#i use that ladle every day of my life

[balkanradfem]

So I've been thinking for the last few days about how I wanted to make a sour cherry pie; they're still not ripe enough to eat and it's been cloudy so it's taking a while. But they're great for a pie. I've been getting an obstacle in form of 'in what container can I bake a pie', because all of my oven containers are big, rectangular, and generally not great to take a pie out of. I considered maybe using a plate, or a broken pan, but I would get a little put off. Whenever I see someone else do it, they're using those round glass containers for baking; I've always wanted one, but they're way too fancy for me, and I'd never buy one.

So fast forward to this morning; I had given myself way too many chores, failed to eat breakfast, got woken up too early by my roommate, and by 7am I was already in the garden, then working the field, then foraging for nettle. I was on my way back at 10am, feeling a little faint, but I noticed a big trash container in my way, and I'm all grumpy about having to go around it, the damn thing was in the middle of the walkway.

However, I noticed this trash container had a bucket, and a gardener needs buckets; as many buckets as possible (for catching rainwater). I also needed on for my future compost toilet, so that's another great reason to check out this bucket. I assumed it had to be broken or have a hole in it to be thrown away, and I peeked inside to see. There was some stuff in it. Some stuff that suspiciously looked like.. no. I couldn't mess with it in the middle of the street, I just took the entire bucket home, and decided to check it out in privacy.

I got it home, took the thing out, it was extremely, extremely filthy, filled with some sort of grease and ashes, I left it to soak in chlorine for a while to remove any bacteria, scrubbed and washed it several times, and this is what I got!

A perfect glass pie container! At the exact moment I needed one!

And, this is not all the bucket contained. It also had: one small miniature glass vase, a few pieces of cardboard (thrown away), a particularly strong nail, a very strong screw (I'm collecting nails and screws to use them in furniture construction), a paintbrush (but a bad one), and a very low value coin (lucky coin).

And the bucket wasn't even broken. I'm so ready to start a homestead you gyns.

Extremely cheered up by this lucky find, I went to gather cherries and find flowers for my new tiny vase, I'm off to make a cherry pie.

[cheolism]

frozen cold proposal

✧ seungcheol x reader

✧ summary: seungcheol is stubborn and decides to try and make soup over the fire. you stumble upon a surprise in his pockets when trying to huddle against him for warmth.

✧ wc is approx 1.5k

✧ notes: cursing, bickering but nothing serious. a little brother is mentioned. a lot of choi seungcheol stubborness. inspired by the new in the soop photos. not edited.

“Oh my fucking god,” you whispered, shoving your hands between your thighs for warmth. Your hoodie was pushed up and as tightly wound around your face as you could bear, but that did nothing to save your nose from the cold and bitter winter air that nipped at it. 

You were a fool, a giant fool. What sort of person wanted to go camping in winter? Your boyfriend, the one and only Choi Seungcheol, of course! Seungkwan had said he was crazy and you had agreed, but what did that say about you for agreeing to go with?

“This is it,” you monologue, eyes staring into the crackling fire. “This is how my nose goes. It’s going to fucking drop off into our soup.”

Your boyfriend throws you a look over his shoulder. He’s standing next to the fire, dutifully stirring the soup he insisted on trying to make. 

We’re camping, he said when you exclaimed at him bringing out a pot and cans. I saw someone make soup while camping once. It can’t be that hard.

As much as you loved Choi Seungcheol and wanted to spend the rest of your life with him, you knew better than to get your hopes up when he said “it can’t be that hard.”

That phrase was reserved for special occasions. It was used on your first date when you had despaired over losing to the claw machine for the third time, which in turn had prompted Seungcheol to spend the next twenty minutes there. It was used when your brother had come back to the house upset, tears leaking from his eyes as he relayed that his remote-control boat had gotten stuck in the middle of the lake. 

It can’t be that hard to get it, Seungcheol had said, your little brother’s cheers amplifying his arrogance. 

Five minutes later the heavens had opened up and began pouring down rain, thunder crackling in the distance. You were begging Seungcheol to return to shore while your brother continued to cheer for him, egging him on, intent on getting his boat back. 

So when Seungcheol said that special little phrase, you knew it was best to just kick back and try to relax. But with the winter wind sharp and smacking against your skin, you found it hard. 

“Cheol we have a perfectly good stove inside the cabin,” you begged, shivering. “We rented the damn place for this very reason! For convenience!” 

“Mingyu said it wasn’t hard.” Seungcheol returned, resting the ladle on the side of the pot. “Do you think the fire isn’t hot enough?”

You sighed, flinging yourself back in your chair. Mingyu. Of course it was Kim Mingyu who gave him this idea. Removing your hands from between your thighs, you shoved them inside your armpits. “Seungcheol. You’re the love of my fucking life and I literally can’t wait to spend the rest of our days together. But I swear to every single fucking god on this earth --”

“You can go inside if you want,” he replied. You watched your boyfriend go to the wood pile, removing a few logs. “But a thousand years ago, this was how all humans made their food, you know? Outside, exposed to the elements.”

You guffawed. “Seungcheol! One thousand years ago it was 1000 A.C. They fucking had houses and inside ovens by then! The cold is fucking getting to your brain, oh my God!”

He sighed, turning to you. Seungcheol placed his hands on his hips, narrowing his brow and pouting out his lips. “If you don’t believe in me just say so.”

“I believe in you,” you said, “but not when it’s fucking thirty degrees outside, not counting the wind chill! And! And! I’m fucking starving! Cheol, please, baby, darling.”

Pushing out his lips, Seungcheol threw you one last look before turning to the fire. He grabbed the ladle again, leaning over the pot. “Just go inside and have a sandwich and some chips then.”

Fuck. And now he was sulking. 

Sighing, you stood from your seat. Dead leaves and grass crinkled underneath your boots as you made your way to him. You pressed yourself against his back, removing your hands from your armpits and fumbling with the hem of his three layers. 

“Wait --”

But then you found the edge and lifted it, hurriedly shoving your hands underneath and against his stomach. Seungcheol shrieked, a loud and pitchy sound, one of his hands slapping at your forearm. “Get! Get out! Your hands are fucking cold!”

“I said I was cold,” you murmured, mashing your face against his jacket. Your boyfriend constantly radiated warmth, and somehow, despite the winter weather, tonight was no exception. “This is your price.”

“My price for wanting to make my lover a homemade meal?” He returned, shortly and with a great amount of audacity. 

You pinched at the little roll of fat on his stomach, ignoring his little yelp. “Quiet. You don’t want the bears to hear you.”

“There’s not even bears here,” Seungcheol murmured, but quieter all the same. 

You closed your eyes as you leaned against him, soaking in his warmth. Sometimes you found how hot he ran unbearable, like during the night when the two of you were under blankets and he decided to press himself against you. More times than not you woke up covered in sweat, wrapped in his embrace. 

But now?

Now you were burrowing closer, hands moving to get a better grip on your boyfriend. 

“Baby,” he began, voice strained. “Stop moving.”

Impish, you kept on running your hands over your boyfriend’s skin. You felt his hips, his stomach. You continued exploring his skin beneath the many layers he wore, ignoring his pleas. 

“If you’re getting horny,” you said, one hand moving to where his pants began, “we can solve that. We’re in the middle of the forest, baby. With no one around.” “Y/n, I’m serious,” he said, dropping the ladle in the soup. Your hands froze against him, Seungcheol turning in your hold. “I know you have a problem listening, but --”

When his eyes met yours, he knew it was up. 

Your eyes were wide, mouth hanging open. If it wasn’t so cold and the flies weren’t all hibernating, you’d be swallowing them. 

“Baby?” He tried, voice pitched and on the verge of panic. 

“You --” You pressed closer again, and this time Seungcheol didn’t stop you. You shoved your hand into his pocket, immediately coming upon what had stopped you in your tracks. 

Withdrawing it from his pocket, you cradled the box in your hands. “Cheol?”

Sighing, as if his lover had just discovered a ring box in his pockets when he had intended on setting up a romantic scene to propose to them in, Seungcheol tilted his head back and peered up at the night sky. 

For the moment the two of you were quiet. You could hear the wind whistling, the crackle of the fire. 

“Well?” Seungcheol finally said, his hand in his hair and dislodging his hoodie as he looked down at you. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

Gulping, and with half-frozen fingers, you pried open the box. A beautiful ring stared back at you, silver and brilliant, perfect, beautiful. You could barely see what the ring truly looked like, could barely see all the details Seungcheol would’ve been hellbent on including, but you knew it was gorgeous. You knew it. It was a promise from Choi Seungcheol; a promise for forever. A promise to love and care and be there for you for the rest of your lives, and how could it be anything but perfect and gorgeous?

Then Seungcheol was gently pulling the box away from you. You watched, still awe-struck, as your boyfriend sunk down to one knee. 

The firelight illuminated his profile, casting shadows on his noble face. His grey hoodie was lopsided on his head, revealing his thick dark curls. His nose was red from where the cold had bitten at it, and his lips were horribly chapped. 

But what could be more beautiful than that?

Softly, and with gentle eyes and shyly grinning lips, Seungcheol said your name. Nothing could sound as beautiful as that, you knew. 

“Would you do me the absolute honor; would you give me the privilege of being able to marry you?”

You licked at your lips, feeling something sting at the corner of your eyes. Maybe it was just the wind. You sniffled, your palm reaching up and rubbing at your eye. “If -- If I say yes, will I have to stay out here with you while you make your soup?”

Seungcheol laughed, loudly and boyishly. “If you say yes I’ll order us a fucking pizza and beer and we can spend the rest of the night in the heat.”

“Well, in that case,” you said, grinning wildly. You held out your hand, wiggling your fingers. “Hurry up, lover boy, before I lose one of them to the cold.”

“It’s not too late for me to take it back,” he said, taking the ring from the box. Seungcheol’s other hand went to yours, cradling it, as he brought the ring to your fingertip.

You shook your head, the metal of the ring not yet cold as he slid it against your finger. “Nope! You asked so beautifully, Cheol. No take backs.”

“Damn,” he sighed, peering up at you with those beautiful brown eyes that first captivated you, smiling and holding your hand in his. “And here I was really looking forward to that soup.”

[taeyamayang]

Sincerly Yours,

tsukishima kei; angst

“If you're reading this, my worst fear must have happened.”

Rain mocks Tsukishima as it slithers from the roof of his tinted car down to the steep glass that separates him from the rest of the world. The events tonight are heavy, leaving a wrenching pain in his chest even though he had everything planned. Emotions and reason are quantified and rationalized and yet he did not expect to feel this way, not when he’s reading a letter from you–the one you gave him before you left the cafe. 

“Ironically, I wrote this at my happiest moment with you. You’re sitting across from me in the living room, my feet on your thighs as you busy yourself with a newly purchased book. You don’t even notice me looking at you and smiling like an idiot in love. Well, that is true. I am an idiot for loving you.” 

Tsukishima couldn’t remember the last time he had a hard time reading words. Every phrase numbs his senses, losing control over his trembling hands, and restricting his air ways making it hard for him to breathe. All he could focus on is the prickling sensation on his palms and his racing heartbeat. Why are you always so unpredictable?

“You burnt your tongue on a miso soup I made tonight. It was my first attempt to recreate your mother’s speciality and you were so excited to critique that you missed my warning. You cussed in different languages at the sudden burn and I couldn’t help but laugh. Sometimes I forget that deep within you rests an innocent child. I want to take care of you; of course, for as long as you allow me. Tell me, do you remember today?” 

Unable to hold it in, Tsukishima chokes on his tears. His pale cold hands cupping his mouth as if to swallow back his sobs. The memory of you in his apartment, wearing an apron way too large for your size and the determined look on your face, eager to woo him with your amateur cooking skills. How could he forget? You looked ridiculous as you complained about the confusing cooking instructions on google. He snuck a photo of you in his small kitchen, your back to his as you take a sip from the wooden ladle. It was his wallpaper for the next three months. How could he forget? How could he forget the first time he wished for a future with someone. Waking up next to you every day, warm showers together, and falling asleep in each other’s arms. He was never this way with anyone before. 

“Why didn’t we make it?"

Tsukishima wallows in despair, tucking the letter away to the dashboard. His forehead meets with the steering wheel, body forfeiting on the burden of breaking up. His hand clutches onto the paper tightly as though he was holding your hand, afraid that losing grip will slip you away. 

“Was I not enough? Was being with me not enough to make you happy? I always tell you to pursue happiness even if it means leaving important yet unhealthy things in your life. Perhaps, in your present day, I am one of them. I’ll never blame you for ending things. You might think how could I be so sure that you’ll be the one to break us up? I have never told you this, at least from the time I wrote this, with you I have always been certain. I want to grow old with you. But things turned out differently for the both of us, didn't they? Even so, thank you and for the last time, I love you, Kei.”

He tosses his glasses to the seat next to him, pressing the pads of fingers on the socket of his eyes. “Stop.” He utters between sobs. The rain has now completely framed the windows of his car. The loud pouring on the metal hood silences the rustling city. He’s alone, listening to his pointless wails. 

“Sincerely Yours,”

a/n: writing with my uterus. ah i miss writing angst.

masterlist | hq.list

[vagabond-umlaut]

Physalis peruviana

Neither too sweet. Nor too sour.

An unusual blend of tangy-sour and swirly-sweet is what you need at times to find your lost taste of life.

▸ gojo satoru x reader; 2.7k wc; reunion fic; angst with a happy ending; nightmares & hallucinations; tons of fluff; established relationship; manga ch. 221 spoilers; slightest hint of spice at the very end (idrk how to write a single implied smut sentence TT-TT)

▸ my hubby fave is finally back home, and i'm so freaking late to welcome him *sob* ▸ this was written for the ask submitted by the amazing @luckimoon as part of my 100 followers celebrations!! ty gigi!! also, special thanks to the wonderful @afortoru, @guccirosegold and @heresan for your lovely comments and support!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️ ▸ also, i don't own the characters, image or divider used. please don't plagiarize or translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

The flat fills with the sounds of sizzling and crackling as Gojo watches you make dinner. Dressed in an old shirt of his, hem obviously reaching your knee, and a cute apron on top, you appear not unlike a nymph to him.

Were it another day, the man’s certain he would have left his place on the sofa and gone into the kitchen, wrapping you tightly in his arms, only intention to suffocate you in his affection – all the while you would have whined, asking him to stop, screeching the food might burn, before you would finally yield to his relentless attacks, breathless giggles falling past your sinfully sweet lips.

Today, however, is not another day.

Not when you’re like this; standing before the stove and mechanically stirring the broth with a ladle, a blank expression plastered on your face as you stare at the boiling contents.

Eyes still trained on the food, you move to scoop up a spoonful of it and-

“Careful!”

The warning wrenches itself from his throat, awfully loud and grating, and less than a millisecond elapses before your lover finds himself pulling you into his embrace, eyes scanning you, zeroing in on your arm, searching for any injury from the scalding hot pan it veered dangerously close to.

A whoosh of air leaves him as his shoulders sag and brows relax in relief.

“Goodness, princess…” He sighs, beginning to chastise you lightly for being careless – only to falter when you gently remove yourself from his hold, whirling to let your back face him as you return to your cooking.

Gojo’s skin – the one which was revelling from the mere touch, the mere brush of your skin with it – grows cold. Drawing in a sharp breath and slowly exhaling it, the man ponders why you appear to be so… dejected.

Since the moment the sorcerer entered your shared home to now, there has been an unusual air hanging around you – dull, glum, quiet… Just a tiny twitch of your lips when your eyes fell on him; just a small pat on his back when he brought you into a tight hug; just a monosyllabic ‘hm’ or ‘oh’ when you responded to him… your lover can’t help but wonder–

“Why isn’t this ending, Satoru? Why aren’t you going away?”

Thread of thought snapped in half, the said man looks at you to find a smile being forced to stay on your lips. Eyes sans the spark of life, deadened with exhaustion, you peer up at him in return, twisting to face him. “You’re usually gone by now; then, why aren’t you this time? What’s stopping you?”

Confusion gushes into his brain, jumbling and muddling every bit of it. “Wh-what are you talking ‘bout, baby?” He asks in a hushed whisper, eyes wide as he moves to rest his hands on your shoulders, so gentle one might think you’re a fragile porcelain doll.

To Gojo, you are.

You remain still, gaze vacant while it travels over his facial features. He continues, “I returned only this evening, baby. Why-where would I… And this isn’t ending!?” Brows pinched, he rubs a thumb over the apple of your cheek, wanting to get a response – something, anything – from you. The only he receives is a laboured breath; the man resumes speaking, still rubbing circles into your soft skin, “C’mon, tell me, baby. Your ’Toru is here.”

“NO, HE ISN’T!” You shriek abruptly, yanking yourself away from him. “YOU AREN’T HIM! MY ’TORU WOULDN’T– he wouldn’t–”

You break down, crying, knees giving way as you collapse to the ground, a distraught crumpled mess. Gojo remains rooted to his spot, shock brimming his gaze. Jolts of pain strike him, again and again, without a shred of mercy, at the sight of your tears – a feeling which grows manifold on your next words.

Burning gaze directed to bore into his eyes, his mind, his very soul, the man registers you accuse, “You’re an imposter. A stupid dream. No, that’s not right.” Shaking your head, you stand up slowly, gripping onto the counter for balance – your lover extends his arm to support you, then withdraws it, catching your vicious glare. “You’re a bloody nightmare. My ’Toru is nothing like you. If you were him, you – you would never have pained me like this.”

“Pain…” The word escapes him, choked and strained and disbelieving – sure, being who he is, Gojo can be many things – annoying, dismissive, overbearing, even an asshole at times; yet for him to cause pain – to you, of all people – the person he loves with every fibre of his being and promises to do so for the rest of his life… the faintest thought of it brings bile to his mouth, its bitterness assaulting his senses.

You, meanwhile, nod your head, wiping your cheeks much too harshly.

“Yeah, pain,” You spit, every word a laboured heave of your chest, “Pain when you warp onto the genkan, that grin on your face. Pain when you squeeze me in your arms and kiss me. Pain when I feel you near me again, so damn happy and relieved; and look back, wanting to see you just once more – only to find you’re, you’re–”

Tears drown the rest of sentence, yet again; not that your lover really needs you to finish it. Streams of time, infinite in their nature (oh, the sick irony!), have made him see, made him hear, made him feel enough to know how your sentence will end.

You look back, wanting to see him once more – only to find he is not there. Leaving you by yourself, a lone soul within these walls, yearning for the face, the voice, the touch, the mere presence of the love of your life – before spiralling down into an endless dark abyss... wondering when, or if ever, you will be able to meet them...

A shadow of a smile rests on Gojo’s lips as he moves to take your hand in his. Your eyes widen at the contact, a sharp breath sucked in amidst attempts to distance yourself. The desperation in your actions draws a pleading look from him.

“One chance,” He begs, relaxing his already-light hold on you yet not letting go entirely, “please.” Your frantic movements cease for a beat, and you look up at him through glistening eyes, a silent ask in every teardrop.

The man seizes the opportunity like a lifeline, saving him from the quicksand of your rejection.

Lacing his fingers in between yours – slow to give you time to retract, should you want to – he inquires softly, “You feeling this, princess?”

Gojo watches you look at your intertwined hands – the warm tenderness of your palm, he deems, a reprieve to the chilled callouses of his much larger one – then at him. “Yeah, I do,” The words leave you in a feeble whisper, short of breath and confidence.

“Good,” He hums with a light squeeze to your palm. Your eyes again dart back to your linked hands; the man cracks a fond smile – you always did like holding hands with him, ever since your first days together – for the coolness of his touch, he recollects you telling him with a shy smile, one muggy summer evening.

Swiping a thumb over the back of your hand, he brings your other hand to rest upon his cheek and leans into it. Despite letting him do as he pleases, you’re confused – the man gathers from the way your brows stay puckered before they rise for a brief second and your lips part slightly. Gojo heaves an inward sigh of relief as he asks, “You feeling this, sweets?”

A moment passes and you answer, with a slowly uttered question this time, “You... did not shave?”

Your lover shoots you a smile while he repeats, “You are feeling this, aren’t you?” It takes a beat before you nod thoughtfully, still that pretty frown on your face as you speak, a tad less yet so, so unsure, “If it’s your light stubble... yeah, I can.”

It takes your lover every bit of his self-restraint to not purr when your hand glides smoothly from his cheek to tuck a few longer strands of his hair behind the ear, and then, comes back to its original position – an action, he registers, stemmed purely from muscle memory, seeing as you are so deeply absorbed in your careful study of his features. A light chuckle erupts from him, and he watches your train of thoughts still as you look up at him.

“Good,” The man says again, then slowly pulls your head towards himself. Alarm and fear flash in your eyes as the panic-stricken glint returns to them; Gojo sends you, what he hopes is, a reassuring smile, “Trust me, please.”

The alarm slowly fades from your gaze, leaving behind a steady trickle of fear; despite these, you allow him to manoeuvre your head to let your ear rest on his chest, right above where his heart beats.

Memories from a time long forgotten rush to the forefront of his mind – memories of a restless night, haunted by creatures from the past. Gojo is certain he would have succumbed to those ghastly visions, were you not there beside him then, rubbing his back and whispering sweet reassurances to him. The man recollects you wiping away the tears which had collected on his lashes, then proceeding to lay his head right above where your heart lay beating.

The sorcerer remembers every lubb-dup, lubb-dup your heart made that night – besides, of course, your kind voice as you asked him to focus on your heartbeats, softly saying this was how your mother used to quieten your wails after a nightmare in your childhood. It was a way, you explained to him, your mother helped you realize what you were experiencing was just a nightmare – scary, yes, a lot; but nothing more than that – and that now, you were back in the real world, in the safe warm embrace of a loved one – a place where no ghosts nor demons could ever touch you, much less harm you.

Back in the present, Gojo relishes the way the two of you stay this close for quite a while – the only sounds being of the sports news on the TV – and opens his mouth, ready to make his same inquiry as a tiny twitch plays with the corner of his lips, only to be cut off by a pair of arms hugging him tightly, fisting his shirt behind him, followed by a barely muffled sniffle.

He finds you crane your neck up at him, lower lip bobbling and eyes spilling over again – but what is different this time is the spark of life behind those curtains of water and the disbelieving curve to your lips.

Your lover thinks you’ve never looked more otherworldly than in this instant.

“I can feel this. Tell me that’s good, ’Toru; I can feel your heart beating,” The words escape you in a frenzy, short puffs of breath hitting his cupid’s brow as you stand up on your tiptoes and he bends down, an arm wrapping itself around your waist and drawing you flush against his chest.

“It’s good,” Gojo murmurs, eyes raking over your face, memorizing every inch of it, then inquires, a barely-there tremor in his voice when you reward him with a watery smile – the first in eons, it appears to the man, starving for one glimpse of your joy.

“But do you know why it is good?”

The sorcerer feels his own cheeks grow wet as he drinks in the way your smile morphs into a wide grin.

Gods, there is nothing in this world he reckons he wouldn’t do, just to keep seeing you this way – happy, safe and in his arms. A small soothing hand glides over the planes of his back, along the spine.

“It’s good ’cause it’s real – ’cause you’re real – isn't it?”

“Yeah,” He is quick to agree with you, wanting nothing more than to chase away the smallest bit of doubt lurking in your mind. “Yeah, baby, yeah,” He repeats, leaning down to rest his forehead on yours. Your eyes falling shut the moment they make contact, your lover feels the tension slowly melt away from your body. He too closes his eyes as he continues, in a voice so soft one might think the two of you are the only ones in the world right now.

To Gojo – and to you too, he knows – you two are.

“This is real. This all is very, very real,” He reassures you, fingers carding through your hair. “You, cooking in an old shirt of mine; me, holding you in my arms like this; that soup, you hate but always make when I return home after long, just ’cause it’s my favourite; this kitchen, you painted beige, then black, then beige again, of all colours fucking existing–” A light chuckle sounds from below; Gojo too chuckles, feeling a large load being heaved off his chest.

He hooks a finger under your chin and tilts it up to make your eyes lock with his. You look up at him, deep adoration swimming in the irises of your puffy red eyes. Breath hitching a tad, he finishes his incomplete sentence, “The point is, all these things are real. We are real.”

An eager nod, coupled with a dewy-eyed smile, is the only response you offer before you rise on your tiptoes again, shy gaze darting between his eyes and lips in silent permission – a permission Gojo knows he can never be too quick to grant as he ducks his head and slants his lips over yours – allowing himself to get lost in your sweet taste, in your soft touch, in your melodic whines... in you, the celestial being that you are, sent by the heavens for a mere mortal like him.

Yeah, the sorcerer knows, this is not the ending of troubles for the two of you.

Far from it, in fact.

There will be many nights when he will wake up, thoroughly shaken and disturbed, images of lost friends and students threatening to burn him alive whenever he dares to close his eyes.

There will also be many nights when you will be the one waking up, thoroughly shaken and disturbed, searching for him in the other side of the bed, desperation etched in your every action.

He knows–

Gojo breaks apart from you to instead plant kisses on your cheek, along your jaw, down your neck, before nudging a spot on your neck with his nose and you burst into a fit of giggles. Mischief sneaking onto his face, the man retraces the path back to your lips and claims them with his, drawing a satisfied hum from you as they meld together perfectly, two halves of a whole promised to always be with each other.

–Yet, the sorcerer knows too, if the two of you are in the same room, in the same bed, cocooned in your shared love and trust, it will take a couple of blinks before the 3.00 AM scene of one comforting the restless other and lulling them to sleep transforms into a 9.50 AM scene – something undoubtedly way brighter and way happier – where he can see the two of you rushing over the flat like maniacs, a toothbrush in one’s mouth and a half-burnt toast in the other’s whilst in a horrible medley of sleep and work clothes; your meeting and his car scheduled a brief ten minutes later.

Your lover’s lips stretch into a wide grin against yours at the mental image of chaos conjured – then falls on remembering the depressing reason behind such an image – before appearing again, wider this time, as he moves away to catch a glimpse of the dishevelled, flushed wreck of a person he has turned you to.

Gojo lets go of you for a moment before lifting you in his arms, a hand reached behind you to switch the stove off, while his insistent mouth works to swallow the little gasp of surprise followed by giggles of delight falling past your lips.

There is another way, after all, your lover knows he can make you late for work tomorrow, and thus enjoy the sweet chaos of life the two of you have wrought together in love.

▸ masterlist

▸ taglist: @afortoru, @guccirosegold, @heresan, @luckimoon, @megu-meow, @nanamikentoseyebags, @pupkashi, @ritsatoru, @softsatoru, @sweetdreamssatoru. :))

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Life Is Short So Make It Sweet

Chapter 24: When It All Goes Out

Summary- 5.8k Curtis Everett x Plus!Sized Reader. Returning from Florida meant returning to the last bit of winter weather and it hit with ferocity, leaving Duluth without power. Luckily Curtis is ready to handle such a challenge.

Warnings- Intimate sex and some talk of Curtis's past and his grandparents being ill from cancer and a stroke. Mentions of freezing cold weather? Is that a warning?

A/N- I had to throw in a winter storm because they are something I experience every year, along with losing our power when it is freezing ice cold and it is miserable. I need someone like Curtis who can make that experience a lot better! I also wanted to meet some more of his family and this seemed like a good way to do it. As always, thank you so much @what-is-your-plan-today for editing this, also thank you to everyone who has been following these two! Divider made by @firefly-graphics As always happy reading, Liking, Commenting, and Reblogging are so appreciated! 🐝

Chapter Twenty-Three / Masterlist

The end of February and beginning of March came in with the coldest snap of the year, the wind blew freezing temperatures off the lake and you swore you were moving to live with Jade after the fifth night you stood at your stove while stirring your pot of hot soup. Curtis was working on putting heavy sheets of clear plastic over your very drafty windows after he felt how much cold was creeping in, leaving your heat running constantly.

“I have plenty here if you want some dinner.” You muttered as you tasted the broth off the tip of your spoon. “But I’m sure you are sick of it by now?” 

Curtis was stretching to the tip of his toes to get the tape in place, giving you a glimpse of his pale belly, the Florida tan having faded away as fast as it arrived. You could feel yourself getting all wistful for the sun filtering through the palm trees in Frank and Jade’s backyard.

“Honey, if you're feeding me, I’m not going to have any complaints. Soup sounds warm and I’m still freezing from today. Sucks having to work outside on days like today. Should have seen Edgar. Had on so many layers he could barely move.” He moved back from the windows and checked the seams of the plastic. “Okay, I think this will help a bit. I don't feel a draft sneaking through anymore.” 

You clicked off the stove and hugged around his waist. “Thank you Curtis.” 

“I got your bedroom too, that was not quite as bad as these kitchen ones, but Honey this building has so many issues.” He frowned as his eyes roamed around your tiny apartment. 

“As soon as my lease is up, I’m moving. I’m not crazy about this place either. I was thinking about a little house next.” You said while easing back to the stove to ladle up the soup. “I miss having a garden to work in. I had the most beautiful one with my parents since I also lived in an apartment there.” You placed the bowels side by side at the table while Curtis picked up his supplies. “I always wanted a yard, with a porch either on the front or back of the house.” You smiled a bit at the thought of it, Curtis catching your wistful look while you daydreamed.

“You know my Gram had lots of gardens in that yard. If we can’t find the house you want, you can certainly use them.” He offered as you finished up the table with some drinks and warm bread that you had baked that afternoon, butter alongside it, because warm bread needed slathers of salty butter to bring it to life. It was something you used to deny yourself daily. Now you thoroughly enjoyed it whenever the mood struck. It started with you making it for Curtis, because he enjoyed it so much but now, it was just as much for yourself as him. 

Hearing Curtis mention the old garden beds at his own house made you perk up. “She did? Do you remember what was in them? Are they even still there?” 

“Yeah, they are still there, it wouldn’t be hard for me to rent a rototiller to break that ground back up for you. And she did everything, flowers, vegetables, herbs. There are some bushes and fruit trees back behind the treehouse that can probably be brought back to life. All her tools are still in the shed. Grandpa didn’t have the heart to toss them after she stopped being able to use them.” Curtis dunked a piece of bread in his soup and bit into it, letting his eyes slip to a close while he chewed, thoroughly enjoying his food. 

“I would love to revive your Grandmother's gardens Curtis.” You worked on sitting down but once again Curtis hooked an arm around your waist and pulled you to his lap, hugging around you. You didn’t try to pull away like before, just slid your bowl over close to his and took your own bite. You had to admit it was warmer in his hold, a feeling of security that you’ve grown accustomed to being with Curtis.

“Mmhh you’re so warm, makes me wish I could stay tonight.” He grumbled, knowing in this cold he had to keep his fire going and make sure his water didn’t freeze up. “She would appreciate it, I tried for a few years to keep them going after she passed, but it was so time consuming and I just didn’t have enough hours in the day and I just didn’t have the knack for keeping anything alive like she could.” 

“Trust me, I wish you could stay too. You are like a furnace when you’re sleeping, perfect to keep me warm tonight.” You chuckled, leaning into him as you took a bite of bread, savoring its rich warm taste. “I will send some of this bread home with you.” You twisted a bite off for Curtis and held it up to him, which he promptly took with a light nip to your fingertips. “Make yourself some toast tomorrow before work.” 

“You do that and I will just come back looking for more.” He teased you with a bypass on soup and bread for the curve of your neck, hitting that sweet spot of yours that always made your breath catch. Your hand lifted to cup the back of his head, making you breathe deeply while muttering a curse at him. 

“You're an absolute fucking menace Everett.” Making him laugh deeply, the vibrations from his chest felt in your back where you were pressed against him. “Keeping you coming back was my master plan though. However how about we go to a movie and dinner tomorrow? My Friday night treat?” 

“You wanna take me out on a date, Pretty Girl?” 

“Sure, gotta show you off once in a while.” You winked at him before turning back to your soup. 

“Well, I will be delighted, make sure I wear my finest beanie hat and coat you got me for Christmas.” Curtis promised, making your cheeks heat with affection at how happy he still was with his Christmas gifts. 

Friday you ended up waking up to a freezing cold apartment. You weren’t the only one you found out while you bundled up into several layers, your phone was flashing with weather alerts and school cancellations due to power. The cold snap ended up being matched with high winds that snapped frozen tree branches all over the place, knocking out several areas of power all over Duluth. 

You were bundling up in even more clothes, trying to remember all the things your dad taught you about what to do during a power outage like this when your phone rang with Curtis’s name popping up. 

“Hey.” You answered while curling up in your bed to get in the blankets. “You without power too?” 

“Yes, I woke up a while ago getting the fire going and making sure my water was running. Pack a bag, you should come stay with me. I’m going to go pick up my aunt to bring her here, Ella is packing up her and Sophia. It’s too cold for you all to be staying without heat.” 

You happened to agree and staying at Curtis’s sounds much better than your icebox of an apartment. 

“You are a literal knight in shining armor Curtis.” You made him chuckle into the phone. “Want me to grab anything?” 

“Nah, I got everything we need. If the car has a hard time starting, give me a call and I will pick you up. When you get here pull right into the garage.  The truck should be fine as long as I cover it from the wind.” He instructed and once you assured him you would be there soon, you hung up. 

Clothes weren’t much of a problem, you had plenty there. But you wanted to bring your laptop in case you were able to do a bit of work on it, plus you were sure Curtis had a small emergency battery you could plug it into to charge. You grabbed a few other things that you knew wouldn’t do well in the cold, including your tiny little spider plant you were just starting. You finally managed to get your bag of stuff you needed in the car and luck was with you as it quickly started without too much trouble.

When you got to Curtis’s place, going in through the garage, it was currently empty of any occupants. Your bag of stuff in one hand, your spider plant precariously balanced in the other, you called out Curtis’s name, not expecting any answer. “Guess it’s just me and you for now, Peter.” You muttered to your little sprig of greenery, making sure to place it in the living room where the wood stove was currently keeping the space toasty warm.

Figuring Curtis must be picking up his aunt, whom you had yet to meet, and Ella was coming with Sophia, you decided to get some hot water onto the stove, which luckily still managed to work with the flick of a lighter, enabling you to start heating up water and milk for drinks. Going into your cupboard above the stove, you brought down several teas, a container of instant coffee and a special mix of cocoa you had purchased with Sophia in mind. 

“Jesus Christ and tits, it's cold out.” Ella suddenly announced as she ushered Sophia through the garage door, holding onto her kid’s jacket before she could bolt off. “Get your boots off and go say hi to Y/N.” “I got some cocoa for Sophia going if she wants some.” You poked your head into the hallway to see if they needed any help. Ella tossed you a bag of clothes for you to take off her hands while she worked on getting Sophia out of the outside clothes.

“What do you say Soph, hot chocolate?” 

“Does it have the mallows?” She asked so solemnly and you nodded with enthusiasm.

“Unicorn ones. I picked them up last week when I was grocery shopping.”

Sophia’s brown eyes widened with excitement and she hurriedly wriggled out of her clothes while you went to set the bag of clothes in the living room. When you came back out to the kitchen, she was pulling the stool over to the counter to help assist in your cocoa making adventures. “Ella, you want anything?” 

“If you have any kind of coffee, I would fight my cousin and make you my girlfriend.” She shouted while she stuffed everything in the closet to get it out of the way. 

“I got instant.” you answered back while pouring the heated milk into a mug. “Careful Soph, it’s hot.” Grabbing the package, you emptied it into a flower mug for Sophia. 

“Oooh, they are pink and purple unicorns!” The little girl said excitedly as she carefully stirred the powder into the milk, changing the color to a soft brown color. She scooped a marshmallow and blew on it before biting it. “Mmmhh.”

“Perfect for today.” You agreed with Sophia while you made two more mugs, one with instant coffee for Ella and you drizzled some of your honey into another and a tea bag. Ella came in, pressing cold hands against her daughter's warming cheeks, making Sophia squeal and twist out of her mothers hold to march to the table with her mug.

“Ahhh, looks like I have to fight Curtis, good thing I fight dirty.” She wrapped her hands around her mug and stole a splash of warm milk and sugar to finish sweetening it. 

“I will be your cheerleader from the sideline. I am a great prize.” You snorted in laughter. “So what were your plans this weekend before all this?” 

“Oh Sophia was gonna go stay at my mother’s for an overnight while I went to the aquarium to help set up a new exhibit.” Ella sipped from her mug. “I will still go tonight if they let me. Right now everything is going into maintaining the generators, so they might not let any of us go ahead with doing the changeover exhibits.” she shrugged. “I’m actually okay if I have the weekend off. It was a pain in the ass touch tank, one that always is a bitch to deep clean those things.” 

“Momma!” Sophia scowled over her mug, sporting a chocolate mustache now. “You swore.” 

“Don’t worry, it will happen again.” Ella crossed her eyes at Sophia to make her giggle and went right back to her coffee and convo with you. “What about you and Curtis? Any plans this weekend?” 

“Ahh, we were going to do a little date night tonight when I got out of work. Movie and dinner, been a while since we have done that, but I don’t know how long this storm will keep the power out for. Staying in works for me though. I can spend the day in comfy clothes.” 

Ella shot out her leg to show the fuzzy pajama bottoms she was wearing sporting the batman logos and extra thick socks, one in bright pink, the other in purple. “I’m right there with you.” 

The rumble of a truck could be heard and Ella sprang from her chair to open the garage door. “Hey mom! Curtis! Just in time, Y/N has hot water going.” Ella’s arm wrapped around an older woman, half hidden in a giant winter coat and Curtis followed her hurriedly, his heavy boots thumping on the linoleum as if he was trying to warm up and get the door closed against the chill. You could just barely see him under his hoodie, which he shoved down off his head but kept his beanie on, pulling it down enough to cover the tops of his ears. 

“It’s like hell froze over out there.” He opted to kick his boots off and slip his jacket off to hang in the closet. 

“UNCLE CURTIS.” Sophia scowled at him from the kitchen table. “Bad word!” 

Curtis scowled right back at his niece, taking the effort to make a funny face at her to make her giggle into her cup as her expression went from serious disappointment to glee. “How much do I owe you now for the bad words?” 

“Million trillion gazillion.” Sophia said confidently and Curtis sighed with exasperation. 

“Kabillion? I might have to write you a check kid.” He continued teasing her. 

Ella assisted helping her mom, talking a mile a minute to the woman. Sophia waved a hand while she had her cup half tipped to her mouth, choosing to finish her precious unicorn hot chocolate before going to greet her grammy and uncle. You just stayed quiet, sipping your tea and watched everyone greet each other in a chaotic manner. 

“Froze over and then decided it still wasn’t cold enough.” Ella confirmed Curtis’s statement while the trio went into the kitchen. “Y/N, have you met my mother yet?” 

“No, but I’m glad you were able to come.” You held out a hand and the woman, who was on the shorter side of the family, just coming up to your own shoulders meaning Curtis and Ella towered over her, looked at your hand and swept it away as if offended. 

“I’ve heard so much about you, I feel like we’ve already met.” She wrapped her arms around you, catching you by surprise. “Call me Lisa.” 

You were quick to recover with a swift smile and nod. “Sure Lisa. You must be frozen, please come to the table so I can make you something.” 

The woman accepts graciously, letting you lead her away while Ella gathers boots to tuck away and Curtis finishes hanging up winter clothes in the closet. They could hear Lisa start right in about how the kitchen table had been her parents and had many similar days, spent around it warming up after a cold winter day with ‘coffee strong enough to keep you awake for days.’ Making you laugh as you joined Lisa and Sophia at the table. 

“See that, fits right in. Mom loves her.” Ella winked at Curtis who gave an eye roll, but he couldn’t keep the grin at bay seeing how relaxed you were alongside his niece and aunt, comfortable as could be. 

The day was soon filled with activities to pass the time now that Curtis was sure everyone was able to stay warm. Several games were dragged out from the top living room bookshelves, helping make them kid-friendly so Sophia could play. 

The small wood stove in the living room kept the house heated for the most part and when it came to the evening, you started to light candles while Curtis went to retrieve some of his grandparent's old oil lamps from the garage. The house felt lively as the rest of the world almost felt shut down, at least in their part of Duluth. 

The oil lamps cast a warm glow around the living room, Curtis making sure to set a couple near where his aunt was curled on the couch, working on a project with her crochet hook and a large bag near her full of bright colored yarns. 

Sophia and Curtis were playing some game nearby while Ella worked in the kitchen, picking up from the meal earlier. You sat on the other end of the couch, taking a breather after the chaos of the day, Ella having chased you from the kitchen claiming she had it all under control. You also didn’t want Lisa to be alone and although you didn’t know her, felt better giving her some company. 

The woman was just as friendly as Curtis and Ella, her eyes lifting from her project with a smile. “Dinner was fantastic Y/N, you can make me chili any time.”

You eased a bit at her friendly welcoming tone. “Thanks, it was the only thing I could come up with that didn’t require the power for the oven.” 

Lisa laughed, hooking her string around her finger, and with a flash her hook was back to a whirl of movement. “My parents always went to beans and hot dogs.” Her eyes flashed and a soft smile curled her mouth at the memory. “You will get creative. This happens quite often up here this time of year. I keep telling Curtis he needs to replace the generator, it’s on his to-do list.” Lisa leveled you a look, making you giggle a bit. 

“He has a long to-do list?” 

“So he claims. But he has done a good job on this old place. It was a lot rougher a few years ago when Dad was sick. A lot of repairs needed to get done, these old houses as sturdy as they are, are also always falling apart.” Lisa said softly while she started another row. “Curtis moved back in when mom got sick and for that, I’m always going to be grateful to him.” 

You nodded, curious as you hadn’t heard much about this time in Curtis’s life. “It must have been hard for all of you when that happened.” 

Lisa nodded in agreement as she twisted her project, inspecting her stitches. “Cancer is harsh. Mom refused to be sad about it though and I think that kind of took a toll on Dad and Curtis, because they weren’t able to be sad about it either. At least not near her. Then after Mom passed, Dad just went downhill, heartbreak.” She said, sighing as she glanced at you. “Then when he had his stroke, Curtis stayed to help take care of him too and make sure he wasn’t living alone.” The older woman seemed lost in her memories for a moment till she glanced at you, seeing that you were paying attention. “I’m sorry, this is a heavy conversation after we just met.” 

“It’s okay.” You assured Lisa with a genuine gentle smile. “It helps to talk about them. Curtis mentions things once in a while. I know he misses them a lot.” 

“Sometimes that boy keeps way too much buried inside, always being the one who takes care of everyone.” Lisa smiled thankfully, giving a small glance around the room that she had grown up in, as well as her daughter and nephew, now her granddaughter would have memories as well

“We all keep too much inside, why I agree with you. It does help to talk about them. I’m glad Curtis still does. Do you crochet?” She held up her project in question. 

“No, that's one I have never gotten to try. I sew costumes for the drama club. But I always wanted to learn.” 

“Well get over here, I got more hooks and plenty of yarn, let me teach you.” Lisa set her project aside and pulled up her bag. “What’s your favorite color?” 

“Oh um, I love almost anything.” You peered into the bag and she pulled out a spool of greens that reminded you of summertime. 

“You can use this, I have more at home. Okay, so we are going to start with a loop…” 

You got engrossed in the lesson, and you and Lisa lost track of the other people in the house. Not by Curtis though, once in a while he would wander into the brightly lit living room to check on the fire, which didn’t actually need any tending. 

Seeing you bite on your lip as you slowly mimicked Lisa’s movements, you looked like you were enjoying yourself. This felt right to him, this made his house feel like home. 

You shivered as you crawled into bed that night, using a flashlight to see in the dark upstairs, opting to keep the lanterns downstairs for Ella and Lisa to use. Outside the wind howled and made tree branches scrape ominously against the side of the house, adding to the slightly spooky feeling that having the power out so long gave.

“Damn, it's still so cold.” You tucked yourself under the multitude of blankets covering Curtis’s bed. “You sure everyone is all good downstairs?” You asked quietly when Curtis came into the bedroom, sporting a steaming cup for you. You gratefully took it, wrapping your hands around the hot mug to warm your fingers up. 

“They are, it’s warmer down there than it is in here.” Curtis assured you, easing the door partially shut for a little privacy. 

Downstairs, Lisa ended up in the bedroom just off the kitchen which Curtis was sure to have the door open for the day to warm it up and in the living room you and Ella opened the pull-out couch, equipping it with plenty of blankets for them. 

Curtis managed to stir up the fire and refill it with wood for the next few hours just before coming up the stairs and from somewhere in the depths of the old house, you thought you felt it sigh in peace as all the occupants settled for the night. “Okay. I just wanted to be sure everyone is comfortable.” 

You sipped on the warm tea while watching Curtis hurry brushing his teeth and changing into his gray sweatpants and a hoodie. “I gave the stove a good amount of wood, it should warm up a bit more up here too.” He slipped in next to you, pulling the blankets up high around the two of you. 

You curled up closer, sliding your hands under his shirt to press against his warm chest while he wrapped an arm around you, mimicking the move against your back. “Your hands are freezing Curtis.” You whined into his hoodie. He promptly started rubbing them against your back to heat them up. 

“Better?” He rumbled sleepily and you hummed a sleepy yes. “Thank you Honey, for everything you did today. I’m sorry we didn’t get to go do that date though.” 

You lifted your head enough to look up at him, smiling up at him. “You are welcome Curtis and we have other nights to go on a date. I had a great time today.” You cuddled in closer. 

It didn’t escape Curtis’s notice that you didn’t brush off what you did today like it was nothing. You happily accepted his thanks because you deserved it. You whispered a good night, passed a quick kiss, and curled up comfortably next to him. 

It was almost pitch black in the bedroom when you were woken, the air chilly on your nose but you felt a warm breath against your ear, a press of chapped lips and the scratch of Curtis’s beard against the curve of your neck.

“Mmhh Curtis?” You muttered as you felt his hand slide under the sweater you wore to bed to keep warm. 

“Shh Pretty Girl.” He nudged at you lightly with his hips, pressing himself against you. 

Really pressed against you, you could feel him hard through the layers you both were wearing. “Our door is open and they will hear us downstairs.” 

That sent an excited little shiver to escape as he continued to kiss on whatever skin he could find. His hand moving aside your hair while he nipped at your sensitive place where your pulse fluttered in excitement. “You sure?” You gave a little throaty whine when his hand under your shirt squeezed a breast. 

“Fuck yes. You made me so fucking happy today when it could have all gone to shit, you made everyone so comfortable and feel welcomed.” He admitted to you in hushed whispers. “I thought I could ignore how much it turned me on, but I just don’t want to anymore.” 

You arched into his touch again, wriggling back against his broad chest. “That really got you this worked up?” You asked curiously. 

“Yup.” was all he muttered as his hand moved out from under your shirt and he pulled the blankets over the two of you to cocoon you underneath. You eased to your back as he pulled over the top of you, holding himself up on his elbows while he started kissing you softly, pressing his lips against yours, over and over till you both started to relax into the sensation. 

It was making your half-asleep mind go all fuzzy and warm feeling him press himself over the top of you and continue kissing you. Now his tongue slid over your teeth and pressed against your own tongue, making you both moan at the sensation of one another. Your fingers curled into his hoodie, to pull him harder against you, his hips snug against yours and rocking into you. 

“You might have to keep me quiet.” You whispered when you both broke, your head tilting back so he could once more kiss on your jaw, another moan escaping him as he rocked into your soft body once again. 

“I always got you Honey. Lift your hips.” He pulled up just a bit, enough for you to push at your sweats to work them off with his help. Under the blankets everything was muffled, the blankets keeping you both warm and snug stretched around you both. More kisses soon distracted you both for a moment, your bare legs hooking around Curtis’s thighs which were still encased in his soft worn sweats that always drove you crazy. You mumbled against his lips, panting slightly to catch your breath. 

“You still have too many clothes on Curtis.”

He tilted his head to catch your earlobe, sucking on it, his chin a sensual scrape against your neck that sent a shiver down your spine. Your hands dragged down his muscled back, tugging at his sweatshirt to pull it off to touch bare heated skin. He mimicked the action, making you lose your shirt over the edge of the bed. “Fuck.” He hissed as you ground yourself against his groin again, needing that friction. The fabric of his sweatpants rough against your sensitive clit. Your nails pushed down the last dip of his lower back and under the band to grab onto his flexing cheeks and pull him harder against you. Suddenly he shoved at his pants, pushing them low enough for his cock to spring free, needing them off now. 

You pulled up once more to kiss him, sighing against his mouth at feeling his cock press against you and he eased himself into you with a matching satisfied sigh, his weight pressing over you into the mattress. Easing your hands up to spread over his cheeks and running your thumb over his bottom lip before placing more soft kisses on his mouth, you felt his expression under your fingertips, the slight curve of his mouth pressing against yours made you smile against him.

You both kept the kisses light, brushes of lips against one another and rubbing noses while Curtis barely rocked himself against you. He rose on his elbows enough to touch his forehead to yours, his fingers burying into the hair along the side of your head while he rocked into you with soft grunts. You soaked into the feeling of him, easing your hips to meet him with a slow unrushed arch. 

It was different, no chasing and encouraging one another to finish, but just enjoying the feeling of your bodies pressing against each other. You let your hands slide down off his cheeks to the side of his neck, closing your eyes as your fingertips traced tendons flexing whenever he tensed in his movements and then down to his muscled shoulders. You sensed him shifting, the brush of his beard against your neck making you moan against his ear while his weight sunk on you. The hair of his chest tickling your breasts till he pressed against your soft body. 

You felt the groan in the hollow of your throat as he skimmed his mouth against you. “You always feel so good under me Honey.” Heat spiraled up your spine as you made yourself softer against him, your thighs rubbing up and down against the side of his hips and circling a leg to hook over his rocking ass to press him in closer. You wanted to drown in this feeling with him, make it last forever. 

His fingers tightened just enough to move your head to tilt towards him, his lips resting against yours while your gazes locked, sharing each other's soft pants. 

Thick lashes framed around his shining blue eyes, his pupils wide, searching yours while you were sure your gaze had a similar expression, except when he tilted his hips into the gentle rocking and Curtis pressed against you in a way that made you tighten around him, your eyes fluttering up as your breath hitched. “What are you thinking about Curtis?” You pondered in a whisper before pressing your mouth more to his. 

You couldn’t get enough of this intimacy you were sharing with Curtis. Sex had always been good for you two, but this felt different. You felt him everywhere and you felt just as seen, barely breaking your gazes unless some sensation rocked through one of you, making your bodies so good while embracing the sensation. 

But you two always relaxed again once it passed, sharing in the moment. 

You felt Curtis groan against you, the vibrations pressed into your chest as you rocked once more to meet him till he slowed even more. “How good this all feels.” He finally whispered against the curve of your neck where he buried his face. You thought he was talking about this moment alone and arched up into him slightly, running your hands down his back, feeling more of him, wishing you weren’t already building up to a release. “You in my home, fitting so fucking good in my life.” More kisses pressed against your pulse as he rocked back into your wanting body. 

You grabbed at the back of his head to press him closer as he kept talking. “How life just feels so sweet with you Honey.” You smiled and it felt so good to smile in this moment, when you were feeling so close with Curtis. It sent an urgency racing through you, unable to stop the sultry moan escaping as your head tipped back and you tightened around Curtis. His head lifted to watch you come undone, keeping up the slow dragged pace he was using, rubbing his hips into yours while your hot velvet heat clamped around him, the rush of your orgasm made him grin.

“Fuck you are so sexy when you come. Come on Pretty Girl, let me feel you. Just give in.” He encouraged, soft kisses pressing against your forehead and side of your face before he pulled back again to watch you. 

You rutted your chin up as you pressed back into the pillows, another moan escaping while your body broke in the softest way. You rode the high that felt like a warm wave washing over you when it passed, making you want to curl up in his hold, against his tattooed chest and soak in all of his touches that always made you feel beautiful. This wasn’t just your orgasm, it didn’t belong to you this time. 

This was his, this one belonged to him so you let him see how good it did make you feel. You let your arms circle around his neck and pull his face towards yours, letting your forehead lean into his, sharing a deeper kiss that poured all you were feeling and was so close to saying. 

Curtis watched your face meld into euphoria, which is all he ever wanted to do since the day he saw you standing on the bus steps with your students piling up behind you. You smiled so sweetly at him and he wanted more of that. He was always going to want more of that. 

Your nails raked gently up his back, your thighs pressing in closer to touch your foot against the top of his ass, pushing him down to bury in you. “I’m going to feel you for days Curtis.” You whispered with a satisfied moan. “It’s your turn. Fill me up Baby.” You begged, so sweetly with nipping kisses to his jaw and along his neck, your body arched under his, pressing all your curves he was passionate about against him. “You feel so good inside of me. I don’t want this to stop.” 

Curtis felt the rush you gave him with your words, the pull in his body to fill you with his spend was so intense, that he sped up. He grabbed your hip to keep you against him and you begged him for it till he spilled with a sharp yell of your name and he pinned you under him while warmth spread through you and he made no move to pull out. . 

You felt him relax with a groan, hugging you to him and refusing to let you move just yet. You didn't try to pull away but clung to him, both of you warm inside and out.

[writhe]

trying to chill out a little bit because one cannot spend an entire day feeling like a terrible & scared animal

did sugarbush yesterday which is a project my housemates run for the most part. we had 40 or so (but this estimate feels a little conservative) friends & neighbors come through & most stayed for good stretches of the day

i hung out with the neighbor kids (who are like ages 8 - 14/15?). one of them whittled me a sharped stick and i paid some of them 10 bucks because they told me they wanted to make money taking care of people’s pets (groundscore made an extended appearance)

re/connected with some people in ~ community ~ who i really only have had brief interactions with over the years. tried to be a present in listening, but i felt so comforted and enriched by hearing about what projects people were doing

i felt very loved, and i tried to answer questions honestly and it felt comforting the ways people responded with excitement or interest. i’ve been struggling with feeling present or really like anything at all but it felt so good to see the way people are, in uncomplicated ways, rooting for me

i even got giggly and silly for some time. i miss that! i miss feeling like a teenager running around and laughing. people hugged me before they left. people wanted to talk to me specifically about some stuff. this felt good

and bonus was that halliwell had some good interactions with kids! like so much so that he was even playing with one of the youngest ones and it went totally great

everyone left after 10 and i was in the kitchen washing all the cups everyone had ladled warm sap into. smoky and tired and worn from a long day. i’d been the bellows for the fire at one point but otherwise i’d mostly just been socializing. one of my housemates was cooking us something & she told me how much she enjoyed & appreciated my presence in her life, but made a point to reiterate this & said it a lot more sweetly, talked slowly, like she meant every word. felt immediately stricken and overwhelmed, like a sudden shroud of, like, idk? i can be a very good thing for people, maybe. something about me matters enough to be very good. maybe not everything is as harsh or ambivalent as i fear

i smell like smoke. we’ll end up with plenty of maple sugar this season

[dreamersbcll]

“Learning everything ain’t what it seems, that’s the thing about these days”

- whumptober, prompt no. 9

(you’re a liar. you always lie)

——————————————————————————

Mother’s Day was a bullshit holiday. Father’s Day, too, while Tara’s at it.

The worst part of these holidays, besides the whole holiday thing, was how they were expected to be celebrated each year. There was some societal pressure always to honor thy father and thy mother. Thank them for giving life, for giving their heart to their kids.

That was a load of bullshit. The only thing Tara has to be thankful for is that her mother gave her a sister first. Other than that, it was all shit.

But that didn’t matter anymore because Sam was gone. She left Tara two years ago with all these bullshit holidays to buy overpriced cards for. All the feelings, memories, emotions- all dumped onto Tara’s lap for her to sort out. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair at all.

What else is Tara to do, though? It hurts to acknowledge her estranged father and her broken mother, but it also hurts to miss Sam. There was too much pain around Tara, a thorn that kept digging through her skin, cutting her clean open for the world to see. It hurts to hurt.

And it hurts to miss Sam, but it’s worse to know that Tara was the reason that she wouldn’t come home.

Despite all the people leaving her, Tara has to keep living. She has to set the table for four spots that would only be filled by one and take it down again like clockwork. She lays out four forks, spoons, and knives, knowing damn well she will only be cleaning one set of utensils and plates. But she does it every day, hoping that maybe, just maybe, someone would find their way back home.

Unfortunately for her, the only one who came home was her mother. And on Mother’s Day, at that.

Just as Tara was about to ladle the soup she made into her lilac-colored bowl, she heard the door unlatch. She knows the difference between the people who enter her house. Amber bursts through, the screen door slamming behind her. Her father used to come in shoulder first, grunting as he ran into the door. Sam came in quietly, closing the door behind her like it was a secret that she was there.

Her mother, on the other hand, threw open the door, stumbled in, and slammed it behind her. The house shook at its very foundation, wood planks rattling and the glass china tinkling in a chorus of screams. The house itself seemed to hold its breath, knowing that something was about to happen, something that would end in complete evisceration.

Tara closed her eyes, breathing deeply. She could hear the familiar footsteps of someone larger than life creeping through the hallways it typically stalked. Reaching over into the cabinet above her, she pulled out another bowl. Charcoal. The bowl that Sam had made for their mother years back.

“Black like her heart, get it?” Sam had joked, showing Tara the black bowl with a half-heart painted on the side. She had given Tara the very bowl that Tara ate everything out of. Lilac purple with a faint T&S imprinted on the side. It was one of the last things Tara had that wasn’t tainted by Sam’s temper and drug use.

She scooped some soup into her mother’s bowl, bringing both to the table. There her mother stood, wobbling in her stance, a delicate smile on her lips. Tara breathed in, knowing that smile. It was the one that ended with bloody noses and tear-streaked cheeks. It was the one that haunted her nightmares and stalked her dreams.

Gesturing to the bowl she laid down, Tara slowly sat in her chair. “Here, mom. I made us dinner. Sopita. Like Abuela used to make,” she offered, her voice light.

Her mother picked the bowl up, inspecting it, Tara holding her breath. Instead of throwing it against the wall or dumping it on the table like Tara expected, her mother sat down and began to eat. Not sure what to do next, Tara followed suit.

After a few minutes of silent eating, her mother spoke. “It’s nice to know that my other daughter appreciates me. Appreciate all the sacrifices I’ve made. You know it wasn’t easy raising you, Tara. You were always a problem child,” she remarked, slurping on her spoon.

Tara tried to breathe, clenching the table cloth wrapped between her fists. She knows her mother is drunk, and she knows that she misses Sam. The way her mother consistently missed her mouth, and avoided looking at Tara confirmed it. She knows she’s the child that her mother never wanted. She knows it all.

But she still chooses to fight.

“You’re a liar,” she quietly said, staring deep into her untouched bowl of soup.

The air shifts, and the tide turns, always against Tara. She always chose to swim against the current and not with it. Her pain and her hunger couldn’t help but drive her that way. She wanted more from a life that wouldn’t give her any.

Tara knows she shouldn’t fight. She knows how this will end. She’s sixteen and tiny, emotionally inept and drained. There was no winning. But she misses Sam. She misses her protector, her love, and her family. Yet she knows that Sam is long gone, and she’s fighting a battle that she will never make it out of intact.

Her mother straightens up and slams her hands into the table. The empty silverware shakes, soup spilling all over the table. Tara flinches violently at the action but still stays rooted in her seat. She has nowhere else to go. Her mother will always find her anyway.

“You ungrateful little shit. How dare you call me a liar in the home that I pay for, the food that I fund? I should wipe that smug look off your useless little face,” she hisses, leaning across the table.

Standing up quickly, Tara shouts. Nobody else was going to save her, much less hear her. She might as well be loud.

“You mean the food I fund and the bills I pay for? You don’t touch a goddamn thing. You haven’t for years. I don’t know why I ever expect you to. Ever since S-I mean, she left, you’ve barely been here!” she yells, shaking like a leaf.

Baring her teeth, her mother retorts back. “Maybe I would be here more if you were worth my time. I’m the one who birthed you and gave you life. You should be thankful!”

Tara curled her lip in disgust. “The only thing I’m thankful for is you leaving your mess all over town; at least then I don’t have to clean up after your sorry drunken ass constantly,” she retorts.

Christina Carpenter stands up, towering over Tara, and instead of reaching out to imprint pain onto her daughter’s skin, she grabs the tablecloth and pulls. Ceramic and glass dishes shatter onto the floor, soup and water spilling following suit. For a moment, the only sound in the Carpenter house was broken history. Tara watches as her gifted bowl shatters into pieces, and Sam’s favorite mug cracks into two.

And she can’t do a damn thing about it.

Her mother smiles smugly at the mess, tossing her spoon onto the cracked glass. Tara flinches at the noise of yet another piece of her home being thrown onto the ground, and her mother smiles wider.

“There. Now you have a nice big mess of mine to clean up. At least now you have some purpose in this home, as ever since Sam left, I never saw use for you anyways.”

With that, her mother slips out of the house, the house shaking with the slammed door that signified her departure.

Tara stared at the mess for a while, wondering if it was worth cleaning up anymore. It’s not like it was the last time she would have to tidy up after Christina. All her mother left Tara was destruction and pain, things that Tara couldn’t do much with except clean up and move on.

So she gets on her knees, letting shards of glass embed themselves in her skin. The blood would mix with the soup and tears around her, anyway. What was one more thing to clean?

All she had was time, anyway. Time and lies.

[sunshinediaz]

wip wednesday <3

i'm so sorry i'm late, it's been a busy day!

was tagged by @jeeyuns, @wikiangela, @giddyupbuck, @try-set-me-on-fire, @wildlife4life, and @honestlydarkprincess to share a lil something

from chapter 2 of a long way from your heart, i give you a little bit of domestic fluff?

Eddie crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the doorframe, taking in this moment of peace with reverence and gratitude. Simple, domiciliary moments like this warm Eddie from the inside out—it makes him shine, almost, to see his son and his best friend love one another so freely and fully and know his place is right next to them.  “Morning,” he calls to them, grinning when Buck startles and nearly drops the bowl of batter on the floor, pink-faced and sweeter than the waffles he’s making. “You two sure know how to put on a show.”  Chris giggles, picking at the bowl of chocolate chips and blueberries. “Buck says the best way to start the morning is to sing with James Hetfield.”  “I actually said Ronnie James Dio,” Buck corrects, grinning goofily, “but Metallica came up on shuffle first and Chris wouldn’t let me skip it.”  “Didn’t know I had two metalheads on my hands.”  “Hey.” Buck points at Eddie with the spoon, dripping batter all over the counter and floor. “We can’t all like Springsteen and CCR and Waylon Jennings. Some of us have taste.”  Eddie snorts. “You like Springsteen,” he reminds Buck, wagging a finger at him and pulling out a chair at the table. “You went to a concert with Bobby.”  “I went to two, actually.” Buck dips out a ladle of batter and pours it on the iron griddle. “Show’s what all you know about me.”  Eddie puts his elbows on the table, rests his chin in his hands, and smiles up at Buck, warm and gooey and sanguine. He can’t wait to spend the rest of his life learning every single thing about Buck. 

no pressure tagging, as always @alyxmastershipper, @thewolvesof1998, @jesuisici33, @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy, and uh whoever else!

[aching-tummies]

As I walk in from another day of work I see you once again working when your supposed to be resting. Your doing dishes again making sure every single pot and pan is in place. I'm surprised there's any dirty dishes to do with how little you've been eating this last week. As I quietly walk into the kitchen I can tell your definitely still sick. Your tummy still looks visibly bloated even from where I stand. It's like a balloon that's slowly been getting bigger this last week despite how hard it's been to get you to eat anything. I also see your chicken soup sitting on the dinning table. It looks like you've barely had any! "Hey honey I'm home. What did I tell you about letting me do the housework while your sick?" You slowly turn to me and I can tell by the blush on your face your running a fever. You don't say much just "I'm fine" as your tummy let's out an audible groan. "Your belly thinks otherwise you must be hungry" I say as we both sit down at the table. You try and shake your head no but by then I've already got a spoon of soup in your mouth encouraging you to swallow. Slowly but surely I feed you the rest of the soup despite your protest. Just as we finish you let out a wet sounding belch and another moan. I help you stand and see how firm and bloated you belly is. Filled to bursting with soup and everything else it's refused to digest. "I think someone deserves some rubs for finishing all that soup" I wrap my arms around your tummy feeling the rock hard lump of your stomach. "Baby your hands are putting to much pressure on my tummy it doesn't feel good" but I keep rubbing anyway enjoying the groans you and your tummy are making a little to much.

The following is almost exactly how I imagine such a scenario would go in real-life. I'm not exaggerating how I felt when I was sick--my belly really did feel so insanely bloated that I was literally swallowing back sour liquid all day when I was sick. It didn't help that I was so congested and had such a sore throat that the thought of vomiting terrified me because it was a surefire way to suffocate. My bloated belly was taking up too much room and I couldn't get enough air so I was constantly short of breath...had a partner actually tried anything with my belly, I absolutely would have spewed and likely suffocated/drowned due to all that liquid flooding the one path I had left with which to breathe.

You walk in to our shared apartment an note that I'm at the dish-washer, carefully trying to place a stubborn pan with an awkward handle.

“Hey, honey. I'm home. What did I tell you about letting me do the housework while you're sick?”

Even with the obvious fever, it's clear that I'm glaring at you. I quickly grab the pen and notebook on the counter that's been my primary means of communicating since the sickness robbed me of my voice.

'The less you handle my used cups, the better.'

I quickly open the fridge and point out the packed lunch I've set aside in the usual spot for you. I then gesture at the slow-cooker with a singular portion within it on the keep-warm function on the kitchen counter.

“I'll eat now.” You inform me.

I nod and begin plating up your meal, ladling the curry over a portion of rice and setting the plate on the kitchen table. I move to remove the cooled bowl of chicken broth that I gave up trying to eat some time ago. My stomach grumbles angrily, sickly and bloated despite the fact that I have yet to eat anything today.

“Was that your stomach? Sit.” You call out.

I shake my head, but you're already tugging on my arm, dragging me to sit in one of the dining chairs. I set the cold soup back on the table to avoid spilling it. You quickly whisk it away, setting it in the microwave to reheat.

“ N-Not hungry.” I protest, my voice barely sounding beyond the congestion and sore-throat I'm speaking through. I palm at my belly, feeling no give beneath my palm.

“That's just the sickness talking. Appetite or not, you need to eat.” You mutter, coming back with the re-heated soup.

Before I can grab the spoon to feed myself, you've already taken it into your hand and are bringing a spoonful to my lips. I squirm away from it and pat at my tummy, hoping you'll get the message. I wince at the slight jostling to my bloated belly. My stomach is visibly distended and it feels completely full despite the fact that the soup is still in the bowl. I feel very water-logged, as though the soup is already in my belly despite it very clearly being in the bowl. My stomach grumbles angrily at the patting and I quickly stop, swallowing back against the sudden nausea.

I gesture to your dinner, ignored on the other end of the table.

“You first.” You say, leaning closer to continue spoon-feeding me the unwanted soup. “You must be hungry. It's dinner-time, babe. You made this for yourself at 1PM—you sent a picture. Same bowl and everything.” You had left a note, instructing me to text you when I got up and when I got around to eating. Had I not sent proof of being awake and eating, you would have gone out of your way to pick up something on the way home with which to feed to me.

I gag more than a couple of times before the bowl finally empties. Every breath comes with a wet little 'slap' lapping at the back of my throat as I swallow back against the hot liquid trying to escape my bloated tummy.

A short, sharp, and very wet sounding belch erupts from my belly, unbidden. I slap a hand over my mouth, willing myself not to be sick.

“Oh? Is your belly full?” You tease. I nod, one hand still clapped over my mouth and the other resting on the side of my distended belly as I feel the soup tickling at my throat. I feel like a thermometer in a children's science-class—with the liquid-y contents rising and falling rapidly, being manipulated by people that don't care to understand what's actually going on inside. I feel very much like an abused thermometer, like any second now something's going to crack and spew dangerous liquid absolutely everywhere.

“I think someone deserves some tummy rubs. You did so good, finishing all that soup.” You coo at me as you help me stand.

We slowly make our way to the couch. It's a short distance, but it takes us maybe four times as long as normal to reach it as I stumble, cradling my belly and doubling over every time I feel like I'm about to let everything out. 'Bloated' is an understatement for how ridiculously, painfully full my stomach feels. Imagine filling a glass of water to the absolute brim, liquid forming a meniscus just above the rim of the glass. That is basically how my belly feels in this moment—filled to the point of overflowing, with the liquid constantly threatening to spill over as we move across our apartment.

Your hand brushes across my belly and I hiss, moaning as my mouth floods with something hot and salty. You slide your hand over my belly, not really applying any pressure, but even that light touch is enough to disturb the delicate balance inside of me.

“B-Babe...nnngh...t-that really doesn't feel good on my—o-on my—ulp--on my tummy.” I murmur, stopping to swallow back some hot, sour liquid in the middle of my statement. “Ooooh...n-no rubs...p-please? Too much—urp---p-pressure.” I can't believe I'm refusing belly rubs...but I'm too full. My stomach is rock-solid beneath our palms even though it feels like it's full of liquid.

Even the idea of sitting down on the couch in front of us fills me with dread. Bending at the waist at all sounds like a very, very bad idea right now. My belly feels bloated enough to spontaneously rupture all on it's own and I really don't want to test the durability of my stomach. My own hand is barely skimming my clothed belly, careful to be there just to sort of guard my achingly full belly rather than actually touch it.

“Nonsense! There's nothing a little belly rub can't fix!” You exclaim, slapping me playfully on the back as you do so. The shockwave of the slap reverberates through my bloated belly and my mouth floods with hot soup even as you push your other hand incessantly on the achiest part of my belly as you apply what you believe is a sure-fire way to fix my digestive issues. Either way, my stomach has decided that it's done feeling so full-up. Something's going to give, and it's going to give very, very quickly.

[sunny-likes-pokemon]

Performance

Serena is planning her next performance and is completely stuck. Can her friends help her get out of her own head?

AO3 • ff.net

I absolutely love Showcases. They felt like actual dance competitions to me as someone who danced competitively in high school and college. As a performer myself, I related so much to those girls giving their all and improving their routines over their season, the costume troubles, the fun rivals, the weird ones who took everything way too seriously and weren’t fun at all. I’ll be honest, that’s probably why I like the Kalos adventure so much! It was very relevant to my life at the time.

I’ve read criticisms that the routines were “the same every time” and "boring" and I just want to be like—do you have eyes?? Can’t you see the gradual progression??? The growth of personal character and skill???? The changes that make such a big difference, culminating in a final performance reminiscent of and yet entirely evolved from the start????? Bah.

So this piece is dedicated to little me, full of anxiety but dancing her heart out anyways.

Serena sat with her head in her hands, thinking as hard as she could.

She’d gotten notes from the performance judges after her last showcase, but how in the world was she supposed to incorporate them?

One note had said her routine needed more ‘dimensionality,’ that she needed to use all the space available on the stage, including vertically, for the best effect. Another had said the rhythm of the transition during the bridge of the song needed to be improved. 

And, most confusing of all, one note said that she was ‘overthinking’ her routine.

“What does that even mean?!” she screeched, burying her hands in her hair.

The Pokémon gathered nearby to eat lunch startled, Frogadier jumping to his feet with hands raised, Braixen whipping out her branch and looking for enemies.

“Serena?” called Bonnie from the campsite where she was watching Clemont make lunch. “Are you okay?” Ash, who had been watching the Pokémon, and Clemont, busy with cooking, looked at her as well, concern obvious on their faces.

“Oh, yes, just fine!” she called back, embarrassed that everyone witnessed her outburst. She had to leave, just for a bit, and pull herself together. “I’m just going to take a quick walk.” And she stood in a hurry and quickly walked away.

“Stupid, stupid,” she muttered, then took a deep breath. “Okay. One at a time. Timing.”

That just needed more training, right? The more she and her Pokémon worked together, the more in sync they’d be. They would have to practice every day, then practice until they couldn’t mess up. Then they’d be perfectly on beat. 

“Okay, next. Dimensionality.” 

She closed her eyes and imagined she was looking at the stage from the audience, but frowned and stomped her foot when she started mixing up directions in her head. “I need to see it,” she said, marching back to the camp. 

“Clemont!” she shouted when she got close, still marching. 

The inventor jumped and nearly dropped his ladle into the soup. “Y-yes?”

“Did you record my performance?” He hadn’t mentioned anything beforehand, but sometimes he did things like that to be prepared for ‘a situation precisely like this one!’

“Y-yes?”

She nodded and put her hands on her hips. “I need to see it. I need to see what those judges were talking about.”

“I’ll watch the soup, Clemont,” Ash said, standing up and taking the ladle. 

The inventor was so startled that he didn’t even try to show her a ‘Performance Improver Prediction Machine’ or something. He just dug around until he found a tablet, loaded up the video, then handed it to her.

She sat down on the ground and started the video, studying it intently. 

“Um, Serena?” Bonnie asked. 

“Yes, what is it?” she asked, not looking up. There was the starting move from Braixen. Hm, maybe they could use Ancient Power to push it higher? No, that would change the shape of it too much. Could Braixen learn to increase her range?

“Don't you want to sit at the table…?”

Serena hummed absently and nodded. Pancham’s acrobatics were impressive close up, but diminished at a distance. How could he gain altitude? How far could he jump straight up?

“Notebook, notebook,” she muttered, reaching for her backpack. She didn’t find anything and realized she didn’t have it on. 

“Here,” Ash said, handing her her bag. 

Serena dug through the bag for a notebook and pencil, then started taking notes. 

“How to visualize…?” she muttered, then started sketching out the ‘beats’ of the performance, the big moments she really wanted to linger on, as they currently were, then below that, how she could change them to make them more dynamic. 

They had three minutes to perform, starting from the moment their music started, which was a few seconds after they took their starting poses on stage. 

They had to keep the performance escalating through that whole three minutes, starting off interesting and keeping it that way before a finishing move that would be memorable—popular vote deciding the competition meant she had to stick out in some way. 

“Serena, the soup’s getting cold,” Clemont said from nearby. 

She hummed and nodded, then squeaked when someone plucked the pencil and notebook from her hands. “Hey!”

Ash didn’t look impressed. “Seriously, you need to eat. I’ll give them back when you’re done.”

She pouted and pushed herself up, dusting herself off and stomping to the table to sit. There was a bowl of soup waiting there for her, as well as some fruit in the middle to share and her water bottle. 

She quickly shoveled the food into her mouth, grabbing her water bottle and a piece of fruit before standing up. 

“Okay, done! Give them back!”

Ash did, his eyes wide. He gestured at his face. “Um, you’ve got some soup…”

But she had already gone, heading over to the shade of one of the big trees around the campsite and settling down. She had to figure this out. 

—

Ash stood there, staring at Serena as she plopped herself down on the ground again. 

“That…was Serena, right?” Bonnie said, scooting behind Ash and holding Dedenne close as if to keep him safe. “She didn’t get possessed or…or body-swapped?”

Clemont shrugged. “I guess she must be really excited about working on her routine.” He started to clean up from lunch and Ash quickly shook off his confusion and helped. 

Usually, Serena was the last of them to finish eating, taking her time and talking and laughing, and she always helped clean up. 

Ash had hoped to move further that day, closer to his next gym, but Serena didn’t seem to realize anything else was going on, focused entirely on rewatching her performance and taking notes. The day dragged on and on, and Ash eventually had to admit they wouldnt be going any further. “I guess we’re camping here tonight,” he told the others, who looked over at Serena with concern. Camping here was okay with him. It wasn’t like gym battles were on a set schedule like showcases were (even if he did want to get there as soon as possible). He, like Clemont and Bonnie, was kind of worried about Serena, though. 

They set up their tents, the boys helping Bonnie with the girls’ tent, then got ready for bed. Some nights they all played a card game or something before going to sleep, but as one-fourth of their group was so frantically occupied, none of them were really feeling it. So Ash said his final ‘good night’ to his Pokémon and returned them to their Pokéballs to rest (except for Pikachu, who had already snuggled up in his sleeping bag). Then he put his hands on his hips and frowned at Serena, still scribbling away. At least she was sitting at the table now. 

“Serena,” he said, walking over to her, “it’s time for bed.”

“Just gotta…figure this…” she mumbled. 

He sighed. He understood. He did. And he’d had friends have this problem, before, too—hyper-focusing on planning it ‘just right’ and not taking breaks when needed, not doing what they’d planned. 

So he sat across from her and drummed his fingers on the table until she looked up at him, blinking, her eyes bloodshot. 

“Ash?” she asked, her voice a bit rough. “What’s up?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You. It’s bedtime.”

She scoffed. “No, it’s barely even…” She seemed to notice the dark of the sky then, how Ash was in his pajamas and the others already gone to sleep. “Oh. I guess it is.” She bit her lip and looked down at her notes. “But…but I need to…”

Ash sighed and propped his head up on his hand. It looked like a little more help was needed. “What are you struggling with?” She blinked at him in confusion and he waved at her notes. “I’ve had friends compete in things like this before. I have, too, but just for fun.” He scratched his cheek. “Maybe it won’t be the best help, but I’ll help you.”

Serena smiled at him, her shoulders finally relaxing. “Really?” He nodded, preparing himself for a long night. Then Serena yawned, covering it with her hand and then blinking slowly. “Oh, wow, I’m tired. Um, would you be okay to help me tomorrow?”

A bit relieved, he nodded again. “Absolutely.”

He stayed up while Serena got ready for bed, not wanting to leave her alone in case she decided she wanted to work some more. She did go right to bed, though, waving goodnight to him before joining Bonnie in the girls’ tent. 

The next day, Serena seemed to be back to her usual self, helping Clemont with breakfast and making Bonnie laugh with a story about her and Rhyhorn when she was very little. They got back in the road, and then Serena came up to him. 

“Um, are you still okay to help me?” she asked. 

He pumped his fist. “Of course! What do you need?”

She brought out her notebook, but paused and chewed on her lip. “When you said you competed in something like performances, what did you mean?”

So he explained contests to her, how the trainer was called a coordinator and specifically showed off Pokémon moves and the health of the Pokémon themselves, and then battled another Coordinator in a flashy way. Also, all scores were all decided by judges and not the audience. 

“Interesting,” she said softly, tapping her lips with her pencil. “So they don’t do routines?”

Ash frowned. “Well, I mean, kind of, but they’re much shorter and not set to a specific song. Not very many moves, either. Sometimes just one! They also don’t do the same routine, but come up with new ones each time. They weren’t as…it’s like…ah, buddy, what am I not explaining right?”

Pikachu crossed his tiny arms as he thought, then jumped off his shoulder and got into a ready stance, nodding at him. Ash laughed. “Alright, a demonstration it is!” He closed his eyes, remembering the moves he’d used before and what he’d learned since then. Then he shrugged and called out, “Okay, Pikachu, Electro Ball, straight up!” Once it was in the air, he called, “Thunderbolt at it, then smash them both with Iron Tail!” What resulted was an explosion of sparks and energy, and a very charged-up Pikachu. 

“Pika!!” Pikachu cried, eyes wide and grin wider. 

“Wow!!” Bonnie cheered, running up to them. “That was so cool, Pikachu!!” Dedenne cheered as well, scampering around Pikachu. 

Ash laughed at his little electric mouse, all fluffed up and sparking like a very hyper puff-ball. “Pikachu, Thunderbolt to get rid of all that static!” He looked back at Serena as Pikachu fired off a bolt into the sky and shrugged again. “Sorry, contests weren’t my thing. We probably would have gotten points off for all that static build up making Pikachu look silly. Some contests wouldn’t have allowed three moves. And there would have been a bit more planning, but that sort of thing.”

She tilted her head. “So, a coordinator just calls out a couple moves that their Pokémon practiced? They don’t all perform together?”

“Yeah, pretty much. Coordinators kinda just stand there. They usually have nice outfits, but it wasn’t a requirement.” 

She hummed and thought for a moment. “Well, I guess it’s not my part I have questions about.” Then she opened her notebook and showed Ash the drawings she’d made of a stage, tiny figures in various poses with move effects surrounding them. “One of the judges said I needed to use the vertical space more, so I was trying to think of different ways to get everyone’s moves to go farther.” She sighed. “I don’t know if you can train for that, though.”

“Well, you could have them launch themselves off of Pancham’s Stone Edge and then use their moves to get themselves higher into the air,” he said. “They both could do that, right? And then they could do something flashy while they’re up there.”

“Hm, yeah,” she said, turning to a new page and scribbling a few words there. “Maybe Braixen could blast herself up…”

Ash nodded, trying to think of cool moves he’d seen in his various battles. They continued to talk, throwing out ideas of different ways to add to or change Serena’s routine. Once Bonnie figured out what they were doing, she joined in, although she quickly got distracted imagining how Dedenne could perform. (And then Clemont joined in, too, when Bonnie seemed to think Dedenne could learn Flying Type moves.)

They didn’t make it to a Pokémon Center that day, so they found another spot to camp for the night. Serena seemed much more relaxed, actually joining them for dinner and helping set up camp. 

It was only after Bonnie and Clemont had both gone to sleep (Clemont had made a new invention which had exploded spectacularly and then said he was going to bed early) that Ash realized Serena was bent over her notebook again at the table, scribbling away.

He sighed. He’d hoped their planning session would have relaxed her. He was kind of tired…would it be better to let Serena figure out how bad an idea it was to stay up late on her own? Would she even notice, though? 

And then he heard a little sniff and saw Serena rub one eye, then a few more sniffs as she rubbed her arm across her face. She was crying?!

He grabbed his handkerchief from his bag and hurried over to her, sitting beside her and holding out the square of cloth.

“Thanks,” she said in a rough, quiet voice. “Sorry. I’m sorry.” She kept crying. She used the handkerchief to muffle the few sobs that tried to get through.

Ash frowned, trying to think of something to do or say. He shouldn’t just let her cry, right? When he got upset, he stormed off and brooded for a while. Except when he was at home, where his mom wouldn’t let him mope—she’d drag him into making dinner with her or playing a video game or watching a rerun of his favorite Pokémon battles until his problems didn’t seem so big. And if he was really upset, she’d sit with him and hug him until he felt better. There wasn’t exactly a kitchen, game system, or TV around, though, so he couldn’t do those things for Serena (he also didn’t know if she liked video games, and she probably would want to watch something other than battle reruns). He could hug her, though. So he scooted closer and wrapped his arms around her.

She squeaked and went very rigid. “A-Ash?!”

“It’s okay,” he said, patting her back and trying to remember what his mom had said to him in these situations. “It’s going to be okay.”

She slumped against him. “Why can’t I think of anything on my own?” she whispered. “I can’t just use your ideas all the time. Why…?”

Oh. Well, that made sense. “You’re thinking too hard about it.”

A groan was her response. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Have you thought about anything else these past couple days?”

“I mean…no, not really.” Then she straightened and narrowed her eyes at him. “And hard to believe you’re telling me that, Mr. Battle-Every-Trainer-That-Makes-Eye-Contact.”

He shrugged. “I know this stuff. Sometimes I use what I know.” Then he frowned. “I don’t battle every trainer.”

“But you want to.”

Well, she wasn’t wrong . “We’re getting off track. You can’t just think about one thing all the time. You’ll paralyze yourself. Do lots of things, think about lots of things.” He sighed and looked around at their little campsite. “That’s one of the reasons I like traveling with people. I get too caught up in my own head otherwise.”

She snorted lightly. “You? Really?”

He smiled wanly. “Yeah, I’m…not the best on my own.” 

She had been smiling as if expecting a joke, but it faded as she seemed to realize he was serious. “But you always come off as so confident and mature…”

Ash barked out a laugh, genuinely surprised. “Really?” He didn’t feel any different than he had when he first set off on his journey years ago, and he knew he’d been a brat back then, all big dreams and desperation to prove he had what it took to be a good trainer. Then again, he’d learned so much since then, met so many people and seen so many things, traveled all around the planet and had more adventures than any kid could ask for. It would have been stranger if he hadn’t changed at least a little bit. “If I’m so wise and mature, then you should listen to me and go to sleep. Sleep isn’t something you can miss and still function normally.”

Rolling her eyes, Serena closed her notebook. “Fine, fine.” She went to stand up, but paused and then sat down again, a small frown on her face as she looked at the handkerchief in her hand. 

“…Serena?”

Her eyes met his briefly, her expression unreadable. Then she smiled, bright as could be, and held the square of cloth out to him. When he went to grab it, she put her hand over his, her gaze practically burning into his. “You’re incredible. You’ll reach your dreams and go even further beyond them. I know you will.” 

Before he could say anything, she walked away and off to her tent. He didn’t move for a while, just sitting there, confused as could be. 

But…it made him really happy that she believed in him. She’d been traveling with him long enough to see the kind of guy he was, and apparently she still thought he could reach his dreams, no matter how big. 

He believed in her, too. Once she stopped worrying so much and found her groove again, he had no doubt she’d go on to be the best performer Kalos had ever seen. He couldn’t wait to see it!

[goldenlaquer]

REQUESTS OPEK??!?!?!;&@, I JUST WOKE UO IM NOT REAUD UM UN UHH UM

may i request Gintoki with a gn reader who just LOVES to spoil him and make him food but at some point just. stops and doesnt say why and while gintoki doesnt want to sound like "hey wheres my food☹️" he is lowkey wondering if they are mad at him and does a bunch of stuff to try make it up to them. rither like cooking himself or spending more time with them yknow?

but in reality its just that money got tight for a bit and they were embarrassed to say they were spending so much on gin lmao

sorry if thats like all over the place! love you lots professor💚

The way you always come as soon as I open requests, It's like you're in my walls 🥺🚓

Sakata Gintoki Headcanons:

Majority of his life, Gintoki been used to going without comforts, some way or the other. Warm clothes. Fresh underwear. Food. Good food, especially. And it ain't been all so bad since he started the Yorozuya. You can always catch a meal from behind Snack Otose's bar before the old lady catches you by the ear and tosses you out like a dirty mongrel. You can always dip your head in the fountain at the local park to gulp down some cold water. You can always get your 14-year old coworker to stand in a corner and beg for some spare change for your strawberry parfait at your favorite cheap family-style joint.

Point is, you put a street urchin anywhere, and he finds a way to survive.

Theoretically.

So what actually does him in is meals, hot meals, three times a day, seven days a week. The dining table these days is actually creaking, heavily set with the weight of those little side dishes. Side dishes. Gintoki now is getting choices with his meals. And after a delicious meal, then comes dessert. Not just any dessert— strawberry parfait. A tall glass dish filled brim with his favorite sweet, pushed under his nose with a sweeter kiss to his temple before you're happily clearing the rest of the dishes to the sink.

Gintoki has gained ten pounds since loving you.

Until he's suddenly back to square one, ten pounds lighter, back to three-way chopstick fights over every rotten grain of rice, back to scavenging in Sadaharu's dog feed bag, back to harassing Otose's rice cooker, back to swishing fountain water through his teeth to line his never-quite-satisfied stomach.

It's not his first rodeo, but this time, hitting the ground is harder than he remembers.

It's not about the food. In the past few days, you haven't even been looking at him in the eyes, while ladling a fourth of the food that you usually serve into his chipped bowl. Have barely peeped a few words, except murmured thank you for the meal's before quietly eating your portion, smaller than everyone else's. You've kissed him less, hugged him less. The Yorozuya doesn't carry your scent anymore, you're hardly there.

You're ignoring him, he's concluded. Gintoki knows, knows he's pissed you off because Sakata Gintoki always pisses everyone off at some point. You're sick of a lazy, no-good guy like him, he knows it. He knows it.

Fuck, he hasn't missed any anniversaries. On your third month together, he pissed your name in the snow in front of the Yorozuya! If that isn't the most ardent declaration of love, he doesn't know what is! On your birthday, he gave you a DIY, a lovely sculpture! And told you to use it when he's gone! And his performance in bed— no, that definitely can't be it. He puts his back into it! His dicking is flawless. S-tier!

Shinpachi suggests gifting you the newest Otsuu-chan CD. An advice expected of a cherry boy, damn him.

Kagura is more helpful— she's seen it all before. Papi always swallowed his pride and kneeled in the dirt and begged.

And so, Gintoki kneels in the dirt and begs.

And he says something not worth repeating. Blah blah blah blah I miss you blah blah blah blah don't leave blah blah blah blah You don't have to do anything blah blah blah blah just stay blah blah blah blah I love you or whatever blah blah blah blah.

And you're wrapping your arms around his prostrated head, maybe in tears, saying something like money was running short, you were out looking for a job that's why you weren't at the Yorozuya more often, and something like you were embarrassed to face him— which is the most ridiculous bullshit he's ever heard because look at him while he's wiping your tears away with a rough hand, you idiot— you're dating the sorriest, the poorest bastard in Edo! Getcher ass home so we can eat dinner.

And dinner that night— even with four pairs of chopsticks and one paw fighting over the last shriveled dog kibble— has never tasted better.

Happily ever afterrrr

[sapphires-and-silver-linings]

The Betrayer | Chapter Four: Now You Know

Nothing is fine.

Pairing: Albert Wesker/F!Reader, Chris Redfield/F!Reader

Tags: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Death Mention

Notes: Chapter 4 is here! I am... so sorry... for how angsty this is, but also no I'm not. I made myself cry writing this, and hope the emotions come across as intended. Also, I know Lucky is a reader insert, but I really just wanted to give her a backstory and personality. I even envision her in my head in a very specific way lol. Hope you don't mind the lack of ambiguity because bringing her character to life has been such a joy. I am so in love with Chris Redfield it makes me look stupid. Wesker lovers, I promise our boy is coming. It is a slow-burn fic, and I needed/wanted to set up the world and give a lot of information before things take off. I put a lot of work into the worldbuilding though, so I hope you like it as I drop bits and pieces of that and explain it as I go. This story does have a set plot, but I'm keeping the chapters kinda fast and loose so I can make things up as I go. Chapter 5 is in the works. Anyway, hope you enjoy reading this installment as much as I enjoyed writing it! Please leave a comment if you can, the feedback is always good for the writing process!

Masterlist | Previous | Next

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Day 1; Survivors’ Camp

Carlos let out a low whistle as you wrapped up your story. “You know what? I think Chris was right. You are one lucky girl.” 

“I just can’t believe you weren’t fired for that,” Leon scoffed, incredulous.

You chuckled. “Oh, I almost was. When I came to in the hospital, my captain absolutely chewed my ass out. So did Chris. I don’t think I’ve ever seen either of them so mad.”

“Well, if it were my girl’s life on the line, I think I’d be pretty miffed,” Carlos replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

You gave him a strange look. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Could he know about–no… that’s not possible.

Carlos responded with a laugh, “Oh, just that–”

Before he could finish his sentence, the survivor who helped Chris set up the large pot over the fire cleared his throat. He was young, roughly Claire’s age, with a very dramatic coif and a long-sleeved green shirt pushed up to his elbows. Everyone turned to look at him expectantly.

He waved one hand in the air dramatically and you could see Chris roll his eyes behind him, forcing you to stifle a giggle. “Ladies and gents, dinner is served.” 

You heard various cheers and mutters of impatience at the declaration before everyone started forming a line in front of the two men. Chris was pouring the contents of the pot into a collection of mismatched bowels with a large ladle as the other survivor handed them out. 

Carlos only gave you a shrug instead of finishing his answer to you and made his way to the back of the line. You turned to Leon, exasperated, and he just offered you a sympathetic smile. 

The two of you stood, and you swayed a bit on your injured ankle. Leon was quick to grab your arm, letting you use him to steady yourself. 

“Thanks, it feels like it hurts worse every time I walk on it. Though I should probably just push through,” you said with gritted teeth, trying to find your balance without his assistance. 

“Or maybe you should stay off of it as much as possible. I can just bring you a bowl if you want.” 

You shook your head. “No, I can’t let this slow me down too much. If I’m picked for a trial tomorrow, I need to be able to walk on it. Just… give me a second to adjust.” 

“If you insist,” he replied as he watched you wince in pain. “Chris wasn’t lying when he said you were stubborn.” 

You guffawed, “Coming from him, of all people? Pot meet kettle. He’s probably the most stubborn person I know, and that’s coming from someone who worked with cops for a decade.” 

There was a small, amused grin on Leon’s face. “Yeah, I’m aware. But I think all of us have to be at least a little stubborn to make it in a place like this. Keeps the morale up, I guess.” 

He helped you hobble over to the line, which was dissipating quickly. The hungry survivors spread out to the many seats scattered around the clearing, talking animatedly to each other. It was so lively and pleasant compared to the heaviness that persisted before and during the trial. It was like they were celebrating moving past another day, and you couldn’t blame them. 

When the two of you reached the end, the last to get your food except for the men serving it, you pulled away from Leon to stand on your own. “I think I can manage now, thank you. Go on ahead of me.”

“If you’re sure,” he said, almost reluctantly. You waved him forward and he begrudgingly stepped up to get a bowl before leaving you to it.

You limped up to the survivor in front of you and he offered you a concerned look. “You, uh, gonna be okay there, lady?”

“Yeah. Believe it or not, I’ve had worse days.” You were only half-lying.

He smiled as he gave you your food. “You must be Lucky, right?” 

You groaned as you pinned Chris with a dirty look over the younger man’s shoulder. Chris pretended not to notice.

“I can’t seem to escape that nickname,” you told the survivor. “Even in this nightmare world, it follows me.” 

He chuckled lightly. “Well, I think it’s cute. And it suits you.” 

“Shouldn’t the patron be giving compliments to the chef and not the other way around?” you replied, taking a sip from the bowl.

The stew was hot and burned your mouth a bit, but it was delicious, whatever was in it. Maybe that was the hunger talking, though.

“Just the sous-chef, this time. I’m Steve, by the way.” He offered you his hand and you shook it.

“Well, Steve, it’s nice to meet you.” You glanced around at the others as you retracted your arm. “I guess I have my work cut out for me getting to know everyone.” 

“I wouldn’t sweat it too much,” he assured, grabbing his own bowl from Chris now that they were the last two left. “We live in pretty close quarters, and we’re all bound to end up in a trial together, eventually.”

“I guess that makes it easier,” you mumbled. 

“You know, if you want to socialize, you can come eat with me and my friends.”

You glimpsed at Chris to see what he thought about that, and he just shrugged, as if to say, ‘Up to you.’

You returned your attention back to Steve. “Sure. I’d like to get a head start on making introductions anyway.” 

“Cool, follow me.” 

You gave Chris a half-assed salute and he waved you off as he headed to wherever he planned to eat his meal. You trailed after your new friend. 

Steve led you to a long table at the far side of the clearing, a group of kids in their late teens sitting in the surrounding assortment of chairs. Rebecca and Claire were there, apparently already companions with the others. 

You felt rather old standing in front of these teenagers, being roughly a decade older than most of them, but it reminded you of the times you had to entertain your little brother and his friends over the years. It was almost nostalgic.

“I know Chris said so earlier, but this is Lucky,” Steve spoke, introducing you.

“You already know Claire and Rebecca. Obviously,” he stated, sweeping his hand towards them. He then pointed across the table at a girl wearing a striped sweater and the boy who sat next to her in a dark jacket. “But this is Nancy and Jonathan. We came here together.”

He then referred to a young woman in a blue button-up, a sad-looking girl with short dark hair, another girl in a beanie and a flannel, and a boy with messy hair who looked like he’d never slept a day in his short life, “That’s Laurie, Cheryl, Nea, and Quinten. They came alone.”

You waved–some of them either returning the favor or nodding to acknowledge your presence–and sat down between Steve and Claire.

“So how’d you get injured?” Quentin asked conversationally as you slurped at the stew in your grasp. 

Before you could swallow and reply, Nea interjected with a distinctly European accent, “I heard she was chased down by a giant spider.”

Claire jumped in, “The spider didn’t give her the injuries. Ghost Face did.” 

“You got away?” Jonathan questioned, looking surprised. 

“She didn’t just get away. She killed him,” Claire corrected, looking slyly at you.

“Bullshit!” Nea exclaimed, crossing her arms. “Nobody’s downed a killer on their own. Especially not their first night in the realm. That’s impossible.” 

“Well, believe it, Nea. She did. She’s a badass.”

“It’s not like you were there. She could be lying.” 

“I know her! She’s not a liar!”

“I know you’re only defending her cos she’s screwing your brother.” 

You spit your food out onto the table, everyone who was intently listening to the bickering between the two girls quickly turning to you. You wiped your face with the back of your hand. “Excuse me?” 

“Nea, that was too far,” Nancy warned before addressing you. “If it is true you killed Ghost Face, I think that’s really impressive.”

“Yeah, if you could manage that, you might be able to help us get out of trials alive more often,” Jonathan added, wrapping an arm around the girl. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Steve tense up. 

Drama, much, you thought.

Nea rolled her eyes. “Better that than get in the way, at least.” 

The group half-heartedly agreed and the discussion moved swiftly to different topics. 

You watched on in amusement as you witnessed the typical teenage bullshittery unfold before you. 

There was the weird tension between Steve, Jonathan, and Nancy on one side of the table, though Nancy seemed to be avoiding it by conversing with Laurie. On the other end, Nea and Claire bickered good-naturedly, Quentin looked like he wasn’t all there, and Rebecca and Cheryl, who sat side-by-side, were quietly talking amongst themselves. 

Steve noticed your silence as he glanced over at you, leaning in to whisper, “I know it's a weird bunch, but we all have each other’s backs.” 

You smiled, appreciating that despite everything, at least these kids got some form of normalcy. 

If only they didn’t have to be here at all.

The thought of your brother being stuck in a place like this was more painful than you could bear to imagine. Chris must have been devastated when he realized Claire was trapped here too. Your heart ached for him.

Suddenly, a hush fell over the clearing and you all turned to face the campfire. Standing on the other side, illuminated by the flames, was a young blonde woman wearing cowgirl boots and cut-off jean shorts. Her entire left arm was covered in a floral tattoo, leading from her shoulder down to her wrist, where a beat-up old guitar was held aloft in her hand.

“That’s Kate,” Laurie informed you. “She was a singer before she was brought here. She doesn’t do performances every night, though, so you’re lucky to get to see it so soon!” 

“Well, it is her name, isn't it?” Nea snarked. 

Laurie only gave her an exasperated look. 

“It’s a special night, y’all. We have a new survivor here with us, and I think we should all give her a warm welcome! This is for Lucky!” Kate called out. 

Every single person in the camp turned to look at you—some smiling, some curious. You felt incredibly exposed by the attention. 

Steve clapped your shoulder and you heard Carlos wolf-whistle from across the clearing. Jill reached over and smacked him on the arm. He had the audacity to look wounded by the playful action. 

The campsite went quiet again when Kate started strumming her guitar. After a few chords, she began to sing. 

It was possibly the most beautiful and captivating voice you’d ever heard, even though you didn’t recognize the lyrics. 

Looking around you, it was clear everyone else felt the same way, their eyes glued to the woman who swayed and tapped her foot as she crooned her sad but hopeful melody. 

When she finished, there was thunderous applause that echoed off the walls of the encampment. 

She bowed, her face flushed by the reaction, before she spoke again, “This next one’s a dance song! I want everyone to get up and groove!” 

There was a flurry of movement as a bunch of people stood and made their way to the middle of the camp, taking partners with them. Claire strode over to Leon to ask him to dance, and you saw him rub the back of his neck sheepishly as he let her pull him into the fray. 

Nancy and Jonathan went together, Steve watching them with a clenched jaw. 

He got to his feet and faced you. “You wanna dance with me?”

You gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Steve. I can barely walk, let alone dance.”

“Right, yeah. No problem,” he replied, a little embarrassed by the rejection. He turned to Laurie. “Would you?”

She smiled up at him and took his hand. “Why not?”

The others at your table sat back to watch in amusement as the large group twirled in tandem. Those who weren’t dancing were stomping their feet and clapping along.

“Care to join me?” You were startled as Chris sidled up to you, his large hand outstretched. 

He had shed his green tactical vest, revealing his white S.T.A.R.S. shirt underneath. The top few buttons were undone and you could see a small tuft of his chest hair poking through the gap. His muscles were barely contained by the snugly fit article of clothing, making you avert your gaze in embarrassment for even looking. 

Dude is built like a grizzly, you mused.

You recovered quickly and answered him, “The ankle, Redfield. I don’t think I’d be able to keep up.”

He leaned down and swiftly lifted you, setting your feet on top of his own. “Don’t worry, Lucky, I can do it for the both of us.”

You couldn’t stop the giggle from escaping you as he spun you into the shifting masses. 

You were a little shocked to see Carlos and Jill paired together nearby, as Jill had always been more of a wallflower, preferring to watch you and the others live it up at the bars and clubs your friend group often visited back home. Carlos was leading and seemed very suave about it, despite his usual air of goofiness. Jill was smiling wider than you’d ever seen as they danced, her face flushed pink in the campfire light. 

“They seem… awfully close,” you remarked to Chris.

He followed your gaze and chuckled. “You could say that. Carlos only had eyes for her the moment he got here. She clearly likes him back but won’t admit it.” 

You then saw Claire and Leon together. Claire seemed to be the one in charge and Leon, bless his soul, was stiff as a board and tripping over his own feet. They were both laughing.

“I think your lil sis has a crush,” you teased Chris, absentmindedly twirling the hair at the nape of his neck between your fingers. He shivered and you wondered if it was the chilly night air, though he had always been a furnace of man and rarely got cold. 

“I’m keeping an eye on it,” he replied with a scowl. “I know she’s an adult, but she’s still my kid sister. Leon’s a decent guy, but he has a thing for Ada. I worry Claire will get hurt.” 

“You can worry all you like, Chris, but the heart wants what it wants. You can’t protect her from everything. She needs to learn that lesson on her own if things don’t shake out.” 

He sighed, his grip on your waist tightening ever-so-slightly, “I know, I know. It’s just… so much is out of our control here. It’s hard not to double down on the ways I can protect her.”

“She’s an independent spirit, Chris. You’ll only push her away.” 

“You’re right,” he admitted, eyes meeting yours.

You grinned brightly up at him. “I always am.”

He snorted, “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Lucky. I have a whole filing cabinet of times you proved yourself wrong.” 

You dropped one of your hands to press against your chest, mockingly flattered. “Aww, you keep a filing cabinet just for me?” 

“Definitely. It’s for moments like this, so I can keep you in check,” he joked.

“I don’t know whether to be impressed or offended.”

“Hmm,” he thought aloud, dipping you, “probably a bit of both.”

He pulled you upright and you were pressed against him, your head resting on his broad chest. You were so close, you could hear his heartbeat under your ear, the soft rhythm of it calming to you. 

Trailing your gaze up to his face, you found an intensity in his half-lidded eyes you didn't think you had ever seen before.

You weren’t sure why, but you felt your own heart skip a beat.  

You came back to your senses when the song finally ended, those around you pulling apart and chatting excitedly. Kate started to gear up for another one, but you were utterly exhausted. Chris noticed.

“It’s been a long day, Lucky. We should go find you a room so you can get settled. You should rest,” he told you, his hand lingering against your side.

“That’s the best thing you’ve said all night.” 

He laughed and the two of you bid goodnight to those you passed by who weren’t preoccupied with dancing. 

You reached the edge of the clearing and Chris turned to you. “There’s a few empty shacks and open rooms in the facility. You can have your pick.”

You considered it for a moment. “Where are you staying?” 

“Why, you wanna be roommates?” he teased.

“No, more like neighbors. I think I’d feel… safer… knowing you’re close by,” you replied honestly. 

His gaze softened. “The group that’s from our world is staying in the facility. Most of the others are uncomfortable with sleeping there, but we don’t really mind it.”

“The facility it is, then.” 

He nodded and helped you enter the aforementioned structure, leading you down a corridor lit only by hanging lanterns, the wall lined with doors. He finally stopped and pointed to the room in front of you. “This one’s free to take. You’ll be next to Ada.”

“What about you?” you questioned out of curiosity. 

He gestured down the hall. “I’m just over there. If you ever need me at night, don’t be scared to knock on my door, got it?”

You agreed before you followed him into your new room. It was dark until Chris pulled out a matchbox from a drawer and lit a candle sitting in the shadows. As the flickering light filled the room, you took in the space before you. It was pretty drab, with cracking white walls, a stained linoleum floor, a dresser, a couple of side tables, and a bare full-size mattress on an old wooden frame.

“It isn’t much, I know, but the beds here aren’t terrible.”

“Are there any blankets around?” you asked, a bit worried you would freeze in only your S.T.A.R.S. shirt. 

“Oh, right. We tend to put extras in the dresser when a new survivor arrives. Here, I’ll help you get set up.” 

With that, the two of you made quick work of covering the mattress with some worn, moth-eaten bedding. There were even a couple of lumpy pillows, which you couldn’t really complain about, considering the night before you had nothing of the sort.

“Well,” Chris said as you plopped onto the bed, kicking off your boots, “I think that’s all. I can find you some new clothes tomorrow.” 

“Thank you. For everything. I don’t know what I would have done if you didn’t find me,” you confessed earnestly.

“I told you when we first started working together that I’d have your back, no matter what.” 

“Not even being stuck in hell can change your mind, huh?”

“Nothing could.”

“Stubborn ass.” 

“You’re one to talk.” 

You smiled at him warmly and he held your gaze for a moment until he half-turned to the door. “You should get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Before he could leave, you called after him, “Chris, wait. I know it’s late and we’re both tired, but… you told me you’d explain what happened to the other members of S.T.A.R.S.” 

The cheerfulness he had shown prior seemed to be sucked straight from his body. He didn’t immediately turn back to face you.

“Are you sure? It might be better to hold off until you’ve gotten some rest.”

“I’m sure, Chris. I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

He sighed, slowly making his way over, and sat on the side of the bed right next to you. “Where should I start?” 

You rotated on the mattress to face him, your hand falling on his forearm. “From where we landed in Raccoon Forest.” 

“Here goes.”

And with that, he told you about the horrifying events that unfolded that night. 

Joseph was the first to reach the Bravo team’s chopper, and he discovered the mutilated body of Kevin Dooley. You didn’t know him very well, but his face still popped into your head at his name. He wasn’t a member of S.T.A.R.S., but you had been acquainted with him prior to its conception. He was a great pilot and always dependable. You felt your stomach tie up in knots.

Chris’s voice was tight when he then explained that Joseph was killed shortly after. Torn apart by a pack of rabid dogs. You and Jill had shot at them repeatedly, but they didn’t stop. You felt your eyes misting over. 

Joseph… He was one of your closest friends on the team, and you had been partnered up with him on more than one occasion. You could see his smile in your head–imagined his lighthearted teasing. 

Now he was dead.

Your grip on Chris’s arm only clenched further. You were fighting back tears as he continued.

Your group fled, being chased by the hounds after Brad had abandoned you, and entered a mansion in the middle of the forest. The “Spencer Mansion”, Chris called it. Barry was separated from your team in the chaos, and you had thought the worst.

Wesker had told you to split up. You and Chris remained together, while he and Jill paired off. The thought of being parted from them made you anxious.

The two of you were then faced with these terrifying creatures that had once been people, apparently infected with what Chris called the “T-virus”, which made them hungry for human flesh. You and Chris stumbled across a few corpses of your fellow S.T.A.R.S. members who had met that grisly fate. 

You struggled to keep your composure.

Eventually, you had run into Rebecca tending to a very wounded Richard. He had been bitten by a snake, or so you had been told, despite the bite being incredibly large. 

You and Chris tried to find an antidote while Rebecca remained at his side, but you were too late. Richard died right in front of your eyes, just like Joseph had. 

Your breath caught in your throat thinking about the sweet man–how he only wanted to protect everyone. 

He suffered until the very end. 

Chris had to pause to collect himself and you took the opportunity to prepare for what he was about to tell you next.

“We split up with Rebecca again, and you and I kept moving. We were ambushed by a group of those things, and although we were taking them out one by one, they had us surrounded. You ran out of bullets, and while trying to reload, your cast made you fumble and–”

“And what..?” You dreaded his next words.

“One of them got too close. It… it bit you. Tore into you. I managed to fight it off, but you were hurt. Badly. I couldn’t think straight. I just grabbed you, shoved some of them out of the way, and ran for it. I found Rebecca and we holed up in a bedroom nearby. She did her best to stop the bleeding, but you were fading fast. She had to leave to get more medical supplies, and I stayed with you. I somehow got through to Wesker, the radio signal going in and out the whole night, and he showed up shortly after.”

“What happened next, Chris?” 

“Rebecca… didn’t make it back in time. You–” his words were trapped in his throat as he stared down at your hand wrapped firmly around his arm. His jaw clenched.

“You died, Lucky.”

You were stunned, unable to comprehend what he had just said. 

Me? Dead?! you thought, mouth hung open and eyes wide. No, that’s not possible. That can’t be… 

But as the words really sunk in, you knew he was telling the truth. Chris would never lie to you, not about something like this. 

And how he and Jill acted when they first saw you earlier that day? The uncharacteristic emotion, the way Chris held you so tightly to him as if he never wanted to let go? The way he acted so weirdly uptight the first few hours after reuniting?

If Jill had been taken in September, you would have been dead for two months. Chris grieved you for five years. You couldn't imagine how it must have been for them to find you in that old farmhouse.

“I wish I–I wish I could have done more to save you. I’m sorry.” He refused to meet your gaze, so you planted your hands over the sides of his jaw, pulling him back to face you. He had never looked more defeated–more broken–the entire time you had known him as you regarded his tired visage. 

He was always the strong one. The one who could rally everyone together and push through all odds. Stubborn and bold and so rigid in his convictions, it sometimes drove you crazy.

And here he was, his warm brown eyes shining with unshed tears, the guilt and the grief weighing down on him like a stone tied to his neck.

“It’s not your fault,” you whispered firmly, your thumbs stroking his skin in a feather-light touch. 

His eyes closed at your words, a few stray tears escaping their corners. You had never seen him cry before. Chris didn’t let himself be vulnerable like this. 

How heavy a burden he must have carried all this time. You don’t think you could have held it together that long if the roles had been reversed. 

“Thank you,” was his only reply.

He pulled away to wipe his eyes and you let him, dropping your hands from his face. 

A moment of silence passed between you, and you were reminded that the story was not over. You might have died, but you knew at the very least Chris and Jill survived that night. 

“Chris, can you tell me what happened after I…” you couldn’t finish. 

He knew what you meant and took a deep, shaky breath. “Rebecca and I, we just… pushed forward. All we could do. We learned Umbrella was behind everything and that Wesker, he–”

Chris no longer looked broken. 

He was angry.

“Wesker betrayed us.”

You felt your heart stop. “What are you talking about?”

“He knew about all of it, Lucky. He was in on it.”

“No. No. He would never do that to us,” you defended, voice raising.

He would never do that to me.

Chris grabbed your wrist and held it tight. “I know it's hard to take in, but it's true. He knew what was going on in those woods, in that mansion, and he led us all to our deaths.”

“But… why..?” was all you could muster.

“He was working for Umbrella the whole time. Umbrella created S.T.A.R.S. and instated him as captain. He was a traitor, right under our noses. He also roped Barry into helping him. Threatened his family.”

You thought of your older teammate and felt sympathy for him. If it was your family in peril, you knew you would have done the same thing. 

“How does it end, Chris?” you asked finally, needing to know. 

“We cornered Wesker in the lab under the mansion. He shot Rebecca–”

“Oh my god.”

“She survived, don’t worry. But Wesker showed me this… this monster Umbrella had created. The Tyrant, he called it. It broke free and ripped right through him.”

You were horrified. Sure, he betrayed you all, but this? This was too much.

“Jill, Rebecca, Barry, and I managed to escape. Brad came back to get us, the jackass. The whole place blew sky-high. We’d hoped that it would contain the virus.”

“So Wesker… Wesker’s dead.” It felt like your tongue fought you to admit the words, laying heavy in your mouth. You stared at a large crack in the wall across from you, unsure of what else to focus on. 

To lose him like this…

“We thought he was,” Chris muttered.

Your eyes snapped over to him. “What does that mean?”

“He survived somehow. I ended up fighting him months later. He got away then, too.” The look on Chris’s face was the closest thing to hatred you’d ever seen from him. 

Despite everything he told you, though, you were relieved. 

Your captain lived. 

At the expense of so many of your friends' lives, you reminded yourself bitterly.

You still weren’t finished, though. “Leon and Carlos said something happened to the city in September. What was that about?” 

Chris sighed deeply, that mounting rage dissipating immediately as he released his grip. “After the mansion, we wanted to do a full investigation of Umbrella. We knew there was corruption in the R.P.D., so we had to tread carefully. I got myself into some trouble as an excuse to take a ‘vacation’ in Europe, where I was looking into one of Umbrella’s international branches. Jill stayed in Raccoon City to keep an eye on things. And then, towards the end of September, everything back home went to shit.”

He continued, “There was an outbreak of the virus. Destroying the mansion didn’t stop the spread. The city was in chaos. Jill, Carlos, Claire, and Leon barely made it out alive before the government sent out a nuke. The whole city was leveled.” 

You panicked. “My family–what happened to my family?!”

Chris couldn’t bring himself to look at you.

“Chris, please, tell me,” your voice broke as you pleaded with him, seizing one of his hands desperately in two of your own.

“Your parents… they didn’t–they didn’t make it.”

The tears you had been holding back finally sprung forward, wetting your dirty cheeks. The salt of them stung the cut on your face, but the pain building up inside of you was far worse.

“What about Kitty? Tic?” you asked of your younger siblings.

Those weren’t their real names. Kitty, who was only eight years old, got her nickname when she was a baby. 

Your stepmother had this plump ginger cat, aptly named “Cheddar”. He hated everyone, especially you. You recalled when you were thirteen finding the miserable creature chowing down on a piece of plastic bag from the day’s grocery run. You quickly scooped him up and pulled it from his mouth, and in his gratitude for saving his life, he sliced his claw all the way from your temple down to your cheek. If you looked closely, you could still see the faint white line in the mirror, slightly raised against the rest of your skin. 

But the one person that cat didn’t hate was your baby sister. 

And she absolutely loved him. 

So much so that her first words were not “mama” or “dada”, but the joyful declaration of “kitty!” before she burst into a fit of laughter. Your parents called her that ever since.

Your brother, on the other hand, received his nickname from you. 

Even as a child, he never liked gum.

“It hurts my jaw,” he had whined. “Tic Tacs are just better! I can roll them around 'til they melt in my mouth. Superior candy.”

“Okay, you little freak,” you told him in jest, picking up the preferred mints and tossing them to him, the two of you wandering the isles of the nearby gas station after he begged you to take him for a car ride. “I’m gonna start calling you ‘Tic Tac Boy’ from now on.” 

You kept your word, but over the years, it shortened to “Tic”. You used it so often, even his friends started referring to him by the moniker. He was begrudging at first, but then he just accepted it (guessed it served you right when Chris did the same thing to you a couple of months ago).

He had just turned sixteen.

The man before you looked tense, his brows furrowed as he chose his words carefully, “Kitty, she… she was with your parents.” 

A sob wrenched itself from your throat, burning all the way up from the stabbing agony that started behind your ribs. You ripped your hands from Chris, digging your fingernails into your own legs hard enough to draw blood. You would have, were it not for your thick cargo pants protecting the flesh of your thighs from the filthy, jagged edges.

Kitty’s chubby, angelic little face and bright smile flashed through your mind. You could hear her gleeful shrieks as you chased her through the house, tickling her every time you caught up. 

Gone. It was all gone. 

Your brain bombarded you with the image of her charred corpse, nothing but the shape of her tiny body remaining in the ruins of the city you both grew up in. The city you both loved. 

You could see your parents holding her between them, trying with all they could to shield her from the blast, heads bowed and pressed together.

Chris pulled you into his embrace, your face shoved into his chest as your wails echoed in the small room, muffled only slightly by the cotton of his shirt. 

“She was just a baby, Chris! She was just a baby!”

“I know. I’m sorry, Lucky. I’m so sorry.” His large hand ran over the top of your head soothingly as you shook violently in his arms.

You don’t think you had ever felt so hopeless in your life, not even after your mother died. 

Your brother, though. Chris didn’t say what happened to your brother.

You pulled back, a crazed sort of look in your eye. “Tic, what about Tic?!”

“He was the only one who made it out.” 

Relief flooded through you. “Thank god. Thank god he’s okay.”

There was one good thing. One silver lining peeking through blackened clouds. 

He lost everyone and everything he ever loved, you thought, anguished on your kid brother’s behalf, but at least he’s alive.

Chris looked like he wanted to say more but refrained as he watched you unravel before him.

“Is there… is there anything else?” you managed. 

You were trying to keep from breaking into pieces, but it felt like your whole body was revolting against you–like it wanted to rip itself open and spill all this grief onto the floor, desperate for any way to get it out of you. 

He shook his head. “No. That’s everything.” 

You nodded, thinking for a moment you could pull yourself back together. But one thought of your parents, of your little sister, had you crumbling all over again.

“I think… I think I need to be alone,” you told him with shaky breaths, hating the tremor that laced your voice. 

“Are you sure?” He looked reluctant to let you go, to leave you there, suffering by yourself.

You needed it, though–needed to feel this pain that shuddered through you, sharper than any blade or broken bone. If you didn’t let it out, you thought it might kill you. 

But you didn’t want anyone, even Chris, to witness you fall apart completely.

“Please, go.” 

He nodded, squeezing you against him one last time, and stood. When he reached the door, hand on the knob, he turned to you with a sorrowful expression on his face.

“If I could go back and change it all, Lucky, I would in a heartbeat.”

You gave him a ghost of a smile through your tears as you responded, “I know.”

With that, he was gone. 

You fell forward against your bed, screaming at the top of your lungs into the pillow beneath you until your voice withered in your throat.

Nothing is fine.

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

Masterlist | Previous | Next

[sixofcrowsxzoya]

crack fic

warning: mild sexual content, crack crack crack. THIS IS PURE CRACK!!!

Nikolai drew Zoya into his arms slowly, smiling as he kissed her. "You must be excited- this is the second-last stop."

"Oh- is it? I hadn't noticed." she answered. Nikolai laughed, knowing that not to be true. She had been grumbling and whining and complaining every day of the trip. It had been some of the best weeks of his life. The thought that he would get to live like this for the rest of life swelled his chest- and also perhaps the fact that Zoya brought her hands to his shirt- determined to unbutton the impossible buttons.

"My love," he said gently, "we have to leave soon." Nikolai kissed her lips chastely. She continued making quick work of his buttons, and a familiar shiver of desire struck him. Nikolai took her hands. "Zoya; you are making me be the voice of reason and I hate it. We have your appearance soon.''

Zoya sighed, wringing her hands free and taking the liberty of re-buttoning his shirt. "Yes. We do. See you later, Lantsov?"

"You know it, Nazyalensky." Nikolai turned and stepped out of the room, leaving Zoya with the precious few minutes she had before she had to appear in front of the public at Caryeva.

~

Nikolai grinned as he waded through the crowd, proud to do this for Zoya today instead of himself. He had known the people would have to look at her, and he had been excited for another one of these- the publicity tours, as Zoya called them.The people looked at him, yes, but Zoya was the true object of their worship. He honestly felt an enormous weight lift off his shoulders as he watched the subjects scream for their Sankta, even four hours after her only appearance. Nikolai would have felt guilty, but he knew that the burden would not weigh nearly as much on Zoya. She could not care less what people thought of her.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he turned around- only to see a ghost. It was Dominik. He told himself he was being ridiculous, lots of people looked similar, after all, he reasoned. But no, it was Dominik. The scar above his brow where the cook's hot ladle had flicked, the eyes- those eyes. "Do I know you?" he summoned the energy and courage for words.

"Nikolai the Spider Squealer- look where you are now." the man who could not be Dominik but inexplicably was grinned and spoke.

"H- how?" he managed to get out. The crowd of people pressed against him.

"Here- let's go into the corner. You need to sit down, friend." as Dominik's ghost steered him to a corner outside of an ally. Friend. That word... had they not been each other's everything back then? "Do you need water?" Dominik asked.

"I seem to be in greater need of answers." Nikolai replied. Dominik smiled again, and Nikolai already knew that it could not be a ghost, because no ghost would ever smile like Dominik had.

"Well- I stopped breathing. You were there for that part. I was left in that field of bodies." A distinct tone of bitterness took over his voice. "But I was found by a group of scavengers. I do not know how I survived woth my wounds, but I did. On the move, eating scraps, I survived. The scavengers at last brought me to Keramzin. At the hospital there, they gave me something, and I fainted. Went into a coma for five years. Woke up right before the war ended. I was healed, and so I found the love of my life, and we shifted here." Nikolai processed that for five minutes.

"What do you do?" he asked, at last.

Dominik beamed. "My handsome husband supports us both, he's a trader."

Nikolai was finding it difficult to breathe. "Good to see you're alive, man." was what he got out before stumbling away.

~

Nikolai shut the door to their chambers. Zoya looked up from her place on the bed, scowling. "Where were you? You know, you cannot do this to me. First you crown me against my wish, make me do this tour, and then disappear? Ravka does not need an undiplomatic queen, Nikolai!"

"No- that is the last thing Ravka needs. What it needs is you, a person who they can have the purest belief in." he responded automatically, but with a hollowness inside him. Zoya immediately sat up.

"Nikolai? What's wrong? Did something happen?" she asked, walking to him.

"Zoya- you know Dominik's plant in the garden?" she nodded impatiently. "I think we can remove that now." Zoya drew her brows together, confused.

"Nikolai; you did not tell me who Dominik was at that time, and I do not press, but you have to tell me if something is wrong, Kolya." she called him the nickname she had only used once before, the one reserved for special occasions. What a devious trick- she knew it would cause him to melt.

"He was my-" Zoya interrupted him, pushing him back on the bed.

"What? Get comfortable! If I know anything, I know this is going to be a long story." she said.

He rested against the headboard, took a deep breath, and began. "He was my only friend, really. When I was younger, I was a troublesome, naughty child- I know, unimaginable." he said as Zoya's brows rose.

"I was excited one morning- I had procured a mouse to set into my Tutor's bag. Imagine my surprise when I found there had been another desk and chair all set up- with a frightened boy sitting there. He wouldn't talk very much, just called me 'moi tsarevich'. When I released the mouse, my tutor screamed and I laughed. But then- he whipped Dominik. He was to act as a whipping boy for me- for who would dare raise a hand against the prince?

After that I did not cause trouble. I promised him I would do better. But somehow- in that silent corpse of a palace; we became friends. As we got older, we started sneaking out of the palace, to his house. We roughhoused and shouted and ran through fields. When I was fifteen, we were lying in the fields together and I looked at him- and I kissed him. He kissed me back. But the very next day, when I was sneaking back, Vasily caught me. I had gotten careless, you see. I... became what I am. I charmed my mother and her court and flattered my father and wrote to gunsmiths and officers and ministers and generals.

"I got Dominik's brother reassigned to a place where the fighting was light. I joined the infantry right along with him. He... was my everything."

"And then he died. But I saw him today. Turns out he survived, went into a coma, found a rich handsome trader husband."

Zoya crawled into his arms, melting into him. He held onto her like she was his only anchor and he a pathetic drowning ship, and sobbed. "He did not once think he should tell me? Some mornings, his words, he was the only reason I could even get up. He just... forgot?"

"Nikolai. Nikolai- Kolya, listen to me. What else can you do?"

"If only- I'd checked his pulse, I wouldn't be here right now, Zoya do you understand? There was another life I could have lived."

"That is what you could have done. There is no use crying over spilt milk, Kolya. Moreover, do you regret this? Do you regret... me?"

He looked in his heart's eyes and said, "No. Of course not. You are right, of course. You always are." and attempted a smile.

Zoya's eyes narrowed. "Normally I would savour those words, but why does it feel like you're up to something? Like your mind isn't at rest?"

That made Nikolai laugh; a small laugh yes, but a laugh. "When is it ever?" he asked.

[omgpurplefattie]

for the character-centric stories prompts, Ye Baiyi and "What would happen to a houseplant in their care?" ♥

“She’s not going to kill you if they don’t all survive,” Rong Changqing had told Ye Baiyi after Rong-furen had finally stopped with her instructions, repeated instructions, and even more admonitions.

“Not so sure,” Ye Baiyi said, trying to commit to memory what the little yellow orchids needed. They wanted little water, right, but regularly, and they could never be allowed to remain standing in a puddle?

Compared to the orchids, the large pot of silvergrass was simple. The kitchen herbs were even simpler -- give them two ladles of water whenever they started looking a bit wan.

“Don’t think about the damn plants,” Rong Changqing assured him, “the main thing is you keep training Xuan-er and make sure he goes to bed before midnight. And don’t let him tinker in my workshop by himself. At least not after midnight. Please? Baiyi?”

If Changqing looked at him like that, with his beautiful smile and beautiful eyes, what else could Ye Baiyi do but grumble “I’ll try to” ungraciously, rather than smile back and reflect the things that Changqing made him feel. Every. Single. Time.

You’d think he would be used to it by now. For the Heavens’ sake, Xuan-er was already nine; the pain in those feelings should have worn down, become dulled and familiar. Perhaps it was the immortality that Rong Changqing had so unwisely cultivated and then dumped on Ye Baiyi; not only Ye Baiyi’s body, even his feelings were preserved forever unchanging in a block of clear ice.

“Don’t look so crestfallen, Baiyi,” Rong Changqing said. “It’s not even a month; we just have to be at the wedding of my lady’s youngest brother. We’ll hurry back as fast as we can. And Xuan-er can help you. If you’re really scared of what she’ll do to you if her chives have turned into hay, or the forge cats have peed on the basil.”

“I’m not scared,” Ye Baiyi grumbled. “I’m just offended that you wouldn’t even trust me with a fucking potted houseplant. I can feed the forge cats all right, and make sure that Xuan-er eats every day and sets nothing on fire. So why should I kill the damn orchids?”

“The forge cats,” Rong Changqing laughed, “will complain very loudly if you don’t feed them every day. Plants, however, just wilt quietly, and before you realize it, they’re dead.”

“Speak for yourself,” Ye Baiyi said, glaring up at Changqing, “I know what qi feels like, and I won’t let it falter.”

“Course you do,” Rong Changqing said, easily, but Ye Baiyi felt he still didn’t believe him. He made a face.

***

Two lunar months later, the Rongs returned, with a lot of gifts and good food for Xuan-er, and a few books they had thought Ye Baiyi might like, as well as a few bottles of syrup for him to flavor his snow with.

Xuan-er had built a box that would shoot crossbow bolts without the crossbow, steadily feeding them into the mechanism; he proudly presented it to his father, and they took quite a while to take it apart and then improve it so it would shoot even faster.

Baiyi went and had some snow with pomegranate syrup; it wasn’t bad, really. He perched on a rock and looked into the valley where he hadn’t been for so long, except in especially fierce winters, and then only for a little bit.

He didn’t know how he felt about Changqing and Rong-furen being back. Life with Xuan-er had been fun; they had trained every day, there had been no set bedtimes or mealtimes for either of them, and they had just ambled through their days in the snow. Xuan-er’s martial arts had taken leaps and bounds with nobody to interrupt him. He did look a little unkempt now, but really, all those hot baths were overrated, especially for a nine year old.

It was already getting dark when Rong-furen came out to get her husband and son from the workshop; the fire was going, and she had been cooking dinner.

“What have you done to my plants?” she asked, casually, as she passed Ye Baiyi.

“Nothing,” he said, “except what you’d told me. The forge cats were much harder to take care of; the calico brought out her kittens, and we kept running after them. Xuan-er shot at an eagle who tried to grab one. They’re all doing fine.”

“Don’t deflect,” Rong-furen said. “My plants have never been this lush and healthy. You have made cuttings from the orchids, and the roots are coming on fine; the basil is almost a tree now, and the other herbs fairly burst from their window boxes. I have noticed the kittens because they were playing hide-and-seek in the silvergrass and jumping up to catch the fronds. The lotuses in their basin and the peonies in their container are already flowering even though it’s early for them, this far up. You turned out to be an excellent gardener.”

“I just did what you told me,” Ye Baiyi said. “I checked every day, and made sure the forge cats didn’t pee on them. That’s all.”

He may have been feeding the plants a little of his qi, but hey, he was an immortal, he had the stuff to spare.

“Do you want to carry on doing it?” she asked. “I have seen the way you repotted the little blue orchids; there was so much care and attention in the work. You enjoyed it, didn’t you?”

“Nah,” Baiyi said, “they’re your plants. I just didn’t want to be the one who killed them. Changqing -- well, he thought I’d screw up, so I wanted to show him I don’t. I’m no good at this, and the plants don’t really like me. I’m the last person you want as a gardener, really.”

“If you change your mind -- any time,” she shrugged, and went about her errand.

Changqing and Xuan-er emerged from the forge even before she had reached the door; they were holding out the kittens and talking enthusiastically while they walked back towards the house and their dinner.

“Good job, Baiyi,” Changqing said vaguely as he passed Ye Baiyi on his perch; he reached up to clap him on the upper arm, then went inside with his family, plants and Baiyi already forgotten.-

[randomingoftherandomness]

Wang Yao x Lan Jue

The first meeting after the war, and the promised meal.

Hi friend! Thank you for the prompt. I'm assuming you mean Wang Yan and not Wang Yao? (ง ื▿ ื)ว In any case! Enjoy! This one may have taken a life of its own haha

[Currently still accepting ALoN Fic Prompts]

~*~*~*~

"I would have been equally as happy to have this meal at your house."

Peizhi merely smiles in response, gaze darting across the table to spy at the way Mowen is lazily fanning himself while watching the serving girls artfully arrange the first round of their dishes for this evening.

Hiding the way his lips twitch in quiet amusement, he takes a deep sip of his cup of tea.

"I made a promise that I intended to keep, Mowen," Peizhi says gently when the girls bow, moving on delicate footsteps to retreat from their room. "A meal to celebrate your victory."

Mowen huffs, rolling his eyes. "Please stop. It's as if you don't already know that the threshold of my father's residence has almost been worn down by all those grateful families looking to hitch their daughters, sisters, or some such to me."

"Would that be such a bad thing?"

Mowen parts his lips, eyes wide as if this, of all the insanities and terrors that Peizhi has ever spouted, is the one thing he has never expected to come out of him.

Peizhi expects him to respond in his typical bluster. To reply with some dismissive comment or another about how men like him need to be picky about who they choose as their partner, to wave away his comment with a laugh and a playful twinkle in his eyes.

Instead, Mowen closes his mouth, pursing his lips and says nothing.

Peizhi sighs, moving to refill Mowen's empty cup. "I can do that," Mowen says shortly, taking the teapot away and topping up his cup himself.

Watching him as he takes the practised motions of ladling out a bowl of soup for Peizhi, placing the best cuts of meat and vegetables on his plate before he even takes any for himself, Peizhi is struck with a sense of forlorn at the singular realisation that, ah, I've made him mad.

"Mowen-ah..."

"Eat," Mowen says curtly. "Eat up."

Heart thudding in his chest, twisting just that bit painfully, Peizhi plucks up his own chopsticks to do as he is told.

Mowen does not say anything and Peizhi feels, for the very first time in the hours and days and months and years they've shared together, lost.

"I didn't mean to offend you," He tries when the silence drags on. "You know I do not mean--"

"You meant what you said, Peizhi," Mowen interrupts, gaze kept low. "Don't disrespect yourself or me by telling me that you didn't mean to say what you said."

The unspoken, do not disrespect us and everything we have shared hangs heavy in the air, and Peizhi is seized by a shame that chokes him from the inside out.

Because it is true. He has meant every word he has ever said when it came to them. Every shred of honesty shared in the midnight hours when there was nothing between them but the night air and the tangle of their hairs on brocade pillow. Every single unspooled tenderness on love-marked skin, every decadent secret told only in kisses and breaths brushing against cheek and jaw.

Peizhi has always meant it.

Which is why he has to make Mowen understand.

"Do you truly believe it does not hurt to hear about how one family after another has attempted to marry their girls off to you? Do you truly think that my heart is that fickle when it comes to you?"

Mowen looks up at him. The corner of his eyes tinged with red, brown eyes dark with hurt.

"I find that I know you less and less," He answers. "Our first meeting since I came back, and you're trying to marry me off. My lover whom I've not seen for many months, the same one I've fought life and limb to come back to, is the one person I did not expect would try to do that."

Guilt holds Peizhi by the throat.

Abandoning his seat, he crosses over to Mowen, letting out an unbidden cry when he is welcomed into strong arms with no resistance. Somewhere outside their little private room, someone laughs. There's a floating note of music. It's neither the time nor place for them to be doing this, but Peizhi cannot bring himself to care.

It's too public a place for a final surrender, and yet, Peizhi cannot think of a better setting.

"Forgive me," He begs, pressing a kiss to Mowen's temple. Closing his eyes, he breathes in deeply. Lets Mowen tangles his hands in his robes. Allows himself to be moved to straddle Mowen's lap.

"Do you really want me to marry someone else?"

Peizhi does not hesitate to shake his head. Keeping his eyes fixed on Mowen, he shakes his head again as he cups the sides of his neck. "No. Never."

"Then please," Mowen whispers. "Please never say that to me again. Even if the Emperor himself commanded me to, I won't marry anyone. In this life, I'll only ever have you."

Heart caught between sadness and elation, Peizhi, presses their brows together. Synching their breaths, he lets Mowen lay him down on his back. Lets the air in his lungs be stolen by kisses and drowns in the familiar weight of Mowen's body finally pressing on his own.

Fingertips caress his cheek. Peizhi nuzzles into sword-calloused palm. "We should have had this dinner at home."

"Now you know," Mowen scoffs, leaning in to kiss the corner of his smile. "Haven't seen you in months and you drag me out for dinner when we could be having the same meal in bed."

"In bed?"

"In bed," Mowen confirms, pulling back, and taking Peizhi with him as he goes. "Half naked with me feeding you."

Peizhi bites back the chuckle that threatens to escape him.

He straightens his clothes and looks over the dishes while Mowen does the same for his own. Presentable enough or not, it really doesn't matter, he'll make sure that Xu Dong picks them up via the back door. Maybe he can get the servers to pack this up for tomorrow's meal.

"I'll be going to pick Lan Hui up in a fortnight to come to live at Lan Manor again."

"That's good, I think he'd be happy to be home again," Mowen answers, reaching over easily to redo his crown with practised ease.

Reaching up to wrap a hand around Mowen's wrist, he says, "Come with me."

"What? Are you so eager to announce to your son that I've finally made an honest man of you?"

Peizhi lets loose a short bark of laughter, leaning into him. "No, I want to tell him that I'm taking him home and surround him with family again. And I want you there when I do it."

Mowen raises an eyebrow before teasingly asking, "And you want to tell him you've gotten him a new stepmother? Is that why you want me to be there? Should I dress in some women's things? I think I could pass for a pretty woman if Lan Hui's eyesight is a bit shot from all the reading you make him do."

"Rascal," Peizhi chides, moving aside to call for a server. After he relays his orders, he turns back to Mowen, drinking in the sight of him. "Though I would need to pay an astronomical dowry for your hand in marriage, I would do it. Just so that I can see you in a dress."

Mowen's laughter rings loud and happy in the room. When he closes the distance between them, he eyes up the door before sneaking in a quick peck to Peizhi's cheek. "Even in a dress, I'll still have my Lan-daren under me, panting and aching for me and only me."

A frisson of desire starbursts up his spine at the timbre of Mowen's voice and the dancing of his breath on Peizhi's heated skin. Eyes fluttering open, he swallows tightly. "Check on the server and tell him to hurry up."

Dark eyes flicker over his face, glinting with mischief. "Whatever my husband asks of me," Mowen purrs in reply.

[griots-tales]

Princess! (Shuri fluff)

Hey guys! so this is my first ever fic on here, and it's up on Wattpad too, if you wanna read it there! Please do reblog/ comment and gimme feedback :D I'd love to hear it!

Word count: 1100 Warning: Menstruation, some sexual stuff referenced (about T'Challa), puking Characters: Shuri, T'Challa, Ramonda, T'Chaka

~

"Get off my bed, bighead!"

T'Challa playfully tackled his sister as her dirt-clad self rolled around in his once-well-made bed, refusing to go. Pillows lay randomly on the floor where they had landed after either missing or hitting either sibling. The mud stains, which particularly annoyed the older brother, stood out sorely against the white sheets.

The Prince might have been too old for pillow fights (over 31 in fact,) but he couldn't help but return the twelve-year-old's taunts.

He had finally got hold of another pillow that was soft enough to safely attack his sister with: THUMP! it flopped on her head, flattening her already out-of-shape afro. She shrieked, curling into a ball against the onslaught of the pillow. Giggling endlessly, she suffered only a few more hits until... they stopped. A moment passed before she finally had to curiously peek from under her head to see if it was a trap.

T'Challa had lowered the weapon and was scratching his beard with a faint smile on his face. Shuri was puzzled to her core.

"What happened?"

"I'll tell you if you don't get too cocky about it." T'Challa rolled his neck.

"I'll make sure to be cocky. Go on,"

Her brother sighed. "You got your first period."

~

"YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEah!"

"Shuri, slow down..." "Yes, take some rest,"

The child's parents tried to calm her down from her two-hour-long euphoric episode. T'Challa sat at the table too, chuckling as he watched his baby sister have the zoomies around the dining room.

"Rest is for peasants. I'm a Princess now." She paused only for a second before leaping onto a nearby chair and somersaulting down (like her Mama had taught her).

"SHURI-" Ramonda's eyes widened. "I've told you not to do that indoors!"

"Sorry mama..." the girl exited, now jumping onto furniture that lay out of their sight.

T'Challa sighed for the third time that day. "Baba, would you consider upping the age for Royal titles?"

T'Chaka smiled weakly. "It's tradition, my son... it's not of much use, but it has never done any harm, has it?"

"But maybe the belief about puberty making Royal children more mature about their titles isn't necessarily true?" Ramonda chipped in, ladling some steaming stew into her bowl. "Children don't really change that quickly..." She gazed through the intricate wooden screen at her daughter happily frolicking, albeit a little slower now.

"Maybe. They are more likely to... take it to the head." The King murmured, eyeing his son.

The Prince exaggerated an expression of betrayal. "Baba I was the nicest child ever! Not like her..."

"I HEARD THAT!" Shuri called from outside.

T'Chaka chuckled. "Nicest child, huh? Is that why you got a boyfriend the week after you became a Prince?"

"He's still bitter about that..." Ramonda whispered mischievously, passing her son the soup.

"I'm not bitter: It's just that this good boy just disregarded my advice the moment he hit puberty... I was scared that you would become rebellious!"

T'Challa rolled his eyes ever so slightly. "Baba which other father in Wakanda tells his son that boyfriends are only for after sixteen?"

"The kind of father who knows that every part of his son's public life matters when he upholds his reputation as a King."

"It wasn't public..."

"- It will be once you drift apart, T'Challa..." his mother pointed out. "You can't expect that one person you dated in eighth grade to keep everything he knew about you, private.... especially not when you're the regular talk of the town."

The Prince shrugged, biting into a piece of buttery flatbread. "I guess... except for the fact that we hooked up again a few weeks ago."

His parents exhaled in unison, their greying eyebrows rising as their eyes rolled. The Prince giggled into his mouthful of food.

"Really? While we're eating?"

"What-? What do you think we did?"

"You just said 'hook up', what else does it mean?"

"I'm more concerned about the 'again'... you two were just thirteen when you dated," T'Chaka half-whispered, with his face lined with concern.

"Baba..." T'Challa groaned " 'again' means that I had done it a month ago too!"

"Done what?" Shuri beamed, trotting in.

"Done his dinner, unlike you," Ramonda answered, gesturing at the seat beside T'Challa's.

"It's definitely not that," Shuri sassed, but obeyed her mother for once, "why are you keeping secrets from me?"

"It's no secret..." her brother nonchalantly waved the second piece of flatbread.

"This is why I sometimes get concerned, T'Challa..." T'Chaka sighed.

"That he eats dinner?" Shuri injected.

"No, sister, Baba thinks that I have too many boyfriends."

The girl shrugged. "I mean, you do... this is the third time I said hello to a new, muscular guy this week."

Ramonda stuffed her face with some curry to not laugh.

"Be quiet, it's only three." T'Challa defended, trying not to laugh as well.

"Only three- you know what? Let us stop talking about your boyfriends and eat in peace."

The family complied, quieting down and switching to a less controversial subject.

"Remember our visit to the University?"

"Oh yes, and the b- oh no..."

Ramonda rose from her seat as Shuri began gagging all of a sudden-

"I- can't eat!" the poor girl teared up from the reflex and stumbled out of her seat.

T'Chaka and his son stopped eating, cringing sympathetically as the Princess retched into the sink outside. Her mother rubbed her back and called for some lemon and medicine to be brought to soothe the nausea.

"It's okay, it's okay... it's normal." They could hear her say.

"Ughh...." Shuri croaked as she returned after a while to the dining room. "I'm not looking forward to being a princess,"

"There are so many things that will help you feel better, umtwana..." her father reassured her, "You'll be able to get into a routine as you get older."

"Yes, and you'll know what to keep ready, so that the effects won't be as bad."

"And you'll have people to do it for you if you're busy," T'Challa added, warmly hugging her with his free arm.

Shuri sighed. "Okay... but I still can't eat."

"A soup is being made for you right now, and it isn't too strongly flavored. You'll be fine." Her Mama smiled, patting her head.

The Princess returned it faintly before climbing onto her brother's seat and curling up next to him.

"Are you going to sleep here?" The Prince continued his loud munching, resuming his duty to annoy his sister.

"Mm." came a reply that he had no choice but to accept. The Black Panther he may be, but he never dared to disturb his sister once she fell asleep.

The crickets chirped as the night settled again. It was only at the end of the meal that T'Challa woke Shuri up so that she could check out  Wakanda's best night pads of all time.

~