,” Mark answers, nervously laughing to himself, under his breath. “I, uh, usually see people add stuff at the end – like, sprinkle some cilantro or squirt a side of ketchup.”

You hop down the counter and walk around his side, putting the pan between the two of you, which makes Mark tilt his head left, almost bonking his long blond hair (really his shoulder) on your head, if the height difference hadn’t returned. And the spatula drops from his hand, involuntarily he tells himself, when you nudge into his personal space. You catch it, not so easily, he notices – and apologizes, then you undo his folds to the omelette.

“People usually add spices and veggies to taste,” you start, not looking at him. “The eggs should be slightly wet when you’re adding the final ingredients, so you need to act quick –”

Mark jumps behind you, arm reaching across the counter, toward the far side, at the bowl of diced vegetables mixed with crushed pepper. He shakes it across the eggs, like he’s seen TV chefs do on Netflix. The silence, as you watch him top off the omelette with a literal pinch of salt, is a deafening few seconds, and he feels a sense of pride, that expectation of him excelling returning to the scene as he hoped before the class. But it leaves his body, the next second, when he realizes how close he stands to you – his chest pressed against your shoulders; your neck bending backwards, nearly resting on his bicep just to see his face.

“Ye-yeah,” you stutter, and suddenly, he sees you less confidently, and his mouth dries, preventing him from both apologizing for the intimacy and moving. “Just like that.” You swallow, thickly, fleetingly dipping your gaze to his lips; so quick, he thinks he hallucinated it.

“Th-then, does it, um, does it look done now?”

Mark’s shoulders stagger to his ears, tucking his chin to chest. He pulls his stomach backward, without the rest of his body, standing like a geometric abstract painting, limbs stacked one on top of the other.

You snap your head back to the pan, hair hitting his shirt. “Wh – Yeah, no, yeah, you were perf – good; you did good.” You kick up your elbow, outside his oblique, parenthetically trapping him tightly in place (otherwise, he’d fall). He watches you repeat his fold in the eggs, this time with ingredients sandwiched in the middle, yolk running less and less, tucking bell peppers and mushrooms inside. It’s a basic dish – the omelette – not even complete, since it will top the bibimbap.

Making an omelette takes longer than he thought it would, to be honest; well, making a good omelette. And this is probably the reason why he never makes one himself. All the recipes say 5-10 minutes, including prep time, but he has been here, with you, probably longer than that. Although, it could be his fault, needing to fill the silence with words, to say something – because he really cannot talk and check you out at the same time. You keep the conversation going, always articulating something interesting or relatable, to him, beyond the simple stuck-in-a-matrix TikTok clickbait that Renjun sends him at three in the morning. So, when you start moving again, shutting down the stove, plating his bibimbap, and untying your apron, Mark grabs your arm, fast, just strong enough to catch your attention; he releases immediately upon receiving your eye contact.

“Don’t,” he breathes, somehow winded. Then, he inhales, sharply, filling his lungs. “Eat with me?” he asks, “un-unless you have somewhere else to be.”

You turn around, at a better angle, back pushed against the stove buttons, apron hanging half an inch off your body. And Mark grabs you by the waist, hauling you into his chest, away from the sparking stove. But you both push each other away again, noticing the intimacy, hands rubbing into where you touched each other – you at your hips, him at his chest. And the two meter distance returns.

“No, I, um, I was just going to the gym after this.” You look him up and down, and his eyes sparkle. “But, no, yeah.” You take off the apron completely, folding it onto the counter. “I c-can eat with you. Just let me get a spoon.”

Mark produces one nearly out of thin air (really, he swiped one of the three off the counter to make space for your apron). “We can share,” he nods at the ceramic bowl, “this bibimbap. Yours is probably cold by now,” he reasons, because, if you go, you might not come back, and he doesn’t want to let this be a mirage or, worse, be a dream; dreams can become nightmares. And as another beat overtakes the conversation, overtakes his request and explanation, Mark thinks he fell into another night with the same nightmare. The bibimbap is only a single serving, if that, drowned by three servings of eggs. You barely know him, only revealing maybe one or two vulnerable thoughts, on which he piggybacked his own apprehensions. And really, Mark should feel bad, about monopolizing your time both during and after class, even though this is technically a party and he has yet to say more than three words to his best friend, Renjun. He phrased his request, less like a question, more like a demand, and he can’t find a reason why you would agree, his brain already lined up three objections for you to reject –

“Okay.”

Mark freezes, hand clenching around the air, since you took the spoon away from him (he hadn’t noticed you did that, to be honest). He only moves after you squeeze his arm, guiding him away from the stove too, like he did you, except the stove is really off right now. And everything rushes out at once – he follows you to the side, still far from the rest of the party guests, who he, frankly, forgot were in the room still, despite this not being his apartment; and he repeats, “Okay.” Mark tilts his head to the side, you blurring the rest of his vision. “Okay? Okay. Cool, cool, okay, cool.” You hop back on the counter and skulk your foot between his thighs, bringing him a little bit closer, out of the aisle. His hands fall on both your sides, lowering him down your chest, which looks about the same without the apron – pushed up and compressed together. “Actually …”

Mark’s request for you to eat with him changes.

In terms of location and subject.

He brought up that the bibimbap might not be an ideal meal to share, and that he wants to share a meal with you. It took a couple minutes, skirting around the whole date question, since he literally only knew you a couple hours, but if you know, you know. And Mark knew that he really wanted to see you more … privately. So, eventually, he got through the question, getting you back to his apartment on the lie that he has more food at home. But you never confirmed his lie, or maybe you never doubted him (he’ll clear it up later), because you shove him against the wall, kissing him between the photos of his friends and family, who he definitely does not want to see him railing the girl of his dreams.

Mark changes the position, scratching his nails up your scalp, behind your head, coiling thick strands around his fingers while he walks you down the living room to his bed, never letting up on the embrace.

However, the two of you fall on the ground, in the kitchen, Mark’s elbow slamming into the ground first as he tries to protect you from the hard wood floors. He yelps in pain, too, but you poke your tongue in his mouth, arms wrapping around his neck. You stumble toward his lips, chest beating on his, your back coming off the ground, nearly toppling him over. And Mark fumbles, hand feeling around the floor until he can sit upright, sloped against the island cabinets, which seem to have a lot of use today. He raises his chin higher, trying to match the way you bounce on his lap, cupping his face still. And, Jesus Christ, Mark compares your lips to every other person he has ever kissed before – his newest hairstylist a year after he became an adult; the concessions stand clerk at the movie theatre when he was 17; another idol he met through a mixed-up sandwich. You’re better than all of them, he concludes, swollen lips as pliant at his half-lidded eyes, puckering repeatedly to give you a sounding board each time you dive into his face. He grabs your ass, like an anchor, heels of his palms kneading into the muscles.

“Mm – Mark,” you moan, not breaking apart, hot breath exhaling down his tongue. You stand on your knees, and your nails drag into his hair, tugging at the roots.

“Fuck.”

Mark kisses you again, harder, bending you across his legs, one hand belting behind your waist, the other slamming into the ground. You hang off his neck, nearly dragging him on the floor with you, had he not already set himself up for support. Then, he starts falling back into the island, repeatedly pecking you, one last lick on your teeth before pulling away. He needs the reprieve, to organize his thoughts, figure out the first way he can fuck you tonight without blundering like a clumsy virgin. And when he peaks an eye open, he sees yours still closed; sees your chest heaving, the neckline somehow lower. So, Mark kisses you again, more chaste, patting down the side of your hair until his palm rests on your cheek.

“Why – why did you stop?” you ask, sinking your ass onto his thighs.

“I –“ Mark swallows. He wants you in his bed now, thrusting into you so rough that his blue sheets tear off the corners. He also wants you on his couch, the next immediate mattress, rubbing his boner up your tight, giving each other tight hand jobs, clinging to each other just to save room. But as he darts across your now flushed face, Mark is momentarily returned to that first moment when he saw you walk into Renjun’s apartment, a confident chef who eventually gave him your full attention, and he answers, “On the counter.” He taps your ass, getting you both to stand. He helps you jump on the granite, hands around your waist to place you perfectly in front of him.

“Like this?”

You wrap your legs and arms around him, nearly falling off, so Mark scoots closer to the edge, his mostly hard cock grazing the edge and your knee.

“Yeah,” he hisses, hands traveling down your calves, like a massage. “Good girl,” he praises. Mark brings one up your thigh, between your thighs, not quite touching the middle just yet. “Can I?” he asks, thumb resting on your stomach, above the waist band he already folded down your belly button. You both stare at each other, delicately grinding the paper-thin air between you two. Then, you roll down the counter, humping his abs so tightly that his shirt rides up.

“Yeah, Mark, please,” you moan again. “You c-can touch.”

Mark, impatient, doesn’t take your pants off, sliding all five digits down your stomach, palm facing you. His longest fingers trace your underwear, mentally drawing himself a picture of the thong you kept hidden from him for hours. It’s thinner than he imagined, wetter, too, the skinny string disappearing between your pussy lips, choking your clit. Mark breathes down your lips, inhaling through his nose as your breath hitches repeatedly, open-mouthed, staccato ah’s decreasing in octaves from moans to groans. He pads his index and ring finger on either side of your cunt, middle finger stroking your clit lightly. Actually, he tries not to touch you directly, wanting the ghost of his fingers to burn your loins first, but you keep grinding closer and closer to him; eventually, his fingers slip inside, starting with two interphalangeal creases. The tightness of your leggings holds his wrist against your lower stomach, but his fingers have some range, able to gesture for your G-spot to come hither, to find him.

“Wanna fuck you so bad,” he whimpers, kissing you again before you can retort – because it’s not a request; he’s not asking. Mark is telling you that he wants to fuck you so bad, right now, monster cock straining his jeans fully.

“You can,” you tell him between a kiss. Mark’s free hand holds you around the neck, palm on your jugular, thumb reaching across your larynx. Nothing supports your head, so you keep rocking forward, incidentally dropping further down his fingers in your cunt, stifling your voice box in his hand. “You can f-fuck – fuck – me, Mark.”

He almost takes you up on it, even stripping the both of you down to your underwear. And he finds out that your bra has been holding up your boobs, not your crop top, not the apron, your bra. He hopes you have a duplicate of this one, because he’s going to rip it.

Not actually though.

In reality, outside his thoughts, Mark hesitates. His cock twitches on his stomach, smooth tip leaking under the waistband, as he debates how he wants to get between your legs. Either way – stuffing you with his cock or lapping at your walls – would sprawl you across his kitchen counter, displaying you like a perfect meal prepared by his Michelin charisma, having moved the appetizer (flirting) from Renjun’s apartment into a main dish at his place. His place. Oh, yeah, you definitely have all night. So, Mark settles between your thighs, pushing your knees more open.

“No more teasing,” he tells you.

“What – Oh, fuck, just like that, Mark!”

You fall onto your forearms, over the counter, as Mark licks his way into your pussy, one finger holding the tiny thong string off to the side. He extends his tongue, all the way, angling his head diagonally. He keeps his wet muscle still and shakes his head, side-to-side, nose rubbing just outside your labia, more on your thigh, pushing your pussy lips together so tightly that your clit bears most of the tension. You moan his name, repeatedly, growing louder and louder over each passing syllable, encouraging him further – or, rather, deeper.

Mark pulls his dick out of his pants, stroking down only once, holding the pulsing base firmly, prematurely lining himself with the thought of your cunt.

“Ah, Mark,” you scream, palm slamming into the counter. Mark throws his glance at your face and sees your lips form a giant ‘O’ – God, he could fuck your mouth pussy. And he strokes himself again. The way you squirm on his kitchen island realigns your clit with his nose, and you grind the little nub on his nub, the hard ball jingling wetly. Your ass, too, bounces on the table, practically spanking yourself on the granite. Mark bites his lips higher, catching your clit in a hard suction, drinking the shaky nerves, tongue abrading the entire surface area. You return your hands to his hair, scratching into his scalp, never tugging him away, only yanking him tighter. And your thighs quiver, squeezing his cheeks, knees outlining his ears. “Mark, Mark,” you chant, “Mark, I’m gonna – I’m gonna – Oh, my God, I’m gonna – “

Then, he pulls away.

And you nearly scream again.

“Mark,” you whine for a good few seconds.

“Wait for me,” he tells you, holding your chin between his thumb and index finger to press a quick kiss on your lips. You try to elongate the kiss again, your sweaty ass adhering on the counter, but he pulls away fully after the one quick kiss. “Good girls wait,” he mumbles.

Mark leaves for a second, heading into his bathroom for a condom.

He catches himself in the mirror, toned abs full on display, lengthy cock flopping sans balls outside his briefs. His hair, too, has more volume than it normally does, even when his stylist fixes it up for concerts or stages (who knew sex hair looked this good?). Mark checks himself out another minute, then grabs a neatly packed L-condom. He exhales, jumping once, only to realize that it was a mistake when his dick hits his thigh. And he takes a moment, to just breathe, before going back to you, cock now wrapped up with protection.

In the kitchen, Mark finds you fingering yourself, writhing on the counter, opposite hand covering your mouth. He watches a little bit longer (but not long enough to be a pervert), then stalks between your thighs. You gasp, eyes widening.

“I thought I told you, ‘Good girls wait’.”

Your chest heaves a few seconds, and he realizes that he probably disturbed your orgasm a second time.

“I – I need to prep myself,” you explain, weakly, but he lets it go with the next half of your sentence boosting his ego, “Your dick is too big.”

“Mmhmm,” he nods. Mark wraps your thong around his dick, the little tiny crotch part choking his length, and rubs the new apparatus on your vulva, until you whine again, writhe again. “You’re gonna like it big,” he mumbles before untangling himself and impaling his cock all the way inside your cunt. “Oh, fuck,” he groans, shallowly thrusting half an inch out your labia, the acute angle between your bodies chafing his cock under your clit. Your pussy throbs at a 3010 tempo, practically squeezing him out, which gives him an excuse to thrust again, to bottom out again, the furthest part in your uterus clinching his leaky tip. “You – you feel s-so close,” Mark lisps, “T-to cumming.”

“I am,” you confirm, voice tight, moans asphyxiating your throat. “Mm – Mark, close.”

“Go ahead,” he tells you. “Come on, baby, you can cum. Be a good girl, cum.” Mark abuses your cunt harder, holding your waist lowly, sliding your ass off the counter as he pounds you harder and harder, cock driving up your pussy at the perfect angle, for what seems like the both of you. He tries continuously accelerating his speed, but as your pussy strangles him, and his thighs bruise on your ass, his cock flops around inside your cunt, spinning clockwise, ricocheting your walls.

“Ah, ah, ah!”

Mark weighs down your hips with one hand, the other tilting your chin up to look at him, to watch just him make you feel so damn good. Somewhere along the moaning and the sloshing, Mark squeezes his eyes shut, a familiar pressure building in his ears; he chases it, bucking his hips faster, spanking his thighs on your ass, your pussy ultimately trapping his tip deep in your uterus, only letting his shaft spring back and forth, veins stinging your velvety walls.

“Fuck, fuck, yeah, good girl,” Mark raps in one breath, all the music in his head building up and up and up, until the bass drops, and white noise backs up your screams like an instrumental. He digs his thumbs into your waist, grinding his hips on your labia, burying his cum as far as it can go, though impeded by the condom. And he lays down on the counter with you, feet floating off the ground.

You curl into his side, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. He can hear you steady your breathing, and it slows his, too. The moment hangs in the air, much like his feet, and Mark doesn’t know how much time passes, only enough for him to close his eyes, not a single thought behind those lids.

But you break the silence, mumbling something into his naked shoulder.

“Hmm? What was that?”

Mark lifts his head up, opening his eyes to stare at your newly shy smile.

“I just noticed you never asked me how I liked my eggs,” you laugh.

And Mark laughs too. “Okay, so how do you like your eggs then?” he plays along.

“Fertilized.”

#nct smut #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #mark lee smut #mark lee x reader #nct fluff #?#nct fanfic #nct mark smut #nct mark x reader #nct drabbles #nct drabble #nct mark drabble #mark drabble

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drabblesandimagines · 1 year

Text

Kitty (part 11)

Rei x (afab) reader Parts 1-10 here.

The second episode of Kazuki’s beloved drama ends on a cliffhanger – literally – when he and Rei approach your booth, their conversation with Kyu seemingly concluded. You take out the headphones and smile at the two of them, but they both seem a little hesitant.

“Everything o-o-okay?”

“Yeah, all good,” Kazuki beams, forcefully. “Sorry, took a little longer than we thought. I’m gonna go grab some groceries. You must be hungry, though, so you and Rei can hang here and have some lunch. Kyu’s just gonna bring over some soup.” He speaks at a mile a minute, not quite making eye contact.

You go to offer to help Kazuki with the shop when Rei slides into the seat next to you, bumping your knee as he does so. You scoot over to give him some more room, his body now caging you into the wall.

“Can I watch too?” He gestures to one of the headphones and you nod and he takes one, popping it in his ear.

“Good idea! The finale’s on tonight as well so we can watch that together, huh?” Kazuki spins on his heels and heads towards the door before you can respond.

You go to look at Rei, a question on your tongue when his hand grabs yours under the table and squeezes. “It’s starting.”

“Okay,” you say and pick up the other headphone, placing it in. Unbeknownst to you, his eyes are firmly fixed on the café door and not on the laptop screen, his right hand in position over his hip where his gun resided.

The café remains eerily quiet as the two of you work your way through the remaining episodes, accompanied with a bowl of soup and another round of drinks, Rei holding your hand the whole time. Sometimes he runs his thumb gently, repetitively, across your knuckles. Other times he squeezes firmly, as if he wants to check you’re still there. You don’t ask where he went that morning or talk about what occurred last night.

Kazuki returns just ahead of the time one of you would set off to pick up Miri from daycare.

“Rei, you go get Miri. Kitty and I will head home – I’ve gone a little overboard at the shop…” He orders as he packs up his laptop. Rei nods, sharing a look with Kazuki – one you think means something, but what you don’t know. Kazuki pays for the food and drinks and you thank Kyu for the hospitality.

“See you soon, Kitty.” He smiles, warmly, and you nod. Something seems off, but it’s just the polite thing to say, isn’t it?

As soon as you get back to the apartment, Kazuki is in full chef mode. It’s as if it’s a celebration feast – is it someone’s birthday? - but you’re not sure of the occasion. He asks if you’ll unpack some of the many brown paper bags the two of you carried in from the car.

You can’t help the puzzled look on your face when you unpack a third celebration cake. “Everything just looked so good,” he shrugs, scratching the back of his hand, “And I left it too late to cook everything from scratch, so…”

When Miri and Rei return home, they’re soon put to work. Everyone has a task – Miri is setting the table, Rei is making some rice balls. Kazuki gives him strict instructions to not fill them all with cereal and strawberry jam – Miri protests that she does want them all like that and that you absolutely have to try them – and Kazuki throws his hands up in the air with a laugh, “Okay, I know when I’m fighting a losing battle.”

Dinner is a lavish affair – Kazuki has abandoned his carefully crafted vitamin-rich menu he’s been serving you recently – a combination of home-made snacks, a bunch of junk food, candy, cakes, even an ice-cream cake, of all things. Miri, unsurprisingly, crashes from a sugar coma not long after you finish. It takes you and Zuki a full 30 minutes boxing up all the leftovers and cramming them into the fridge, as Rei takes Miri up to bed after managing to wake her up briefly enough to coerce her into brushing her teeth.

The finale of the drama begins at 9pm – Kazuki’s on the armchair and you’re beside Rei on the sofa. You’re not really sure you’re going to make it through the whole thing, despite the many explosions that seem to be going on. After seeing all the episodes today, they’re beginning to lose their impact but Kazuki is clutching a pillow to his chest as he anxiously watches. Your eyelids are growing heavier by the second - a combination of the broken sleep of last night, your stomach contentedly full and the beginning of a sugar high crash all catching up on you. Rei’s sitting so close to you, your arms brushing up against each other as you breathe.

Suddenly, the villain pops up unexpectantly on the screen, almost like a horror movie, causing both you and Kazuki to jump. Kazuki clutches the pillow tighter and you lean into Rei, placing a head on his chest and grabbing onto his arm to ground you. His arm wraps around your shoulders and pulls you in closer as you try your best to remain focused on the action on the screen and not on the solid chest your hand has landed on. As the drama continues, Rei pulls you even tighter into his side until, eventually, your head comes to rest just below his shoulder. He’s so warm and smells so good. It’s a combination of laundry detergent, the musk of the body spray he uses, the slight strawberry scent from his hair – he must have used Miri’s shampoo again – and something else you can only describe as uniquely Rei.

On screen, the action draws to a close as the protagonists succeed and they begin to tie up loose ends. It’s so obvious the leads are going to get together now that the world is saved, so it wouldn’t be so bad to close your eyes for a moment, would it? Just a moment…

A few minutes later, Rei smiles as he feels you relax fully in his embrace as the credits begin to roll on the screen, your breathing slipping into the slow and steady rhythm of sleep.

He can feel Kazuki’s stare burning on him. His partner had gone back and forth for hours at Kyu’s earlier after the initial agreement – coming up with more and more outlandish plans of how the family could be kept together.

“I know it’s selfish…” Rei murmurs softly, careful not to wake you. “..but let me pretend for a little longer that I can have a different life.”

The blonde gets to his feet and walks behind the sofa, pausing to softly squeeze Rei’s shoulder, wordlessly.

You wake up, slowly, a little surprised to find yourself nuzzled under Rei’s arm on the couch – lying down on the couch to be exact. You’re not sure how that happened. You’re on the outside edge, but Rei has his arms wrapped around you tightly, making sure you don’t fall. He’s staring at the ceiling.

“Morning,” he says, quietly. He must’ve heard you begin to stir.

“Morning?” You question – seeing that the sun has indeed risen through the blinds. “Oh.” You look up, trying to get a look at his face. The dark rings underneath his eyes have returned. “D-did you s-sleep?”

He shrugs.

“W-why didn’t you w-wake me up?”

“I was comfy. I’ll catch up later, it’s fine.”

Before you can question further, you hear Kazuki’s door open from above and the blonde emerges, black circles also clearly visible under his eyes. You wonder if he’ll comment about the fact that you two are cuddled on the sofa at this early hour, but he wishes you both a good morning before he starts preparing breakfast.

You untangle yourself from Rei’s limbs as you sit up, stretching.

“Hey, Kitty,” Kazuki calls, casually, as he cracks some eggs. “We’re going on a trip after we drop Miri at daycare, if you wanna hop in the shower.”

“Okay,” you nod. “W-where are w-we g-going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Kazuki remains coy about where you’re going when you climb back in the car after Miri’s been dropped off at daycare. He asked you to take her in whilst they waited and the little girl gave you an enthusiastic hug around your legs as always before she ran off to greet her friends. Taking the car to daycare seemed a rare occurrence – often opting to walk or cycle instead. You saw Kazuki place a duffel bag in amongst Miri’s daycare bags in the trunk this morning, though, and whilst you’d been eating breakfast, you could swear you saw Rei leaving your shared room with that exact bag in hand. Maybe it’s something for a mission. You’re aware they keep the guns in there – in the back of one of the closets – locked away tightly from Miri’s hands.

Rei’s staring at you via the rear-view mirror but when you smile, he returns a forced one. It looks strained and doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It’s weird - he’s probably tired though, you reason. You can’t believe he stayed there all night like that on the sofa with you, but you’d be lying if you didn’t admit it was one of the best sleeps you’ve.

You’re out of the city now, driving down the motorway for an age in silence before Kazuki finally pulls into a service station car park. He seems to purposedly drive the furthest away from the few other cars parked there this morning and aims for one parked solitary on its own. There’s a figure leaning against it and as the car approaches, you realise it’s Kyu. There’s now an uneasy feeling in your stomach.

Kazuki turns off the engine, unclips his seatbelt and opens the door to get out. “Come on, Kitty.” He calls over his shoulder. The door slams shut.

Rei doesn’t make a move, still staring at you via the mirror.

“Rei,” you swallow, your mouth feeling extremely dry all of a sudden. “W-what’s going o-on?”

He doesn’t reply but finally breaks his gaze and his eyes drop down to stare into his lap. “I’m sorry, Kitty.”

Kazuki seems in a hurry as he opens your door before you can even ask what Rei’s apology is for. “Come on.” He repeats and you get out of the car without even thinking about it properly – almost as a reflex. Will that ever truly go away?

“Morning,” Kyu greets politely. “We ready?” Ready – ready for what?

“Yeah,” Kazuki nods. “Kitty, can I see your phone?”

You don’t want to give it to him – something’s definitely off. You want to know what’s going on, someone to let you in on the secret. But it’s his phone, he gave it to you and though he’s posed it as a question, you know a veiled order when you hear one.

He smiles as you pull it out from your jacket pocket and place it in his outstretched hand. He clasps it for a second but then, suddenly, drops it – deliberately. It bounces on the concrete and he crushes it under his foot.

“Did you really have to be that dramatic with it?” Kyu sighs.

“I-I d-don’t un-un-understand.” You can feel your breath catch in your throat and you’re beginning to panic, exacerbating that stupid stutter. Kazuki is now opening the trunk of the car, retrieving the duffel bag. He passes it to Kyu.

“You need to go, Kitty.” Kazuki shrugs – you can tell it’s deliberate, though. He’s trying to be casual but he’s a terrible actor.

“G-go?”

“We should’ve done this in the first place. Kyu’s found you a refuge. He’s going to take you there, and they’ll help you start your new life.”

“N-n-new l-life?” This doesn’t make sense.

“It’s for the best, okay? Let’s not make a bigger thing than it is.”

A bigger thing than it is? You look back at the yellow car desperately but Rei’s still staring at his lap. Does he agree with this?

“I d-don’t un-un-un-under…”

“You don’t need to.” Kazuki snaps, cutting across you and your stomach sinks. “You’re going with Kyu and that’s it.”

“No.” You force out in one, determined not to cry. “I d-d-don’t w-want to. No.”

“Kitty…”

“You s-said I have to say w-what I want. So, I w-want to s-stay with you, Z-Zuki. With you and Miri and… And with R-Rei.”

“It’s not up for discussion.” He rubs his temples – you’ve seen him do it when he’s frustrated with Miri or Rei over things. “Look, it’s an order - you understand those, don’t you?”

The venom in his voice hurts. Does it hurt so much more because it’s coming from Kazuki, who’s been nothing but sweet to you since the first conversation all those weeks ago? Was it all a cruel trick this whole time?

“Kazuki…” Kyu starts, as if trying to ease the situation, but the blonde holds up his hand to stop him. He walks to the side of Kyu’s car and opens the rear passenger seat.

“Get in, please.”

You stare at the interior of Kyu’s car, but don’t move. Why isn’t Rei out here? He can’t agree with all this. The glances, the touches, the hand-holding, the cuddles, the date, the unsaid words…

“Now!” Kazuki’s voice breaks as he slams his fist against the top of the car and you feel you might faint.

“Enough.” Kyu hisses, grabbing Kazuki’s arm and pulling him away from the vehicle. He’s facing the other way now, but you see his shoulders shudder. Is he crying?

“Kitty,” Kyu says in a softer voice, “please get in the car.”

You swallow hard and look back towards the car at Rei again, pleading for him to look up. Maybe if you can just get him to meet your eyes he’ll come talk some sense into Kazuki. Had you imagined everything? It just doesn’t make any sense. Why doesn’t it make sense?

You can’t get back in the bright yellow car. You can’t run – the way Kazuki’s acting, you believe he’ll chase you down… The only option is Kyu’s back seat. You don’t want to get in, but Kazuki’s words circle round your brain – you understand orders if nothing else, right?

The blonde’s shoulders are still shuddering as you force your legs to move forward towards the car. Suddenly, a door opens and you jerk your head in the direction. Rei is getting out the car now – at last – he’ll explain it to you, there’ll be a reason for all this and you’ll feel silly for getting upset. Kazuki didn’t mean any of those things, right? Rei’s hands are in his pockets as he approaches and you can’t read his expression.

“Rei…” Kazuki’s voice cracks again, but he trails off as Rei strides past him, straight to your side. His arm is suddenly around your waist and he’s guiding you towards the back seat, somehow encouraging you to sit down.

“I-I d-don’t u-understand.” There’s tears running down your face now – the barrier broken.

“You need to go, Kitty.” He crouches down and takes your hand. “It’ll be all right.” But you don’t believe him.

He wipes away a few tears from your cheek with his thumb, before bringing your other hand up to his lips and kissing your knuckles gently, briefly, before placing your hand back down in your lap. He gets up and shuts the door and you can’t watch as he walks away.

There’s muffled conversation between Kyu and Kazuki, but your heart is pounding in your ears and you can feel your breath catch in your throat. You can’t have one of those now, aren’t you pathetic enough?

You dig the nails of your left hand into your palm, using your right hand to wipe the hot tears off your face as you force yourself through the counts of four, steadying your breath. When it begins to settle, you hear the trunk open behind you. Kyu places something in and, as he does so, you swear you hear Kazuki bite down a loud sob. But you don’t look back, you can’t.

The trunk slams shut and you jump a little. Kyu’s getting in the front seat now, turning the engine on. Your breathing is steadier and you put your seat belt on without prompt, but your heart is still thudding in your chest. If he’s saying something to you at that moment, you don’t hear it.

You want to wake up now, please can you wake up? You pinch yourself hard on the forearm. This has to be a nightmare. You’re going to wake up in your bed - sweaty, heart thudding, short of breath, but then Rei is going to be there and he’ll hold you and assure you it’s okay, everything’s okay, they’d never do that to you, he’d never do that to you. You’re going to wake up and Kazuki will be making French toast, you’ll colour with Miri on the coffee table, smiling as you watch her concentrate hard on her drawings…

A mantra starts to reverberate around your head, maybe if you say it enough times it’ll work, it’ll come true. You’re going to wake up now, you’re going to wake up now, you’re going to wake up now.

“I know it probably doesn’t feel like it, Kitty, but this really is for the best.” Kyu speaks up from the front seat.

Please wake up.

Part 12.

#ghostdogwrites #buddy daddies x you #buddy daddies fanfic #buddy daddies fluff #buddy daddies x reader #suwa rei x reader #rei suwa x reader #rei suwa x you #suwa rei #kazuki kurusu #miri unasaka #buddy daddies

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gassyloves · 2 years

Text

Best Bros

Collin and Jace are roommates in their first year at BLANK University. Collin is openly gay and studies theatre while Jace is your stereotypical straight dude. He’s 6′4″ with curly brown hair and brown eyes- very, very dreamy. He loves to workout and play sports with his friends, can get any girl (or guy for that matter) he wants, and just overall exudes charisma and confidence. The semester is only about two weeks in, but the two guys have bonded quite well. All it took was a fart.

Collin was cooking something to eat in their shared kitchenette when Jace came home.

“Smells good. What are you cooking?”

“Just some rice and beans. Want some?”

“If you have some left after you’ve had all you want, sure!”

“I’m making plenty, so please help yourself.”

“Awesome, man, thanks!”

Jace sets his bag down and plops face down on the living room couch.

“You okay?” Collin says with a laugh.

“Yeah it’s just been a long morning.”

“Well, it’s Friday! You can chill out all you want.”

“That’s true. Hmm.”

“What?”

“I just remembered I was gonna play basketball with the boys tonight, but I honestly don’t really want to.”

“Girl’s night!”

Jace laughs. “Hell yeah, man!”

“The rice and beans are done for whenever you want it!”

“Bet.”

They both grab a bowl and fill it with food and sit down. The two talk, eat, and watch tv when Collin says,

“Ah shit!”

“What?”

“I spilt on my pants. Ugh and all my laundry is in the wash.

It’s not that big of a deal. We’re inside and it’s just us.”

“I guess. I just feel gross haha”

“Want a pair of shorts or something?”

“Sure, actually. Thank you!”

Jace smiles and goes into his room and comes back with a pair of black basketball shorts. He hands them to Collin in a ceremonial manner, with a bow.

Collin laughs and takes the shorts.

“Thanks bae.”

Jace smooches at Collin. “No problem buddy.”

Collin doesn’t usually wear athletic clothing like that, but it’s a chance for him to feel like one of his “bros”, so he takes his dirty pants off and slides the shorts on. Once they’re done eating, they put their bowls in the sink and go to the couch to watch more tv. Jace leans over to Collin and asks,

“Wait wait dude... do you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

PPPPBBBBRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTT

A monstrous 8 second fart fires out of Jace’s basketball short cladded ass.

“Excuse me” he said with a grin.

“That was huge oh my God”

“Eh, it was alright.”

“I am afraid of you.”

“I’m harmless.” He gives a wink. “My brother on the other hand, his farts are fucking insane. He once sat on me and farted until I passed out.”

Collin laughs. “I can’t imagine you never fought back.”

“He’s a few years older than me so I never had the chance until I was like 16. But once I got strong enough to, you bet I pinned him down and gave him a taste of what he had been giving me my whole life. Also, sorry I didn’t warn you.”

“Warn me for what?”

BBBBBBBRRR

“That.”

Suddenly, Collin feels something in his stomach. He has never been much of a farter, but he felt one coming and wanted to bond with his new friend.

“That’s okay. Because I didn’t warn you about this.” BRRBRRRRTBBT.

“DUDE! I never thought I’d hear you fart.”

“I’m usually embarrassed by it so I only do it while I’m alone.”

“That was awesome though!”

“You’re too much.”

They go back to watching.

Collin feels something again. He turns to Jace and with a grin hikes his leg up.

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. BRRRRPP

“Two in a row?”

BRP. “Three.”

Jace sees what’s happening. The friendly competition is about to begin.

Jace, without losing focus, leans with his ass towards Collin.

“Hey no aimin-”

PPPPPPRRRRBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBRRRRRRRRRRRR

“Beat that. Wait wait wait-” BBBBBBBRBRBRBRBR BRBRBRBRBR RBBRBRBR BR

“And those.”

Collin tries to push. “Fuck, I don’t have any more.”

“Cool dude, I do.” GRGBBBBFFFBBBBBRRBRTRBTRBTRBTRpppppbbttBRAP

He then lets out an exaggerated sigh.

A few moments go by without any farts, and Collin thinks it’s his time to shine. Like Jace did before, he leans with his ass toward Jace. Without realizing though, Jace was doing the same. The two dudes let out an explosive fart at the exact same time.

BBBBBBRBRBRRBBRBRBRBRBRBRBRBRBRBRBRBRBR

BRBRBRBRBBBPPPPPPPPPPBBBBBBBRRRRRPPPPPPPPFFFFFGGBRBR

Collin’s fart lasted longer, but the guys were too amazed at the synchronicity of their gas to give it much attention.

“Dude!” Jace said as he and Collin high five.

“If only mine wasn’t longer and more powerful than yours, our souls would be like intertwined but with farts.”

“Okay showoff.” Jace says with a laugh and a punch to Collin’s arm.

“Why’d you wait so long to fart in front of me?”

“You waited to fart in front of me too, dude.”

“Well yeah because I’m self conscious. You fart loud and proud.”

“I didn’t want to gross you out before we became friends. “

They laugh.

But now that we are...

Jace turns his head to Collin and gives him a mischievous grin. He stands up in a squat and seemingly without any effort at all releases one of the biggest farts Collin has ever heard.

PPPPPPPPRRRRBRBRBRBRBBBBBBBBBAAAAABABABABPPPPERRRRRRGRBGRBGRBRGBRGBRGRBGRBGRBGRBGRBGRBRGBRGBRGBRGRBGRBRGBRG

“Holy fuck, dude. That even shocked me.”

“Yeah holy shit. Did you shit?”

“Psh. Nah bro, I’m all air.” He then swiftly pushes his ass towards Collin and lets out a cute little poot. Collin slaps Jace’s ass away and he laughs.

“Collin I have a favor to ask you.”

“What could it possibly be?”

Jace extends his pointer finger to Collin. “Pull this please.”

He does so and Jace releases another rancid fart.

“Is the contest still going on? You have a lot to catch up-”

BBUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP

Collin releases a huge, nasty sounding burp that ends in a cute grin.

“Oh we’re getting into another territory now. Watch this.”

Jace stands up and breathes in a big gulp of air. At the same time, he sucks in some more air through his ass, which is loud enough for Collin to hear.

“Wait, you can do this shit on command?”-

BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAHBHBHBHBHBHBHBHBHBH

PPRRRRRBBBBBBTTBTBBBBBBRRRRRRRRRRRRRRBBBBBBBB

He lets out a massive burp and fart at the same time.

“You win.”

“I know. But it was fun getting you out of your shell.” He smiles and rustles Collin’s hair. “I’m gonna go take a nap.”

“Okay!”

Jace lets something else out, although it’s not gas.

“Hey, um, would you want to take one with me?”

“Sure! but why”

“I’m in the mood to cuddle.”

Collin stares at Jace. “Sure, why not. But can it be in my room? Yours is kind of hot.”

“Whatever you want.”

“Cool cool cool. Oh, and don’t dutch oven me or I’ll bite your dick off.”

“Oh don’t worry. I absolutely will be doing that.”

Collin rolls his eyes and Jace laughs. As they get to the bedroom door, Jace walks into the back of Collin, who immediately takes the moment to rip a nasty sounding fart on Jace’s crotch.

“Dude, I’m so sorry it just slipped out.” Collin says as he opens his door.

“Oh, it’s really on now.”

Jace goes into Collin’s room and closes the door behind him, interested to see what comes of his friendship.

#farts #male farts #malefart #dude farts #gayfartfiction #burping #farting #fart stories #gassyguys

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