carbondioxda · 1 year ago
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The damn snow.
Albedo x reader <33
c/w: lots of swearing!!, the reader is a girl, traveling through dragonspine, reader has a backstory and a cryo vision, experiments, mentions of the ginger, overall fluff and comfort
a/n: second fanfic, writing this at 2am sorry for typos or repetitions!! english isn’t my first language, so please tell me if I make any mistakes, I’ll be very thankful!
as I said in my previous post, the way I write dialogue might different than what you’re used to
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She was sick of hearing the crunches her boots made in the thick snow. It was deafening at this point.
She felt hot inside, which made her wanna rip off her winter jacket, but somehow her joints were completely frozen.
,,I’m gonna loose my fucking fingers by the time I get there.” She thought to herself, knowing it was a plain lie, because it wasn’t her first time going through Dragonspine. And most certainly not the last.
Maybe it would’ve been easier if she had a pyro vision, instead of the currently useless cryo one. Everything in her life was about snow. Parents? Froze to death. Siblings? Froze to death. Homeland? The fucking cold-ass Snezhnaya. Herself? Froze to death as well, multiple times actually. Every single time she made her way to her spouse’s laboratory, to be more precise.
Despite her past expieriences she wasn’t afraid of the cold. She used to be, however now it’s just making her blood boil. Only hatred stayed.
They did have a small, cozy, warm, cute house in Mondstadt, but Albedo was stubborn on working in the most annoying fucking region known to man.
She looked up, ignoring the snowflakes on her eyelashes. Right, time for a hilichurl. Poor guy picked the wrong time to be on her way. He didn’t even have time to notice her, before her weapon went flying into him. She was waaaay too pissed off to even try to put effort into this fight, or any other thing at this point.
She flew over to his lab, using the wind glinder. It was a true wonder how it worked in that weather. She stood right next to the small fire right at the opening of the ,,cave”.
- Oh? You’ve arrived. - Albedo noticed, unfocusing on his work.
- No shit. - his beloved mumbled, still covered in snow and barely able to move. He must’ve noticed how much she hated going into his lab by now.
- You were pretty fast. Two minutes faster than usual. - the blonde pointed out, inviting her in.
- Furious too. - she stated, taking off her soaked jacket and taking out a few small boxes from her backpack. They weren’t in such horrible state as she was, thankfully. Albedo took out a few herbs from them, he needed them for his research. As she went further inside, a nice smell struck her nostril. He was cooking soup.
- I see. - he smiled. He wasn’t phased by her behaviour. The first time she had to come there was extreme though, he was afraid to even speak to her. - Those look more fresh than I anticipated.
- Childe gave me those this morning, when he arrived. He’s going on a worldwide trip again, I guess. - she said, now sitting next to the fire, regaining her ability to feel arms and legs. She spoke in a calm tone now, not wanting to let out her anger on the poor alchemist. Fingers are gonna take a hot while to come back.
- Do you know if he’s staying for long? - Albedo asked, multitasking. He was boiling some water and mixing liquids with the herbs, while still listening to what she had to say. She didn’t come all this way to just be ignored, after all. Honestly, he couldn’t ignore her even if he wanted.
- Not really. But not for long, if I had to guess. He never stays for longer than a week. I bet he’s gonna visit that one guy from Liyue next. - she rambled, staring into the fire. It was so comforting to finally rest.
- Drink this. - he requested, giving her a cup with a flowery-smelling tea. It had the same blue hue, as the herbs that she gave him.
- Is this made from the thing you asked me to get you from Snezhnaya? - she said puzzled. - Come on, I thought you needed this for research!
- I did. I saved some of it. Come on, drink up. It’s gonna make you feel better. You need more vitamins, don’t force me to make you come all the way up here every time I see you skip meals or eat junk. - he insisted. It did make a lot of sense. Whenever she was overworking herself or too lazy to keep a healthy diet, he’d make her come to Dragonspine and drink crazy teas, which were probably vitamin bombs.
- You…you realise you couldn’ve made me a tea at home, right? - she mouthed, slowly sipping on the hot drink.
- You forget about all of the things I make you in a span of 10 minutes. They all go cold. - he pointed out. He wasn’t mad, or said it in a venomous tone.
- Good point. - she responded bluntly, trying to forgive him for the torture he made her go through. - But you could’ve just reminded me!
- Also, I need to work. - he added quickly. He focused on his work again, meanwhile she started reading a book. Albedo gifted it to her some time ago.
She managed to finish her tea. Then, he put away all of the documents he had on his desk into a drawer. He did the same with some supplies, only left a few colorful vials untouched. The blonde made his way to the girl’s side. She was feeling warm now, but looking at the horrible weather outside made her want to cry. Albedo noticed it.
- We’ll head out tommorrow when it stops snowing so much. You did a great job going through that snowstorm, I honestly thought you’d stay home. - he said, sitting down.
- Nah. I decided to be productive. I wanted to see you. - she smiled at him. Finally, she was in a good mood. He took out two bowls and finally put the wonderful-smelling soup into them. God, they were starving. It was gone in a few minutes. Now, she was fed, tired and ready to sleep.
- I think I’m gonna take a nap.
- A nap? It’s nighttime anyway. Just go to sleep. - he giggled. He slowly got up and placed a small kiss on her forehead.
- Aren’t you gonna rest too? - she asked, seeing him get back to his desk.
- No need. I’ll get plenty of that when I die.
- You’re not gonna be doing that anytime soon. Lay down with me. - she begged. She saw him hesitate for a second.
- I still need to finish this. If I won’t, I’ll need to do it some other time and you’ll have to go through the whole Dragonspine just to see me again. - he tried to negotiate.
- I will.
- Don’t you hate the snow?
- I do hate it, yes. Not as much as I love you though. - she said, her words sounding like honey to him. He had to take a breath before he responded, trying to comperhend how she never had a filter.
- Got me there. - he said, coming back to her.
Now she’ll cuddle him to death.
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cuddlepilefics · 3 years ago
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Lazy Day
Fandom: Stray Kids
Sickie: Changbin
Caregiver: Hyunjin (Chan & Jisung)
Changbin has a stomach ache on one of their days off. 3racha had planned to work on some music but want to give Changbin a chance to rest, so Chan and Jisung go to the studio without him, thinking their friend would just sleep it off but that doesn't work. Being slightly emetophobic, the rapper needs support when things escalate. Luckily, their dormmate was planning to have a lazy day and decided to stay at the dorm.
No one’s POV.:
With a free weekend ahead of them, Stray Kids had gone out for dinner and to spend some quality time as a group. It had been a while since they had last had a big meal together, so the food was all the more appreciated. Not holding themselves back for once, the boys dug in and it took a while for Changbin to realize his mistake. Sometimes the rapper suffered from indigestion, when he had gone without a regular eating and sleeping pattern, like the past few weeks. He’d eat when he had the time to and felt hungry, whether that was during the day or the night didn’t matter all that much and it was similar with sleeping too. He’d just get a few minutes of shut eye whenever there was an opportunity to, in dressing rooms or vehicles didn’t matter. That combined with the stress often took a toll on the rapper’s stomach and he’d felt some discomfort every time he ate something. It wasn’t too bad though, so he didn’t hold himself back at the restaurant and happily also tried a few bites of his friends’ dishes.
Changbin came to regret that though as his stomach was unusually noisy on their way back and he could tell, it’d take a while for the food to settle. He wasn’t too concerned because they had the weekend off and although 3racha planned to go to the studio, his friends would understand if he was tired and wanted to sleep in, so he could join them later in the day. Since Changbin knew he couldn’t go to sleep before his dinner had settled properly, he stayed awake for a while, listening to music and scrolling through social media. Already having lost quite a bit of sleep over the past week, he soon started to feel sleepy but he wouldn’t make the mistake of laying down quite yet. Changbin knew he’d wake up to heartburn or nausea and wasn’t too keen on it on his weekend off, so he forced himself to stay awake and wait for his dinner to be at least somewhat digested. He’d rather feel tired than sick tomorrow.
As more time passed, the rapper had to realize that the turmoil in his stomach wasn’t calming down at all. If anything, it only got worse. His stomach wasn’t only noisy anymore but had also started to ache. Still determined on just waiting it out, Changbin forced himself to his feet and made his way to the kitchen. Maybe walking would help and he could get himself some water to sip on to help things move along easier. Straightening up, a cramp shot over his abdomen and made the rapper wince in pain. With one arm wrapped protectively around his middle, he slowly made his way to the kitchen. He had become so gassy but every soft burp brought back the taste of his dinner, which freaked him out. Changbin had always had a fear of throwing up, so things like that always made him feel on edge. Walking did seem to help a little though, so the rapper decided against just grabbing himself a bottle of water and instead prepared a cup of ginger tea. He walked in slow circles around the dining table and living room as he waited for the water to boil.
What Changbin hadn’t expected was to run into Chan on his way back to his room. The leader gave him a questioning look, confused as to why his dongsaeng would make tea in the middle of the night. He didn’t miss the arm protectively wrapped around Changbin’s middle and whispered: “Dinner not agreeing with you?” – “Not really”, the rapper admitted sheepishly, “It’s just not sitting right and I don’t want to go to sleep and wake up feeling sick, so I’m trying to get my stomach to calm down before I go to bed.” – “So you haven’t slept yet?”, Chan asked worriedly, noting that it was already way past midnight. The younger shook his head, biting his tongue as another cramp twisted his insides. Walking Changbin back to his room, the Aussie hummed: “Is there anything I can do to help?” The rapper took a seat on his bed and pulled his legs up to his chest, shaking his head. “I’ll just sip my tea and wait it out”, Changbin muttered, “It should be fine, I should’ve just paid more attention to my limits.” – “Alright”, Chan sighed, “Feel better and don’t hesitate to wake me if you need anything.” The younger thanked him and they parted ways, hoping to catch up on the sleep they had lost.
While Chan did get a surprisingly big amount of sleep, Changbin had stayed awake for most of the night and by the time he had dozed off, his stomach still hadn’t settled. It didn’t come as much of a surprise to him that he woke up with even worse cramps. Gritting his teeth, the rapper clutched his pillow to his middle and screwed his eyes shut. This wasn’t how he had wanted to spend his weekend. Chan and Jisung had already woken up thirty minutes earlier and wanted to head to the studio soon. Making music was always more fun when there was no schedule telling them to. Aware that Changbin had probably not gotten all that much sleep, Chan made his way to his dongsaeng’s room to check on him and tell him that the two of them would be heading out but that he could come and join them whenever because they were in no rush. To his surprise, Changbin was already awake. The rapper didn’t look too good though, his face pale and scrunched up in pain. Dark circles adorned his eyes, telling Chan just how little sleep the younger had gotten. “Hey, you’re not doing any better, are you?”, the leader hummed sympathetically, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress. Changbin shook his head, breathing: “Worse, it just won’t stop cramping.” – “Oh dear, Jisung and I were about to leave for the studio”, Chan sighed, “You’d probably do best if you rested today, hm?”
They had agreed for Changbin to rest as much as he needed to. It was a day off after all. Chan had offered to make another cup of tea but already feeling a little queasy, the younger didn’t dare put anything in his stomach right now. Throwing up was already bad enough and risking to go through that while his hyung wasn’t there was not an option. Chan had once again told him to feel better and left to finish getting ready, while Changbin curled back up and pleaded for sleep to take him under once again, so he could wake up feeling better. There was a soft knock at the door and the rapper propped himself up on his arm to find Jisung standing in the doorframe. “Hey, I brought you a hot water bottle. Can I get you anything else?”, the younger asked softly, handing the hot water bottle to his hyung. Chan had explained why Changbin wouldn’t join them today, so while the leader finished getting ready, Jisung decided to see if he could do anything to help the older feel better. Changbin thanked him softly, sighing in relief when the warmth soothed the cramps a little. There wasn’t anything they could do except for the rapper waiting it out, so he wished Jisung lots of fun at the studio and went back to sleep.
He surprisingly managed to sleep for another hour after Chan and Jisung had left. They had run into Hyunjin on their way out and told the dancer, Changbin would spend the day catching up on sleep and therefore be at the dorm with him. Hyunjin nodded, having similar plans. The four members in the other dorm had made some fun plans for their weekend but he still felt sore from their extensive dance practices and was happy that another member was planning to have a lazy day too. That way, he didn’t feel guilty for lounging around all day, watching movies. The first time Hyunjin saw Changbin that day, the dancer was watching TV in the living room, while the older went to refill his hot water bottle. It had done a great job soothing the pain earlier but now it was cold. Feeling like grabbing himself a snack, Hyunjin joined the rapper in the kitchen, brows furrowing when he noticed what his hyung was doing.
He studied Changbin’s face and realized just how bad the other looked. “Everything okay? You don’t look like yourself”, he asked quietly, watching the older grab the counter. Changbin wanted to reply but was hit by an intense cramp, clutching his stomach and sinking down into a crouch. His breathing grew labored as he leant against the kitchen cabinets, screwing his eyes shut. There was a hand on his back, Hyunjin crouching next to him, looking utterly worried. Steadying Changbin by the shoulders, the dancer frowned: “Talk to me. What’s going on?” A painful, loud gurgle from the rapper’s stomach was the only reply he got as he watched the color drain from his hyung’s face. “Do you feel like you need to-“, Hyunjin asked, being instantly cut off as Changbin choked out: “Don’t say it!” Changbin’s fear of throwing up was no secret, so the dancer just sighed: “Alright, do you need help getting to the bathroom?” Biting his lip, the rapper nodded. He didn’t want to admit it but that was probably the safest place for him to be at the moment. Hyunjin offered him a hand to help him up and let the other take his time. The older leant heavily against the dancer’s side, barely able to stand up straight as it would only trigger another cramp if he tried to straighten up.
The pair slowly made their way to the bathroom, where Changbin settled on the soft rub in front of the toilet. His face had grown ashy-pale and his hands trembled, the thought of what was most likely to come already spooking him. “You’re okay”, Hyunjin promised, rubbing his shoulder, “I’ll go and get you some water, maybe make a pot of tea to see if that settles you stomach, yeah? If you need anything just yell.” The rapper looked conflicted but eventually nodded although he really didn’t want to be alone right now. As Hyunjin left the bathroom, Changbin slipped his hand under his shirt and tried to calm his stomach by rubbing soft circles on his tense abs. He could hear the dancer rustling around the kitchen, starting the kettle but his attention was soon redirected as his throat started to feel off and his mouth started to water. Changbin’s breathing sped up as he realized what was about to happen and trembled as he struggled to his knees, flipping the toilet seat up.
As tears stung his eyes, the rapper barely managed to choke out a panicked “Hyun-“, before his stomach lurched and a wave of his semi-digested dinner splashed into the previously undisturbed water. It cut off his air and before he could even get a full breath in, Changbin got sick again, the loss of control over his own body terrifying him. Then there was a steady hand on his back, a calm voice cutting through his panicked haze and instructing: “Take some deep breaths.” If he had enough air, he’d argue that he would already be doing that if he could. Forcing in a shaky breath, his hand searched for something, anything really, that he could hold on to till it was over. Hyunjin took his trembling hand in his and gave it a comforting squeeze, using his other hand to rub soothing circles into his hyung’s back. He cringed when he felt Changbin’s spine ripple under his palm and looked away, hearing a splash.
Holding Hyunjin’s hand helped some but Changbin still cried, barely able to believe his friend’s promise that it’d be over soon. His sobs were only interrupted by harsh retches that grew less productive the more time passed. “Hyung, you’re almost empty”, Hyunjin hummed, patting the rapper’s back when he choked on a sob, “If you manage to clam your breathing, your stomach will calm down along with it. Deep breaths, yeah?” Changbin tried, still clutching the other’s hand as his sobs quietened and were soon reduced to soft hiccups. They still messed with his stomach but not to the point of making him gag. Rubbing the rapper’s back, Hyunjin smiled: “That’s it. You’re doing great, just keep focusing on your breathing.” Changbin sniffled softly, tearing off some toilet paper to dry his tears before wiping his lips and flushing the toilet. He was absolutely exhausted as the ordeal had zapped what little energy he had after not sleeping well the previous night. “Let’s get you back to bed, hm?”, the dancer smiled sympathetically, helping his hyung to his feet and steadying him, while the older rinsed his mouth.
After settling Changbin in bed, Hyunjin hurried to place a bucket next to the bed, just in case. Then he headed back to the kitchen to finally make the tea he had wanted to prepare earlier. When he had it done, the dancer boiled some more water and refilled Changbin’s hot water bottle. Hyunjin took the tea and hot water bottle to his hyung’s bedroom and smiled when he found the older hugging Gyu. He placed the tea onto the nightstand and hummed: “How’re you feeling now?” – “Actually, better now that it’s out”, the rapper muttered hoarsely. “That’s good”, Hyunjin smiled, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress, “I refilled this for you.” – “Thanks”, Changbin breathed nervously as he accepted the hot water bottle. He was afraid the younger would leave, now that he was settled. Apparently, the dancer noticed his tense expression because he asked: “Do you need anything else?” Changbin shook his head but Hyunjin could see the conflict in his eyes. “Do you want me to stay?”, he smiled softly, earning a shy nod. As soon as Changbin had scooted over in bed, the younger settled in next to him and started running his hand up and down the rapper’s back, humming: “Try to take a nap, hm? Today will just be more of a lazy day.”
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odysseys-end · 3 years ago
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A typical monday morning
- brought to you by the sexy trinity that Yoimiya has to manage almost everyday.
"Good morning guys!" Yoimiya slammed the door to their dorm room with a tremendous bang! that shook the frames hanging on the wall. Venti took a calm sip from his cup of ginger tea as she flounced into the room with the energy of a crackling firework. Xiao groaned loudly, slumping forward onto the table, probably unable to gather up the energy to deal with Kazuha's peppy manager. 
Venti's dressed casually today, with a simple pale green t-shirt thrown over a pair of white leggings, with his front hair loose from its usual braid. Beside him, Xiao had on a black form-fitting sleeveless shirt tucked into cargo pants. His eyeliner had smudged on his face, a result from scrubbing his face, and his dark hair disheveled. 
"Good morning, Yoi." Venti smiled demurely. He placed his mug down on the table, shooting Xiao an apologetic grin when the latter flinches from the sound it made. He shot Venti a glare softened by the sleep in his eyes.
He looked more like a disgruntled kitten than intimidating, which Xiao must have gleaned from whatever expression he had on his face because the glare intensified before Xiao buried his face in his arms. 
"Oh, you really got your work cut out for you, Venti." Yoimiya pats his arm in sympathy. In the time he spent exchanging eye contact with Xiao, the woman had pulled out a chair and taken a seat beside him. Venti giggles nervously, mentally conjuring up methods on how to persuade Xiao to complete his schedule for the day. 
"He's gotten worse." He says blandly. Yoimiya smiles, a knowing glint in her irises when she glances at the deflated lump of clothes resting on the table.
Xiao grunts. 
"I'm not going to apologize later on, just so you know." Venti says loudly. Though the three of them know full well that the moment Xiao is coherent enough to hold a decent conversation, Venti would fall over himself to apologize. Yoimiya just shakes her head, already accustomed to this sort of thing happening.  
Venti passes her a mug from the stand, a pale yellow one with a maple leaf signature on the bottom– Kazuha's. She takes it from him either way, already standing up to go take the coffee from inside the cabinets behind them. She may be cheerful early in the morning, but nothing beats caring for idols who seem to have no sense of direction or safety. 
"Where's the kettle?" Yoimiya asked a minute later after rummaging through the bottom shelves. She glances over her shoulder at Venti who returned back to nursing his tea.
"I think I put it back on the stove." Venti answers her belatedly, and only when Yoimiya tapped him on the shoulder. He hears a disbelieving sigh come out of her mouth, followed by the sound of a palm connecting with skin.
She moves towards the water dispense, filling it up before returning back to the stove. 
Yoimiya twists the dial to turn it on, shaking her head repeatedly and talking lowly. "I really can't believe I didn't see that. It was right in front of me too." She leaned against the countertop, waiting for the water to boil. "By the way, are Aether and Kazuha up yet?" 
Venti makes a noise of dissent. He jabs a finger at Aether's room, rolling his eyes. "He slammed the door on my face when I tried to get him to eat breakfast, saying how he'll only leave if Albedo gets here. I'm suspecting he's doing this on purpose because we are all aware that Albedo arrives 5 minutes before departure, and everything turns into a hussle." 
"But Aether is probably dressed in there. Makeup and all, I swear, that boy is going to make his stylists and makeup artists lose their jobs with how often he dresses up." Yoimiya points out. "Though, I wonder… I did hear some things that before Albedo came, Aether didn't actually need a manager. He listens well to you, even though you're Xiao's." 
"That's because Aether is a menace." 
They both turn to see Xiao rubbing the sleep out of his narrowed topaz eyes. He appeared more awake now, like his attention was caught by the topic they're having. 
"He's nice, yes, I acknowledge that. But he can be worse than Venti." Xiao dodges the slap Venti is aiming at his shoulder. 
"Take that back!"
"No, you don't want to apologize to me either." Xiao argued in a tired voice. He slumped back in his seat, an expression of extreme disinterest settling on his countenance. One that Venti is overly familiar with when the idol wants him to give up. He crosses his arms and gave him the harshest grimace he could muster. 
"You're being childish, Xiao."
"The pot calling the kettle black." Came Xiao's immediate response. Yoimiya is saved from their future banter when the kettle whistles loudly, effectively cutting off their argument before it could manifest into something Aether and Kazuha entertained themselves with on the daily. 
"Ah! A cup of coffee never hurts to start off the day!" She quips happily.
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wandsandwheezes · 4 years ago
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Fake It | Weasley Twins | CH3
one // two
Warnings | 18+ SMUT, mature themes, fake relationships, secret relationships, love, sex, drama, angst, fluff.
Summary // Fred Weasley has been set up to publicly date Y/N, London’s best Quidditch Seeker in order to drum up some publicity. Y/N however has a different ginger man on her mind; George Weasley.
A/N // Just a quick one to say a massive thank you for the 800 of you have chosen to follow me and my work! I’m absolutely over the moon and once again I am filled with so many emotions that I don’t know how to process, so once again thank you, frim the bottom of my heart 💕
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You were gasping for air, begging to have a moment to let out your sultry moans as the power of your orgasm washed over you. After a gentle shower together earlier, George pulled his old Gryffindor sweater on you, and it lit a fire inside him that was fuelling high, after high, after high, fucking his girl possessively into his sweater, until you were an absolute mess for him.  Only when the garment had served its purpose did it come off again. These were the things George wished he could brag about to his mates, he wished he could quip back when they were talking about how good their sex life was, he wanted to be able to boast about his ability to make you cum over and over again for him. But a part of him was glad he could keep that a secret because he didn't want anyone else picturing your sweet little moans other than him.
The rise and fall of both of your chests as you lay in George's arms, naked skin pressed against each other. Your eyes were still glazed over, still blissed out as you traced small circles on his chest. His large hand rubbing up and down your back soothingly, as he mumbled soft words of praise as his lips pressed into your hair. "You did so good for me princess, Such a good girl for me, what can I get for you? Tea, water, a snack?" 
You pulled him closer, leg still wrapped around his as you did. He was the one who was good to you, this was the intimate side of George that nobody else saw, It made you feel special, unlike you'd ever felt before. "Can we have tea, baby?" he hummed simply, moving to go make it, you whined wanting to pull him closer. "Take me with you." you pouted, making grabby hands at him, he rolled his eyes, still smiling at how needy you could be, as he went to pick you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around him as you sat attached to his hip.
"Cherry says I have to kiss Fred at the launch." you mumbled, as you heard him flick the kettle on. He sat you up on the counter as he looked at you with all seriousness. "You don't have to do anything you aren't ready to do." he stated it so quickly, turning around to grab some mugs from the cupboard and place them by the kettle. When he faced you again his hands were on your thighs, he caught your lips in a sweet kiss, hoping to brighten your spirits.
"She's your publicist, not a dictator. You're your own person, baby, You set the boundaries." He was so understanding, because he knew there was nothing he could do about the fake relationship between his brother and yourself. It was the one thing out of his control and he'd learned to let it go. He was resting his forehead against yours, just staring into your eyes lovingly, no words needed between the two of you as he waited for the water to boil. He made the tea for you both, carrying the cups upstairs, following behind you as he marvelled at how classic abs beautiful it was to see you walk up the stairs while naked.
Like usual, George woke up early for his shift at the store, today however he climbed back into bed, fully suited and booted for the day, to give you a kiss and a cuddle goodbye. You grumbled as he tried to pull away, "Please stay, Daddy, I need more kisses." he groaned, flipping you over so he could pin your shoulders to the bed, his hair hung in front of his eyes, blocking you from staring into his darkening eyes. "Baby girl, if I wasn't late I'd be ravishing you right now." your fingers pushed through his long hair, pushing it out of his face with a cheeky smile, keeping his head in your hands so you could pepper kisses over his face. "Just your fingers quickly, daddy, please" your hips were bucking up, hoping to catch some release. He contemplated it, one of his hands leaving your shoulder so that his fingertips could trail softly over your hip, ghosting millimetres over your clit, before plunging his first two fingers inside you slowly, using a scissoring motion to stretch you out as he felt the inside of your already dripping cunt, your hips were now bucking against his fingers, trying to chase a release, just as soon as he'd started he was pulling away completely from you, getting up off the bed, suckling his fingers into his mouth. "You taste amazing, I want that cunt dripping for me when I'm home, understand?" you nodded eagerly as pressed a kiss to your swollen lips before apparating to the shop with a fast pop, leaving his tired and needy girl splayed out on his bed. 
After sneaking in a small nap, you awoke to get ready for your day, searching through your bag to find the day's outfit. As you squat down, you realise just how sore your thighs are, you were unsure if that was due to a piss poor stretch after last night's training or the last few evenings with George, you laughed to yourself as you pulled your fresh clothes on. You text George, after making the bed, smiling at the love he always showed you. 
<< My thighs hurt today :(( x
>> I'll pick up some gel from the quidditch shop if you want x
>> on the condition that you let me massage it in later ;) x
<< you're a tease, Georgie, I'll be fine x
>> you're a stubborn git, I'll buy you some anyway x
You took the short walk from George's house to Diagon Alley, the slightly bitter wind ripped past your eyes, but the heat of the gleaming sun made it that little warmer. You text Fred to let him know you were on your way. 
<< I'm not too far away, still up for Coffee? Meet me there x
As soon as you'd walked through the entrance at the leaky cauldron, reporters were on your toes, "What are your plans today, Miss L/N?" you smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Can we expect any more kisses from you and Fred?" You Ignored them all as you took the short walk straight towards the coffee shop. 
Inside Fred's office, the man was just pulling on his coat when George stood in the doorway. "I have a preposition, Freddie." the older twin nodded, waving his hand to allow his brother in, George shutting the door behind him. "I've been thinking about what you said the other day about swapping and I think it would be cool, you know If you wanted to." George was awkwardly scratching behind his neck, eyes trailing to the floor. "I don't know George, I don't think you'd be able to handle the cameras and the couple thing," George huffed a little, "At least just let me give it a try, what about the product launch this weekend." 
Fred squinted his eyes, thinking for a few moments, "I see what you're doing." he stated, George cocked his head to the side in confusion, stuffing his hands into his pockets, "You do?" Fred's chuckle filled the room, "I can read you like a book George, you want a taste of that relationship life, I get it, it sure is lonely with just your hand." The younger of the two was really biting his tongue to stop himself from spilling six years of secrets. His hands clenching a little in his pockets little, but Fred continued, "I'm off on my date, either way, I think If I butter her up correctly, It won't just be my hand I have to use tonight." Fred was still laughing as he left the office, leaving the door ajar as he swiftly made his way out of the shop. 
George was seething, He didn't often have problems with his anger but today was an exception, He muttered to one of the workers that he would be found in his office for emergency only, slamming the door so loud behind him that the clap reverberated through the whole shop, sending the chatter into complete silence for the moment before the laughter erupted again. 
Fred saw you outside the coffee shop, his hand pressed to your lower back as he pulled you into a hug. Cherry insisted that at least once a week there would be a public date that would allow for some publicity, you decided on the coffee shop more often than not because it was a simple way of of showing the press that you did indeed meet outside of press events and helped to give some form of validity to your fake relationship, he pressed a kiss to your temple as you both waited in line, something that was sure to be captured replayed over and over in at least one magazine or paper tomorrow.  
While you and Fred were laughing over coffee and a shared piece of cake, George was replaying the conversation with Fred over and over in his head. He’d ripped up the order forms, the pieces of paper scattered all over the floor, but quite frankly he couldn’t give a fuck, even if the world right now was ending he’d still be focused on the words that spilt so easily from Fred’s lips. It made him sick to his stomach that his twin simply found you to be so easy that you’d give in with a little persuasion, sure if it was George doing the persuading it wouldn’t take more than a kiss and a look, but with anyone else surely you weren't ready to just sink to your knees and give it all up. George was tapping away furiously on his phone, letting you know exactly how he felt. 
“So, how’s training going?” Fred asked, bringing the coffee mug up to his lips, He’d already scraped all of the cream off of the top and was ready to sip on the sweet caramel latte, Fred’s drink choices were a far cry from what George drank, the one time he’d tried a bit of your festive latte some years ago, he promised to never drink one again, sticking to his simple americanos and teas. Fred however, liked to sweeten up his drinks, especially as it drew into winter, you remember a little blush on his cheeks at the irony of the ginger boy asking for a gingerbread latte. You responded to his question with a small shake of your head and a exhaling laugh, “It’s tough, coach works us hard as always, It’s like Oliver and Hooch combined into one - no rest.” he laughs, shaking the image from his thought “I don’t want to think of anything that puts Wood and Hooch in the same person.” you began to laugh with him, your fingers circling over the rim of the coffee cup. Your phone began to buzz, the first one you ignored, but when they kept coming, you picked it up, looking at the messages.
>> I’m fucking fuming right now, Y/N
>> I wish you were here bouncing on my cock with the door wide open for all of the shop to hear
>> You better call your coach and tell her you won’t be going to practice because you’re not gonna be able to walk tomorrow. 
>> you’re nothing but a good, pretty little slut for me, aren’t you?
You had to choke down the lump in your throat as you read the messages that were pouring in, getting more and more vulgar as they came. You had absolutely no idea quite what had gotten into George, but nevertheless it made you ache for him. Your stomach felt like it was doing somersaults as you read the latest one. 
>> I’m gonna send you to heaven and back, princess.
>> Remember what I said this morning, I want you to keep that cunt soaked for me. 
You put your phone face down onto the table, taking a deep breath. “Hello… Earth to Y/N?” your eyes snapped up to the man in front of you, seeing Fred waving his hand in front of your face with a laugh. “You okay, love?” You were blinking so slowly, internalising the messages George had sent you, a thousand images of his hands running all over your body, the sounds of harmonising breaths and the feel of open-mouthed kisses against intimate areas of skin. You were squeezing your thighs together out of habit and out of a need for some friction, your mouth had gone completely dry as you tried to croak out a response to Fred. “Oh, yeah, I’m okay Freddie.”
“What was sending your phone off like that?” he questioned, you weren't sure how to tell the curious boy in front of you that his twin brother was telling his girlfriend in detail how he wanted to absolutely rail her, instead opting for a more simple to explain response, “Oh, It’s just Cherry sending outfit ideas for the launch this weekend, you know how she gets…” he nodded in agreement, his hand reaching across the table to hold yours, It was a sweet gesture but something that felt too foreign to be comfortable. “Shall we head back? You offered, spooning the last piece of the cake into your mouth, Fred nodded. 
When you entered the shop, it was too quiet for comfort, you smiled at one of the workers politely as you looked around for any sign of George. When you realised he was nowhere to be seen your eyes settled on Fred who was now shrugging off his jacket, he sighed, as he looked back at you, seeing you lost in your own thoughts once again. His long strides brought him to you quickly, his hands were placed on your shoulders as he stood in front of you. His grip wasn't like your lover's, it was icy and vice-like and for the second time today discomfort fell to the pit of your stomach, It was only when he tilted your chin up and was leaning in that you felt like the coffee and cake that you had eaten was coming back up. Your limbs were forcing you away from the situation as if your fight or flight had just kicked in and suddenly, any ease you once felt around Fred had diminished. 
“Jesus, Y/N, what’s so repulsive about me that you can’t even kiss me!” He was speaking quietly, not wanting to cause a scene, his eyes were glazed over with a sadness you had only seen during the war, he took a deep breath before choking out. “You’re supposed to be my girlfriend.” His words hit you like a tonne of bricks, the whole situation felt like a car out of control and suddenly you were in the driver’s seat, there was absolutely nothing you could do to stop it, you were waiting for the inevitable crash and burn. 
“But I’m not, am I Freddie?” the nickname you gave him suddenly felt like a dagger straight to the chest, or like a chokehold. He’d been winded, because he realised as he watched you storm out of the shop, that the relationship he had with her was simply a show and he was dumb enough to fall for the ruse. Fred was in love with you. 
///TO BE CONTINUED///  chapter four >>>>
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ladyanaconda · 3 years ago
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Helluva Dad Vol. 5: Mom
Hey, guys! We'll start getting more info on Striker's wife and Jake's mother from here on out, though they'll mostly be tidbits. It might be a while before we fully learn what happened to her.
*HB*
The next morning, Jake awoke with a throbbing migraine. His body and joints were sore to the point he didn't want to move, but the acidic, bitter taste of vomit sent him on a beeline straight to the bathroom.
"Good, you're awake." His father was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. It's almost like he had been waiting for him.
"D-Dad…?" Jake threw up into the toilet again.
"You feel like shit, right? That's what happens when you drink a little too much."
"D-Drink..? What are you…?" Jake brought a hand to his head. "Ow, my head…"
"You and Moxxie got thrown inside a beer barrel during yesterday's job. Evidently, you two drank too much."
Jake shrank a bit. "Am I in trouble, dad?"
Striker's frown softened. After a moment of silence, he sighed. "Nah, it wasn't really yer fault this time 'round, pup." He watched as Jake threw up for the third time. "'Sides, I think the hangover is punishment enough. Come on, let's get you cleaned up."
Carefully, Striker undressed Jake and lifted him unto the warm bath he had previously prepared for this moment. Once Jake was fully clean and refreshed, Striker carried him back to his room to dress him in his pajamas and tuck him back in bed.
"Are you going to work, dad?"
"I'm leavin' ya alone in this condition, my boy. I took an absence for the weekend while you recover." Striker ruffled his son's hair. "Chill out, Blitzo and the others can survive without us for a few days."
Jake shivered. "I'm cold." Striker touched his forehead.
"Yer boiling hot, kiddo. You'll need lots of water to make up for the shit yer body is going through right now."
Striker left the room and returned sometime later with a tray, which he placed on the bedside table. Jake glanced sideways to see its contents: A cup of tea with a strong smell and a bowl of soup. Striker picked the cup and held it close to his son's lips.
"Drink." Jake took a small sip. His face scrunched up at the bitter taste.
"What's this?" He asked, sticking out his tongue.
"Ginger root tea. It ain't tasty, but it's good for hangovers."
It took Jake a considerable amount of willpower to actually drink the whole thing, forcing himself to swallow the bitter beverage despite the urge to spit it back into the cup. It left an awful bitter taste in his mouth, but his stomach had settled down somewhat and he wasn't as thirsty anymore. The soup, a plain and simple chicken broth, was more enjoyable. Jake couldn't help but feel like a baby, though. Dad would even tease him with the 'little plane' as he carefully gave him spoonfuls of soup.
"How're ya feelin', kiddo?" Striker once he was done with the meal.
"Tired and sore, but at least I'm not nauseous anymore."
Striker spent all morning dabbing Jake's forehead with a humid cloth to break the fever. Jake felt a little better by midday, though his head and body still ached. He didn't want to be stuck in bed all day, though.
"Dad, I'm bored," he complained.
"What are you complainin' about, boy? I'm doing all the work here." Striker said simply.
"Do I have to stay in bed all day? What if I want to pee?"
"Don't exaggerate, yer not disabled. But if you want to get better soon, you need to rest."
Jake shifted under the covers. "How long do hangovers last?"
"A day or so, dependin' on how much alcohol you consume and your age. In yer case, you should be as good as new by tomorrow if you rest properly."
With no other choice, Jake closed his eyes and did his best to fall asleep. Surprisingly, he managed to drift off after twenty minutes, in part because he was tired.
With Jake asleep for the time being, Striker took some time to himself and to do the chores around the house. The first thing he did was go to the closet near the doorway and open it; Blitzo, tied up and gagged, dropped out. The piece of cloth used to silence him slipped off his mouth.
"Come on, Striker! You didn't have to put me in there!" he protested.
"What did ya expect when I caught you about to sneak into my kid's room at three A.M. like a pedophile?" Striker murmured as he cut him free.
"I wasn't going to miss Jakey's first hangover! You only get to witness those moments once, you know."
"I'd thank you if you kept yer volume down, Jake is sleepin'."
Blitzo slipped a few envelopes from his pocket. "Oh, by the way, you got mail. Why didn't you tell me you got job offers? I.M.P. could get more clients!"
"Really? Now yer goin' to check my mail too?" Striker snatched all the envelopes from Blitzo's hands before he could pry any further. "Good thing I don't have a diary or you'd read it."
"Can you make one? Moxxie's diary is boring me and Loonie hid hers where I can't find it." Blitzo seemed to remember something. "If you'll excuse me, I have to change the bird's water!"
Striker didn't dignify Blitzo with a reply and instead focused on checking his mail. A few killing job offers, this month's light, and water fees, and… His heart skipped a beat as he recognized the seal on the envelope. Striker set the other envelopes aside for the time being and opened that letter.
"Ah, that's so much better!" Blitzo stepped out of the visitor's bathroom, a small piece of toilet paper stuck to his foot. "Maybe I shouldn't drink that much lemonade next time…" He trailed off when he noticed Striker's expression had darkened. "Strike? Are you okay?"
"I need to go out. Keep an eye on Jake while I'm gone."
Striker didn't give Blitzo an explanation or time to protest as he picked up his jacket and hat and walked out the door, whistling for Bombproof to come for him. Wordlessly, he climbed unto the saddle, clicked his tongue, and rode away in a quick canter.
*HB*
Jake woke up to a purring sound right above him. Shifting a bit under the covers, he opened his eyes and found none other than Blitzo's face inches away from his.
"Hi, Blitz." the impling said simply.
"Any interesting dreams?"
"Not really. Where's dad?"
"He had to go out for some errand and asked me to look after you while he's gone. We're going to have so much fun!" Blitzo rubbed his hands together. "Do you have any horse movies?"
Jake sat up. "Running Free and Black Beauty."
"Which version?"
"1994."
Blitzo's eyes lit up. "I love that one! Let's watch it!" Jake didn't quite understand why Blitzo was so obsessed with horses, but he didn't really mind. He, too, loved horses ever since he could remember. From what dad said, he'd learned how to ride before he could even walk.
Jake felt more alert and less sore, so he could walk downstairs to the living room. Blitzo made some popcorn and they spent the next hour and a half watching Black Beauty. Blitzo cried a couple of times whenever a horse got hurt, but he completely lost it when Beauty saw Ginger's dead body being carried away.
"Why, Ginger?! Whyyy?!"
"Have you read the novel? It's got more content that wasn't put in the film." Jake pointed out.
"Black Beauty is a novel?"
"No way, you didn't know?!"
"Jakey, the only things I read are Moxxie's diary and the Hellquine magazine."
Time went by. Blitzo sniffed around the house until he came across an old photo album. To Jake's chagrin, it contained baby pictures of him.
"Aww, you were so cute! Who would have thought your old man could take decent photos? Oh, look, you're with Striker and Bombproof on this one!" Jake groaned, trying in vain to hide in the cushions. "Oh, shit, what a big dick you had!"
"Okay, that's enough humiliation for a day!"
Jake tried to pull the album away from Blitzo, cheeks red. They fought over the album until something slipped out and fell down to the floor. Blitzo picked it up.
"Hey, this one wasn't in any of the pages." Blitzo couldn't contain a wolf-whistle. "What a lovely lady!"
Curious, Jake leaned in to take a look at the photo: a tall woman with dark red skin and gold-green eyes sat on top of a fence, running a hand through her long black hair as it was blown back by the wind.
"Is this your mommy, Jakey?"
Jake pondered on it, eyes fixed on the photograph. He's never seen that woman before, be it in a photo or in person. He looked through the album but found no more pictures of the woman. If this was his mother, why are there no signs of her anywhere?
The door swung open at that moment. "Blitz, I'm home."
"Hey, Strike, who's this pretty lady?"
Jake felt a shiver down his spine as he saw his father stop in his tracks, face pale. He knew what was coming. The shock became anger. But it wasn't like those other times dad had grown mad at Blitzo; this time, there was a darkness in his eyes as he stomped towards Blitzo, tail rattling, and wordlessly snatched the photo from his grasp.
"Where did you find it?!" he shouted, making Blitzo realize he had unintentionally reopened an old wound.
"It slipped from that album…" he stuttered, pointing at the forgotten tome.
"Why can't you keep yer bloody nose away from my privacy, Blitzo?!"
"D-Dad, calm down, he didn't mean to-!"
"Stay out of this, boy!" Striker hissed, startling Jake into stepping back.
"Whoa, whoa, there's no need to yell at Jakey! It's me you're pissed at, remember?"
Striker clenched his fists. "Get out."
"Wait, what?"
"Get yer shitty ass out of my house!" Striker didn't even wait for Blitzo to reply; he simply pushed him towards and shoved him out of the door, slamming it shut; Striker panted heavily for breath as he leaned against it.
"Dad, that was uncalled for!" Jake quickly regretted having spoken when his father shot him a frown. The rings around his pupils were thick, another sign that he was pissed.
"How many times have I told you not to look through my things without permission?!" he growled.
"I was curious, dad…!"
"That's no excuse, boy! You wouldn't like me to go look into your own stuff, would you?!"
"B-But dad…"
"I don't want to hear it, boy." Striker pointed to the stairs. "Go to your room, I don't want to see you for the rest of the night!"
Jake was close to tears now. "Daddy…"
"NOW!"
Jake didn't dare to talk back to his father this time. He ran up the stairs and into his room, tears in his eyes. The impling climbed into his bed, hid under the blankets and cried himself to sleep.
*HB*
He hadn't meant to yell at Jake. It's not him he's mad at, but… Seeing her photo in Blitzo's grasp and hearing him ask so casually as if he'd done nothing wrong really pissed him off... That, plus the rather unpleasant encounter from earlier… Great, now he'd have to apologize to Blitz when things calm down.
Striker couldn't sleep that night. There were too many things on his head, and he had to think of what he'd do now that Jake had seen the photo. There's no way he can weasel out of it now, the boy was too smart for that. And deep down, Striker wanted to tell his son about the wonderful woman who was his mother, the woman that he'd…
Striker closed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, trying to push the painful memory away.
He waited until the next morning until he was certain he had calm down to go upstairs to his son's room with a jam and peanut butter sandwich, Jake's favorite treat. Striker tentatively knocked on the door.
"Jake?"
There was no reply. Slowly, he opened the door and walked in. Jake was still on his bed, hidden under the covers. He had seen him shifting just before he peeked in, so he knew he wasn't really sleeping, but it was evident that Jake didn't want to talk to him either. Striker sat down on the edge of his son's bed, clearing his throat awkwardly.
"I… I brought you a sandwich in case you were hungry." He was met with silence again. "I know you're not really sleepin', kiddo." His suspicions were confirmed when Jake opened his eyes, but his back was still turned and he still did not speak. Sighing, Striker placed the place on the bedside table and ran a hand through his white locks. "Jake, I… I'm sorry for yellin' at you. I had a… complicated day and seein' that photo in Blitzo's grasp reopened an old wound, so I… I took it out on you."
"Who's that woman?" Jake asked curtly. Striker took a deep breath.
"...Her name was Jane. She's your mother."
Jake sat up on the bed this time. "That's mom?"
"Yes…" Striker slipped the photo out of his pocket, smiling forlornly as he stared at it. "She was a wild-spirited, passionate woman, my killin' partner, and the love of my life. We'd travel and take killin' jobs throughout the seven rings together."
Jake stared at the photo. The question that had been bugging him since Millie brought up the topic on Loo Loo Land left his lips. "What happened to her?"
Striker's smile vanished. That's the one, inevitable question that he didn't want to answer. But he had to tell him something, anything.
"...She got ill and passed away shortly after you were born," he told Jake. It's a half-truth, close enough to what actually caused her death. "You were just a baby, so it's normal for you to not remember her." Jake looked like he'd cry again at any moment now. Striker smiled sadly and wiped a lone tear trickling down his cheek. "But she left me the greatest gift she could give me: you, son."
Jake sniffled and threw himself into his father's embrace. "I wish I could have met her."
"She'd be proud of her little man, no doubt. You remind me of her quite a lot, my boy."
"Really?"
"You have her same spirit, the same fire in yer eyes, her determination." Striker smirked. "And her knack at gettin' in trouble, I may add."
"Hey!"
Striker laughed and pulled his son closer to playfully ruffle his hair. Sadly, the sweet moment was brought to an end as he caught a pair of yellow eyes peering through the window. With an annoyed grunt, Striker went to the window and tapped loudly on it, startling Blitzo into losing his balance and falling back with the stair.
*HB*
Blitzo should have started a stalking company, since he's so good at it XD-
Before I forget, I'd like to let you know that Helluva Dad has a TV tropes page now! Yaaay!
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cuddlepilefics · 3 years ago
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Please Help
Fandom: Stray Kids
Sickie: Changbin
Caregiver: Minho
Changbin gets sick and while trying to hide it gets into an argument with Minho, who might be the only one there to take care of him.
Changbin’s POV.:
It was getting closer to four in the morning and I have yet to fall asleep. For some reason, my stomach had started to hurt pretty bad at some point during the late evening. I couldn’t tell whether it was something I ate but I knew if it wouldn’t get better soon, I wouldn’t get any sleep before having to get up for our schedule. Dance practice, something I really wasn’t looking forward to at the moment. Even if my stomach got better by then, I’d be way too tired for the intense choreographies we’d be working on. Just thinking about all the fast turns and jumps made my stomach churn uneasily. Considering there was no use in laying in bed stressing out, I slowly got up. Maybe some tea would settle my stomach, so I could get at least a tiny bit of sleep. I had to be carefully as I felt a bit queasy if I moved to fast. Wrapping one arm around my aching middle, I shuffled to the kitchen. I didn’t feel like turning on the ceiling lights as they were way to bright, so I ended up using my phone’s flashlight to find my way. After I turned on the kettle, I grabbed my favorite cup and popped in a bag of ginger tea. My mother once told me it helped with nausea and I prayed it really would because being up and moving made me feel increasingly queasy. Waiting for the water to boil, I moved a bit closer to the sink, unsure if the odd feeling at the back of my throat was just a fluke. My mouth was watering a little, which worried me quite a bit. If this got bad enough to make me throw up, I probably wouldn’t be better in a few hours, when we’d have to head out.
I was so distracted worrying, that I almost missed the water boiling. Snapping out of my thoughts, I prepare my tea before shakily making my way to the living room. The few minutes I had been standing seemed to have drained most of the energy I had left and I weakly plopped onto the couch, drawing my knees up to my chest. Closing my eyes, I rested my forehead on my knees and took a deep breath. By now, I was almost certain that I was sick. My head felt too light for me to just be tired and I highly doubted the dorm was as cold as it seemed to me. I couldn’t be sick now though. We were way too busy for me to take some time off. Usually, I’d be rather open about how I felt because I knew my friends would be by my side, comforting me until I felt better, but with how busy we were, I didn’t want to stress the rest of the group out. Completely forgetting about my tea on the coffee table, I sprawled out on the couch with my hand under my shirt, rubbing soft circles over my stomach. Exhausted, I must have fallen asleep because the next time I opened my eyes, it was already dawn and when I sat up, reaching for my tea, it was cold. My stomach didn’t hurt as badly anymore, though it was still a bit sore. Checking the time, I realized we’d have to get up in ten minutes anyway, so I disposed of my cold tea and went to get ready. It was a bit of a struggle because although my stomach had gotten a bit better, my head had become foggier and I stumbled around clumsily, probably waking most of the members already with all the noise.
No one’s POV.:
Though he was up earlier than his friends, Changbin took quite a while to get ready, spacing out frequently. It all made sense with the fever he was running but the rapper didn’t think to take his temperature. Knowing about his fever wouldn’t make much of a difference anyway, as he had already decided not to say anything and to go about his day as if nothing was wrong. Chan noticed the younger not being fully awake and made sure the rapper would have breakfast, knowing he’d need the energy for their dance practice. Changbin figured that maybe, if he was lucky, having some food would help settle his stomach further and maybe, just maybe, he’d feel less dizzy after eating something. He was quiet on their way to the company building, still trying to shake the fog in his head as he knew he’d have to be more than just focused if he wanted to keep up with their dances.
They were still warming up when Changbin realized, his breakfast had been a mistake. His stomach was churning again and he cursed himself for not skipping out on the meal. The rapper had no idea how he was supposed to dance like this, afraid he’d make himself sick with all the fast movements. “Changbin, wake up! We want to start now, so move”, Minho ordered. The members were already on their starting positions, all except for Changbin, who seemed to be in his own world. Startling, the rapper nodded and quickly got into position. He didn’t even know which song they’d dance to first and anxiously waited for the first beats. Today was not his day. Of course, Minho would start with the most complex choreography first, so they’d have the time to perfect it. He didn’t know how but Changbin managed to go over all the moves, being only slightly behind the beat. It wasn’t good enough though for him not to be called out by Minho, reminding him to speed his dancing up a little, so he’d keep up with the music. Barely paying attention to what his hyung was saying, the rapper nodded along as sweat ran down his back. His stomach cramped and he tried not to wince before he was forced to go back to his starting position, so they could give it another try.
About an hour in, Changbin wasn’t doing any better. His dancing was at least as off-beat as it was the first time and his moves grew increasingly sluggish. The rapper had already excused himself to the bathroom twice, feeling like he needed to be sick. He hadn’t thrown up and had made his way back to the practice room either times after accepting that it had been another false alarm. By now, Changbin contemplated just sticking his finger down his throat, as he’d probably feel better after getting everything out, so dancing wouldn’t torture him as much anymore. Pausing the music again, Minho sighed: “Bin, can you at least pretend you’re taking this seriously?” - “S-Sorry, hyung, I am”, the rapper apologized, trying to pull himself together. He just couldn’t focus, no matter how badly he wanted to. Changbin swallowed hard, fighting the rising nausea. “Well, you’re moves don’t really make it seem like you are”, Minho commented, “Put a little effort into it, would you?” Not daring to open his mouth, the younger nodded, making himself dizzy.
Minho’s POV.:
Changbin had been slacking off ever since we started and was really getting annoying. It didn’t look like he was even trying at all, his moves all over the place. The more time passed, the worse it got. We needed to get this perfect soon because one of the company’s choreographers would stop by towards the end of our practice to see how we were progressing, which in my dongsaeng’s case was backwards. Taking a deep breath to calm my temper, I reminded him: “Pull yourself together, Changbin, alright? Someone will watch our dance later and if you keep fooling around like this, all of us will get in trouble.” – “S-Sorry, I-I need the bathroom”, he stammered, already fleeing without giving me the chance to say anything else. I had lost track of how many times he had already escaped ‘to the bathroom’, probably trying to kill time till our practice was over. Giving Chan an exasperated look, I went on to help the rest of the members polish up their moves. The leader only shrugged, contemplating going after Changbin but by the time he had made up his mind, the rapper already returned. He took his time, getting a drink first before joining us in the middle of the room again, causing me to pinch the bridge of my nose and remind myself to stay calm for the sake of the other members. I was really irritated but needed to be professional, otherwise we’d make even less progress.
No one’s POV.:
The remainder of their practice session passed just the same and before they knew it, they were joined by the choreographer. Changbin blinked confused. He had forgotten they’d have a visitor, no matter how many times Minho reminded him. Swallowing convulsively, the rapper prayed his stomach would stay where it was. He hadn’t thrown up yet but the number of false alarms was ridiculous. Spacing out while the dance-racha talked to the choreographer, Changbin snuck a hand under his sweaty shirt to palm his cramping stomach. He couldn’t suppress a shudder, feeling chilled to the bone in his sweat-damp clothes. It was confusing really, how he could sweat that much when it was so cold in the practice room. They had surely turned the aircon down to arctic temperatures. Seeing the other members gather in the center of the room, Changbin dizzily made his way over and prayed he’d be able to get through the entire song. He really didn’t want to get sick or faint in front of everyone, especially now that someone else was present, expecting him to be professional. One of the jumps made his stomach lurch, acid rushing up his throat. The rapper panicked, gritting his teeth and quickly swallowing it back down, while trying to not miss a beat. In the end, he surprised himself by striking the ending pose without passing out, despite the black spots clouding his vision.
Still panting, Changbin saw the choreographer walk up to him. He could hear the other talking but couldn’t comprehend anything he said, too distracted by his stomach sloshing nauseatingly. A trickle of sweat ran down his temple as he nodded along to whatever the choreographer was saying, mainly focused on staying upright without puking on the other’s shoes. When the older finally stopped talking and bid the group goodbye, Changbin plopped down on the ground, assuming their practice was finally over. He was startled when a fuming Minho walked up to him. “Why couldn’t you just take it seriously earlier?”, the dancer spat, “I have so many other things to get done today and now I need to stay behind until you get it right.” Blinking at the older confused, Changbin muttered a tired: “What?” – “Didn’t you listen to a word he was saying? I really can’t believe you! You and I are forced to stay here until you get it right, so get up! We’re starting right now, no breaks just dancing because I also need to practice my vocals later and am not planning on staying here all night”, Minho snapped, grabbing his dongsaeng’s wrist and hauling him to his feet. Blacking out for a second when he was upright, Changbin swayed on his feet but managed not to fall.
The other members were already packing up their things while Minho got a drink before walking over to the sound system to start the music again. Sensing the tension, the group quietly left as they didn’t want to irritate Minho further. When the dancer turned around again, he had top realize that Changbin had slipped out of the room unnoticed. Angrily gritting his teeth, Minho paused the music and went to go look for his dongsaeng. Considering he hadn’t been gone for long, the rapper had to be somewhere close by, so Minho decided to check the practice room next to theirs. It was empty and closing the door again, the dancer’s eyes fell on the bathroom a little further down the hallway. His anger dissolved when he heard muffled sobs through the door, already assuming it had to be Changbin. Minho’s prediction was correct and he found the younger curled up against the far wall, feeling guilty as he could see now that the rapper hadn’t been fooling around but was actually struggling. Quietly sitting down next to his crying dongsaeng, the dancer draped his arm around the other’s shoulders. Changbin hadn’t even noticed his hyung walking in and startled when he was suddenly touched, flinching away. “Hey, ssh, it’s okay”, Minho hummed, finally taking a closer look at his friend. His heart broke when he noticed how pale the rapper looked, barely distinguishable from the wall behind him. His sweat-soaked practice clothes clung to him uncomfortably.
“I-I’m sorry”, Changbin whimpered, not looking up, “Hyung, I’m so s-sorry, please- Hyung, please he-help.” Trying to make eye contact with the younger, Minho promised: “It’s okay, Binnie, I will but you need to tell hyung how. What’s going on?” The rapper only choked on another sob, squeezing his eyes shut. Gently brushing back Changbin’s sweaty bangs, Minho cringed when he felt the heat radiating from his dongsaeng’s forehead. “You’re burning”, he stated sympathetically, “Haven’t felt well all day, hm?” The younger defeatedly shook his head, shifting and trying to get up. His face had taken on a slightly greenish tint, so Minho helped him up, getting the rapper settled in front of the toilet. “H-Hyung, I can’t”, Changbin muttered shakily, before ducking down with an unproductive gag. Comfortingly rubbing his back, Minho instructed: “Deep breaths, then explain what you can’t and how I can help.” The rapper coughed weakly before drawing in a shaky breath and admitting: “Can’t throw up. Always feel like it but nothing’s happening.” – “That’s why you’ve been running off all the time wasn’t it? I’m so sorry I never took the time to ask you if everything was alright”, Minho cooed regretfully. Nodding, Changbin tensed with another gag, hand going up to his throat that ached from the strain. Getting back up, the dancer promised: “I’ll be right back, I’m just going to get you some water. Maybe drinking something will speed things up. Just hang in there.”
Minho hurried to retrieve his dongsaeng’s water bottle from the practice room, all the while beating himself up for making assumptions earlier. In hindsight, it was obvious that Changbin hadn’t been alright. He would never slack if a choreographer was present. The dancer’s eyes landed on his own sweatshirt, carelessly thrown next to his bag. Quickly grabbing that too, he rushed back to the bathroom, only to find Changbin in pretty much the same position that he had left him in. Resting a gentle hand on the younger’s shoulder, Minho hummed: “I got you a warmer shirt too. You’re not going to get better if you’re running around in wet clothes. Do you want change first?” Shivering pathetically, the rapper nodded and struggled to get his sticky shirt off. Minho helped him pull it off before handing him the sweatshirt. It was a bit tight around his dongsaeng’s broad shoulders but it was a lot warmer.
Changbin slumped with his back against the toilet stall, closing his eyes and bringing his fist up to his face to muffle a queasy belch. “Do you want to have some water? Either it helps your stomach settle or it makes you sick, so you can get it over with and I can take you home”, Minho offered, already uncapping the bottle. The rapper winced but accepted the bottle. He didn’t really want to be sick but after so many false alarms, it’d be better to just get it over with than be stuck in this limbo forever. Taking a few tentative sips, Changbin realized the water certainly wouldn’t settle his stomach, so he started to chug it quickly, struggling to keep from gagging. He barely got to finish his drink before dropping the bottle and scrambling over the toilet bow, as the water gushed from his lips. Minho was there in a second, running his hand up and down his dongsaeng’s back to keep him calm as wave after wave of clear water shot up his throat. Choking a little, Changbin gave a painful cough and reached for his hyung’s hand. He yearned for comfort, needing a hug but his stomach wasn’t yet done. It clenched again, causing the rapper to pitch forward with a strangled retch. Biting his lip, Minho took Changbin’s hand, that was still blindly feeling around for his, and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
It took a while for Changbin’s stomach to calm down again but they were in no hurry. Unlike his earlier claims, Minho would definitely stay the entire night at the company building if that was how long the younger needed. When it didn’t seem like the rapper was going to bring anything else up, Minho carefully pulled him back let him lean against his chest while he tore off some toilet paper to wipe his dongsaeng’s lips. Changbin dizzily closed his eyes, huffing shaky breaths while the older cleaned him up. He was glad he finally got it over with but now he was so spent that it didn’t feel like he could get up at all anytime soon. There was a gentle hand on his forehead, brushing the damp bangs back before softly scratching his scalp. “Feeling at least a little better now?”, Minho whispered as he continued to run his hand through the younger’s hair. Lacking any energy, Changbin could only give an uncertain hum and kept his eyes closed as he slowly relaxed in his hyung’s hold. Checking his fever again, the dancer promised: “You will soon. As soon as you feel ready to move, I’m taking you back to the dorm, so you can rest in your bed and I can fetch you some medicine but don’t worry, there’s no rush, you can take as long as you need.”
Changbin drowsily went in and out of sleep as Minho didn’t have the heart to wake him, so they could go home. The dancer had no idea how long they had been sitting there but it didn’t matter all that much to him. Yeah, he wanted to get the younger home but if the other needed to regain some of his energy first, that was fine with him too. Minho was deep in thought, guiltily recounting all the opportunities he would have had to realize his dongsaeng was sick, when Changbin sleepily sat up. “Hyung, can we go home? I’m tired”, he muttered, voice scratchy from throwing up. The older nodded and got up before extending his hands to help the rapper up. Changbin’s head spun when he stood and Minho was quick to wrap him in a hug to steady him until he had adjusted. Even when the rapper nodded that he was okay now, Minho kept one arm around his waist, just in case. They slowly made their way back to the practice room, where the dancer hurriedly threw their stuff into their bags before slinging both of them over his shoulder.
Their walk back to the dorm seemingly too forever as Changbin dizzily stumbled next to Minho, who tried to keep his dongsaeng from falling. Unlocking the door, Minho quickly kicked off his shoes before helping the younger with his. He walked the rapper straight to his room and placed his bag next to his desk after sitting the sick boy down on his bed. Changbin instantly curled up, struggling to pull his blanket over himself as he still shook with chills. Cooing sympathetically, the dancer helped him with the blanket before turning to leave the room. “Hyung, can you please stay? I-I know you have a lot of other stuff to do, so you don’t have to, I just- I-”, Changbin rambles sleepily, needing the comfort he had been craving since last night but still remembering the older’s temper earlier. Face softening, Minho crouched next to the bed. He gently cupped his dongsaeng’s feverish cheek and whispered: “I will, don’t worry about it, yeah? I will stay with you as long as you’ll have me but I need to get a few things first, so we can try and bring that fever down at least a little.” Changbin nodded and closed his eyes, hoping his hyung would be quick. He had lost all sense of time, so he had no idea how long it had been before the mattress dipped beside him. “Bin? Do you feel like you could drink something? I don’t want you getting dehydrated after getting sick and sweating so much during practice”, Minho asked carefully. The younger shrugged propping himself up on his elbow and accepting the water his hyung handed him. The dancer had also gotten a bucket, figuring Changbin would throw up again before he was able to get over his bug, and a cold washcloth to place on the rapper’s forehead. When Changbin handed the water back, Minho placed it on the nightstand and got into bed beside the younger, cooing when the other up on against him. “Your head must be hurting a lot, so I’ll put something cool on it that will hopefully help your fever”, the dancer whispered, draping the washcloth across his dongsaeng’s burning forehead before running his fingers through his hair repeatedly. Giving a satisfied hum, Changbin relaxed and soon drifted off to sleep but still heard the quiet: “I’m sorry, Binnie. I’ve been a shitty hyung today but please know, I will always help if you ask me to.”
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sleepybutwriting · 5 years ago
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You Don't Have To Suffer Alone | Fatherly!Aizawa
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Pairing: Fatherly!Aizawa x Reader
Summary: You’re one of Aizawa’s students and you lost both of your parents very young so when you get sick, he steps up and checks in on you to make sure you’re okay.
Note: This isn't meant in a romantic way. This is basically just Aizawa being all fatherly like, and although he isn’t your dad he acts like it.
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Both of your parents were pro heroes, so growing up, your dream was to follow in their footsteps. And that dream never changed. Not even when they died.
Of course, it was hard for you to deal with it. Having both of your parents die, due to some villain attack wasn’t an easy thing to handle, even if you were young at the time. But it was even harder because you had no other family. But because of their rank, you were left with a good amount of funds. Enough for you to go on by yourself. You used their money to continue to take care of yourself, and put yourself through school, and over time you just forgot how to depend on people. But there were, of course, times when you wanted your parents back more than anything. Like when you were sick.
You had woken up in the middle of the night with a cough and a sore throat. You had gotten sick before and thinking it would pass by morning like it usually does, you made yourself some tea and went back to bed. But when morning came you had felt even worse. Your muscles ached painfully keeping you from moving out of bed. And you had sweat dripping down your forehead despite the chills that covered your skin. There was absolutely no way you were making it to school.
You shot one of your classmates from UA a text to let them know that you would be out and to apologize on your behalf. Once they made sure you were okay, they were happy to pass along your message, telling you to get better soon.
Putting your phone down at your side, you figured rest would be your best option for getting better. Mostly because that was the only thing you felt capable of doing. You decided that with enough rest you’d be able to make it into school by tomorrow. However, when you woke up feeling even worse than yesterday, you knew that wouldn’t be possible. 
Aizawa was worried about you. He knew about what happened to both of your parents and that you didn’t really have any family. So he planned to visit you after school and make sure that you were doing okay.
Your doorbell had woken you from your twelfth nap that day. Not confident you would be able to make it to your door, and assuming whoever it was, and whatever they wanted, wouldn’t be important, you ignored it. Until it rang again. Letting you know that whoever it was wasn’t going away. So you used what little strength you had to pull yourself out of bed and greet them.
You were caught off guard though with the sight of your teacher on the other side of the door. “Aizawa Sensei?” You questioned, voice hoarse due to the dryness in your mouth. Your teacher is immediately struck with worry at the sight of you. Your face was flush, aside from the bright pink tint in your cheeks, and every now and again you would sway sightly as if you could pass out at any moment. And you felt as if you would. Despite the fact that you had been doing nothing but sleeping, you still felt exhausted.
“Y/N, you look terrible.”
“Uhh, yeah. I’m just a little sick.” As if on cue, you began coughing slightly before continuing, “If this is about missing your class, I should be better in a few days, and I promise to make up all my work. I’ll also come in earl-”
“This isn’t about missing class. And you shouldn’t be worried about school. You should focus on taking care of yourself.” He stated, cutting you off, “ Have you been drinking water? Have you taken any medicine? What about food, have you even eaten yet?” He questioned endlessly. You didn’t reply. But your silence was the only confirmation he needed. He sighed something to himself before ushering you back inside your own house.
He went straight for your kitchen pouring you a glass of water and making sure you drank every last drop. Once he was satisfied, he sent you back upstairs to rest while he went out to buy some medicine, and food to cook for you.
“Y/N?...Y/N?” you heard a male voice calling out to you. It sounded so familiar, but you didn’t know who it belonged to. Only a feeling of having heard it before.
You wandered down an empty hallway. The voice becoming louder and more distinct until you ended up at a closed door. You jiggled the handle, but for some reason, it wouldn’t open.
“What’s wrong Y/N? Did you have another nightmare?” A different voice questioned on the other side of the door. This one was a woman’s voice. Again, you knew who it was but whenever you tried to put a face to the name, it just kept coming up blank.
The door opened. Two figures on the other side. Their faces were distorted, and shadowy so you couldn’t make them out. But even without being able to see their faces you were able to recognize them.
“Mom?...Dad?” You questioned, voice breaking as you held back tears. The two of them held out their arms to you and you didn’t waste any time running into their embrace. Gripping tightly onto the fabric of their clothes as you began sobbing into them.
“Don’t worry Y/N. It’s okay.” Your mother soothed as she gently began stroking your head as she had done so many times when you were young. But little by little you felt them slipping away from your grip. Causing you to cry out harder.
“You don’t have to suffer alone.” Was the last thing they said to you before disappearing completely.
You awoke in a cold sweat to the sound of someone rummaging around in your kitchen. “Mom?... Dad?” You called out, still not in the right mindset from your dream. You made your way over to the kitchen, leaning against the wall for support, only to be met with Aizawa boiling something on the stove. Once he noticed your presence, he gave you a small glare, one that held more concern than it did anger.
“You shouldn’t be out of bed.” He scolded before walking over to you. He placed his hand over your forehead, the coldness of his touch causing you to flinch back slightly. “Your fever has gotten higher.” He mumbled mostly to himself. “Get back into bed. The stew is almost ready so I’ll bring it up to you with some medicine.” He walked you back to your room and tucked you back in before returning to the kitchen.
You didn’t realize you had dozed off again until a cold cloth was placed on your forehead stirring you slightly. You had reached your hand up to remove it, since it felt uncomfortably cold against your heated skin, but a hand was placed over your own forcing it back down on the bed before you could. “I know it’s uncomfortable but your fever is getting too high so we need to bring it down a little.” You opened your eyes at the sound of your teacher’s voice and saw that he had a tray of food, water, and medicine for you to take just as he said.
“Are you feeling well enough to eat?” He asked bringing the tray over to you. You shook your head, in response, not imagining being able to keep anything down. “Well, you should at least try. It’s only miso shiitake soba soup, and I added some ginger to settle your stomach so you should be able to keep it down.”
He adjusted your pillow so you were sitting upright and watched you as you took a bite. As soon as the warm soup hit your stomach, you realized just how hungry you were and greedily ate every last drop. The soup was delicious, and the ginger really did help take away your nausea, so it made it easier for you to continue eating. Once you finished, Aizawa took your tray away and gave you some medicine, before tucking you back in.
“Thank you sensei.” You whispered as he began to get up.
“It’s the least I can do for my favorite student,” he responded nonchalantly while ruffling your hair slightly. Causing a slight grin to appear on both of your faces, but his subsided slightly as he took a seat at your bedside.
“...Listen Y/N.” He began, the seriousness of his tone quickly grabbing your attention. “I know it must be hard not having your parents around, but if you ever need anything, just let me know. I know you may feel like you’re on your own, but you’re not. When you get sick, or you need help, tell me. You don’t have to suffer alone.”
Aizawa gently reached up towards you again, this time stroking your head, just like your parents had, and for the first time in a while, you felt it. The feeling of being cared for. And it made you feel...not so lonely anymore.
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ink-dreams-ffxiv · 3 years ago
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Prompt 7: Speculate
“Blast! Rivvie, help me” “Yes Miss,” said the thin Duskwight girl in response as she dashed from where she was cleaning smaller fish. Rivvie was a Brume Rat who had been at the volunteer station looking for work when Sahxa had arrived at sunrise. At first she wasn’t sure if Rivvie was a boy or a girl, the man’s cable knit sweater hung down to her knees, and though she had rolled the sleeves up, they still hung down over her hands. Sahxa had taken a cook's needle and string, rolled the sleeves until the cuffs were up to the girl’s armpits, ran a quick loop of string to hold it in place, then rolled what was left up to the girl’s elbows and did the same thing. Her canvas pants at least were lined with karakul fleece, and the boots on her feet were sturdy, if new to her. Sahxa had learned she was twelve winters old, and a very quick study.
Rivvie moved towards the head of the large sleek thick scaled silver fish, “the tail Rivvie, let me worry about the head, put yer gloves on, and hold it tight, she’s still warm, so she gonna wriggle” “Yes Miss.” Sahxa grinned, waiting for Rivvie to put on the thick leather gloves and grab the tail with it’s sawtooth bone spines. “Keep it away from yer face ‘kay?” she said, to which the girl nodded, focusing on the tail. Sahxa slipped her claws under the gill plate, then slid her hingan cleave deep into the feathery red tissue. The fish thrashed weakly, “bloody damn,” hissed the Miqo’te sliding her hand deeper into the cut so she could get a good hold. “She’s heavy, ready?” Sahxa used the moment waiting for Rivvie to nod to toss her cleaver to the tray of rinse water, before lifting and sliding her other arm under the head of the fish. The pair moved together well, the wriggling fish trying harder, but it had been in the bin too long, smothered by the layers of fish on top of it. The fat belly sagged like an over inflated balloon. 
“Lean on the tail fer me,” Sahxa ordered, taking up her cleaver again, and sinking it deeply into the flesh just behind the gill she still had her hand shoved into. Once she felt the blade slice through the other side, she set it back in the rinse tray and grabbed the hatchet hanging from a thong at the corner of the butcher table. Moving around, bending the head from the body, she gave solid whack to the intact spine, severing it completely. The body of the fish stopped wriggling.
“Here, remember how I told ya”
“Yes Miss,” Rivvie replied, a smile on her lips and excitement in her eyes. She took the hatchet, laid the blunt side to her hand where it still held the tail, then rolled the hatchet up onto the blade as a measure, her tongue slipped out in concentration, Sahxa could see the focus in her eyes. WHACK! WHACK! WHACK WHACK! It was a messy cut, a boning cleaver would have done a better job, but this wasn’t the time or place to be worrying about it. The girl tossed the tail into the barrel that was already mostly full of mostly fish tails and fins, grinning at Sahxa as she handed the hatchet back to her. 
“Okay, go get a chafing dish, a big one lass,” Sahxa indicated the length of the fat baloonish belly. Rivvie just turned and ran along the back of the stalls to where the head off the cook staff was over seeing things. Sahxa in the meantime, pulled her cleaver from the rinse tray, and began stropping the edge on the leather at her waist. When Rivvie returned with the large ornate serving tray, looking sheepish, Sahxa realized that was what the girl thought was the most wealth she probably ever held in her hands, little did she know though. 
Sahxa ran her hand along the rubbery thick skinned belly of the fish until she located the opening she was looking for, “No Rivvie, this is where ya gotta be really careful, push yer finger in here,” the girl watched, then blinked as Sahxa’s finger vanished into the belly of the fish, then she made a disgusted face. “Isn’t that where the poo comes out?”
“Not on this one Rivvie, this one is different,” Sahxa replied with a grin, not sure if a talk about the birds and bees would be considered appropriate at this time. Resting the blade where she pressed out with a claw tip, Sahxa pushed the blade along the thick rubbery flesh, lightly scoring it, but not cutting all the way through, until she passed the end of the bulge, then she drew the blade back along the same line, slicing a little deeper. “This is gonna be heavy lass,” Sahxa added as the girl moved to place the tray against the edge of the work table. “Not like the other ones we did.” Rivvie nodded, and shifted the tray until her arms were under it, holding it tightly.
Sahxa slowly moved the rectangular blade back down the line she had scored, pressing out with the finger inside the fish at the same time, the skin and flesh under split in a slow controlled manner until she was about three fourths along the length of the belly, then a grayish white bladder spilled from the cut, sliding easily into the waiting tray. Rather than stop, Sahxa kept cutting until she passed the end of the belly, where she cut deep until the blade sliced through the cut end where the head had been attached. Rivvie pulled the tray away from the edge of the work table just before the intestines and viscera spilled from the cavity. Sahxa swiped through any membrane as the girl took the tray to her work table. The offal was pushed into the trough below the edge of the work table with the rest of the guts of the fish Sahxa had cleaned for the soup kitchen. Grabbing the head, as she put her knife back in the rinse tray, she carried it to Rivvie, who was rinsing her hands off and looking at Sahxa. 
“Remember what we did with the small ones?” 
“Yes Miss, cover the bag,”
“Egg Sac,”
“Uh? Wha?”
“It’s an egg sac Rivvie, that’s what it is, so practice calling it that.”
“Okay Miss, I uh, cover the egg sack with salt, then rub it down until it doesn’t feel slimy anymore. Then I put the egg sack in the rinse basin.”
Sahxa grinned, maybe later, she would ask the girl if she knew her letters, she could hear the ‘K’ on the end but it was okay, the girl was learning. “Right, while it’s in the rinse basin, take the dirty salty dish and dump it in the tail’s bucket, then take it to the pot cleaner. On yer way back, ask the potwatch for another chaffing dish, but ask em to weigh it and mark the weight on the tray, okay?”
Rivvie blinked at her in confusion, “We didn’t do that with the others”.
“Nope, this is a special case, we need to know how much the pan weighs, so we can figure out how much the eggs weigh.” Thankfully, Rivvie just nodded, and went to do as she was told. Sahxa took careful looks around. Most had written her off as was usual. Especially when she took out her hingan vegetable cleaver. They figured she was some kind of hack, even more so when she dug out her hatchet. But this job was about speed, not precision. Most of the meat was either being ground up for fish balls, or boiled in the huge stewpots dotting the stalls. Nothing was being cut up to be presented at the tables of the Lords and Ladies of Ishgard. This was food meant to fill the bellies of the workers rebuilding the damage.
The lantern lights were glowing brightly. Rivvie hung close to Sahxa as they made their way through the streets of Ishgard. The girl kept blushing and trying to hide in the thrift store coat Sahxa had gotten from one of the stalls inside the Firmament. She had also gotten the girl a couple more pairs of pants, some small cloths, under shirts, and a couple more of the cable knit sweaters. 
“Relax Rivvie, the guards aren’t going to bother you. They already know I am one of the foreigner’s working the restoration, they just assume you’re either my apprentice or my ward, probably think you’re from Gridania and not the Brume.”
The girl blinked at her, “Why Gr..Grey-dneeah” 
“They think all Miqo’te like me come from Gridania, and a Duskwight with me probably came from Gridania as well, since there are some there.”
“Oh, but, Miss?”
“Yes Rivvie?”
“Miss Sahxa? Why are we going to the Crozier?” 
“Speculating lass, you will understand when we get there.”
The shop was quaint, and it’s wares were anything but cheap. The tall sharply dressed Elezen behind the counter scowled when the pair came through the door, until Sahxa took her hat off, her sunkissed ginger hair and dark tan a very distinguished marking in Ishgard.
“Ah, M’Lady Sahxa, it is a pleasure to see you!” His joy and enthusiasm was not faked, and Sahxa was pretty sure she knew why. He took in Rivvie’s appearance next to her with a curious look. “My apprentice  Rivvie, Rivvie, this is Ser Marcelle DeCroix, this is his shop.” Sahxa grinned when Rivvie did her best to curtsy without a dress, and Marcelle raised an eyebrow as well. “Ahem, yes, welcome Miss Rivvie. Now I believe you wished to discuss payment?” 
“Twenty five ponze of the finest caviar harvested fresh Marcelle, I know for a fact you had it within your shop no more than one bell from when I pulled it from the belly of the still living sturgeon.” 
Marcelle smiled a merchant's smile, “yes, as you can see M’Lady Sahxa, word spread fast,” he nodded to a mostly empty cart to Sahxa’s left. The sign was marked 3000gil. Rivvie gasped and gapped when she looked at the small jars. “Let’s not quibble shall we?” Marcelle began. Sahxa grinned, and took one of the jars from the cart. “Come Rivvie, it’s time you got a chance to taste your hard work.” 
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plaidbooks · 4 years ago
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Nyquil
A/N: This is just a short, mostly fluff piece, in which Rafael Barba takes care of a sick reader. Based on true events (note: please take medications as prescribed)
Tags: briefest mention of rape, cold medication (and taking too much of it, though not an overdose)
You groaned as you woke up, rolling over and slowly opening your eyes. You felt a soreness in your throat that wasn’t there the night before, and one nostril was clogged. No, you thought, refusing to even acknowledge how your body may or may not be feeling. You rolled over to look at the empty spot beside you; Rafael, your boyfriend, had already left for the day. You groaned again as you got out of bed, dragging your feet to the bathroom. You looked in the mirror, but your eyes caught the bright orange sticky note stuck to the glass.
Hope you have a wonderful day. See you for dinner - Love Raf
You smiled, butterflies in your stomach. You’d been dating for months now, and he left these notes often, but they still made you fall a little more in love with him every time.
Eyes now focusing on your reflection, you winced; you looked exactly how you had felt when you woke up. Maybe a shower would help. You showered quickly, enjoying the warm water on your skin, letting the warmth awaken you. The steam was even able to help unclog your nose, though your throat was still hurting, your head still not feeling right. But you knew that you were already running a little late, and you needed to get going. Before you left the apartment, though, you grabbed the little package of DayQuil, cursing yourself, seeing it as an admission of weakness; if you didn’t let yourself acknowledge your illness, then you wouldn’t be sick! 
You made it to precinct 16, coffee in hand, apology to your boss, Lieutenant Olivia Benson, on your lips. She waved you off; you were very rarely late, and you always had a legit reason. Thankfully, she didn’t ask for one today, because the only excuse you had was maybe coming down with something.
The day seemed to drag on and on, and you felt no better as the hours stretched. Eventually, it came up that there was to be a stake out that night.
“[Y/L/N], Carisi, you two take tonight. Rollins, Fin, you two will take the second shift in the morning,” Olivia ordered.  Your heart sank; a whole night? Feeling like this?
“Sure thing, Lieu,” Sonny replied, shooting you a goofy smile and thumbs up. He wasn’t quite the new guy anymore, but sometimes, he still acted like it. If you were feeling normal, you would’ve smiled and rolled your eyes playfully at him. But now you just sat there, silently thankful you grabbed the DayQuil earlier. You took out your phone and sent a text to Rafael, telling him not to wait up for you. At least it was a Friday, and you’d be off all weekend, after this one night.
*****************
“So, what did this guy do again?” you asked, huddled in the passenger seat, sipping at your coffee for warmth.
Sonny was watching the apartment that housed the man you were tasked in staking out, watching for any signs of life. “He raped his wife, and is now trying to threaten her to keep her from testifying.”
You nodded, sighing. You glanced at the clock. It read 3:40am. Got another hour and 20 minutes until Fin and Rollins switched with you two. You had taken another round of DayQuil at midnight, and it was already wearing off. There was no more denying it; you were definitely coming down with a cold. You only hoped that you wouldn’t be getting Sonny sick. Your plan for the weekend was to try and sleep it off; you had some severe NyQuil at home, something you’d never tried before. You weren’t much on medication, especially liquids, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
You were nodding off in your seat when there was a knock on your window. You were so out of it, you didn’t even jump. Turning, you could see Rollins outside the car door. You shuffled out, letting Rollins take your seat, Sonny switching with Fin on the other side.
“Need a ride?” Sonny asked once you were out of sight of the apartment.
“Blease,” you replied, your nose now completely clogged, making the word come out weird. Sonny cocked his brow at you, but didn’t bring it up as he drove you home.
***************
You put your key in the door, unlocking it, and pushing your way in. You felt yourself descend into sickness with every step you took as you shuffled into the living room, unwilling to shed your jacket--you were suddenly freezing and you wrapped the garment around yourself tighter. You walked over to the couch and fell face-first onto the cushions
“Cariño?” you heard Rafael call from the kitchen. You didn’t even notice he was awake; your senses were completely clouded at this point. You grunted, the cushions muffling your voice. You heard his hurried footsteps as he came over to you.
“Are you okay, mi amor?” he asked, crouching down by your head. You turned to face him. His bright green eyes were full of concern, and he placed a comforting hand on your back, rubbing soft circles there.
“I think I’m sick,” you muttered. “I feel like shit.”
He gave your face one more look before he stood, heading for the kitchen. “Let me get you some ginger ale, and then I’ll make you some of my Mami’s famous soup; you’ll feel better instantly.”
You smiled despite yourself; god you loved this man. “I’ll take the ginger ale. But right now, I think I’m just going to have some NyQuil and try and sleep. I’ve been up for almost 24 hours. Can you make me soup when I wake up?”
Rafael was back instantly, ginger ale in his hand. “Of course. Let’s get you to bed.” He helped you stand, then led you to your shared bedroom.
“I don’t want to get you sick,” you protested as he started to help you undress.
He smirked at that. “Don’t worry, Cariño. I don’t get sick.” Now that you thought about it, you had never seen the man sick before. It was true that you, too, rarely got sick, but to never be sick?
“Lucky,” you huffed. He chuckled before helping you climb into bed, tucking you in. He went to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, grabbed the NyQuil, then poured a cap-full for you. You drank it, trying not to gag on the gross taste, drinking the ginger ale after words.
“Sleep, baby. I’m off today; call me if you need me, okay?” he said, leaning in to kiss your forehead. You smiled, resting your head on the soft pillows, while he went back out of the room. 
You laid there, comfortable except for the illness in your head, congesting your nose, making your throat sore. But sleep never came for you. After an hour, you decided to try and take another cap-full of the disgusting cold medicine. Nothing. After yet another hour, you took a third cap-full, praying for some sort of sleep. Finally, darkness overtook you.
You woke up, groggy, unaware of your surroundings, with a terrible pain in your stomach. It felt like you hadn’t eaten in days. Suddenly remembering the cold medicine, you whipped to look at the clock, wondering how long you could’ve slept to be this hungry. You were stunned to see that only 2 hours had passed.
Maybe I’ve slept a whole day? you thought. But Rafael would’ve woken you...right? After waiting for another painful cramp to subside, you climbed out of bed. You shuffled out of the room, somewhere between sick, hungry, and floating through space. You could hear running water; Rafael was taking a shower in the guest bathroom, probably trying to not wake you. Same day, then.
You made your way to the kitchen, hoping to find something easy to eat, but all you could think of was soup--probably because Rafael had mentioned it. Though, he hadn’t started it, yet, since he didn’t know when to expect you. No worries, you thought, I’ll just make some shitty ramen. You grabbed a pot, filled it with water, and started the stove. Once the water was boiling, you put the noodles in, stirring it. Suddenly, your vision went black. You blinked a few times, but your vision didn’t return. In your drug-induced state, this didn’t seem particularly alarming; you simply sat on the ground, knees pulled up to your chest, arms wrapped around them as you waited for your vision to return.
Slowly, your eyesight returned to you. You blinked, making sure it wasn’t going away again, before you stood and continued cooking your noodles.
“[Y/N]! What the hell are you doing up?” Rafael was in the entrance to the kitchen, wearing only sweatpants, his hair still damp from his shower.
“Hungry,” you murmured back, stirring in the flavor packet. There must’ve been something weird in your voice, because he came over, turned off the stove, and led you away, out of the kitchen, and to the couch.
“Sit,” he commanded. “Stay.” He disappeared and you sat there, staring at the carpeted floor, not quite remembering how you got there or what you were waiting for.
Rafael came back, a bowl in his hands. He handed it to you, and you looked inside at the noodles you had been cooking. Remembering your hunger, you went to take a bite before he stopped you.
“It’s probably hot,” he cautioned, that concern never leaving his expression. He took the bowl from you, and you let out a sad whimper at the loss of food. Instead, he twirled the fork in the noodles, collecting a small amount, and blew on them before holding the fork out to you. He fed you like this until the bowl was empty, blowing on every fork-full.
“Feel better?” he asked, a small smile tugging on his lips, but that concern still deep within his green eyes.
You nodded. “I think I’m going to try and sleep again.” You stood up and he was instantly beside you, leading you back to bed. This time, however, he climbed in bed with you, pulling your body close to his.
“I’m going to make sure you stay here longer than 2 hours this time,” he explained, wrapping his arms around you protectively. You didn’t mind, melting into his touch, his warmth. He kissed your shoulder, his lips warm even through the fabric of your nightshirt. You were asleep before you could even reply.
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firewoodfigs · 4 years ago
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Hey Friend, I know I'm a bit late with this but how about - "an answer to the prompt ‘fevered forehead kisses’" Thanks. :)
here you go, friend!! this one’s for you and @brucestephenbucky, who both requested an answer to the prompt ‘fevered forehead kisses’ :) 
[also, this turned out to be longer than expected (~3k words), so it’s on ao3 as well! for easier reading, all that stuff xD]
Summary: In which Riza is down with a cold, and Roy is both anxious and painfully oblivious. Also, Roy has to conquer his greatest nemesis yet: carrots. (young Royai) 
~x~
Riza Hawkeye always woke up by sunrise. This was an immutable fact of life; as unchanging as the fact that the sun would rise every morning from the east. Not once had Roy seen her sleep in — not even on the weekends.
But today was different.
The sun had already risen long ago, and the roosters were back with their awful crowing. And even the morning dew that embraced the paltry patches of yellowing grass outside with timeless regularity was starting to evaporate by now.
Still, Riza was nowhere to be found.
Roy’s first thought was that she’d gone on one of her routine grocery trips. But Riza Hawkeye was the human incarnation of efficiency, if nothing else. Unlike his sisters, who had an uncanny tendency to get distracted by other things along the way (because apparently every girl loved shopping on a biological level, or so they claimed), grocery shopping was something she could easily complete in about a half an hour or less.
And it had been nearly two hours since he’d waited idly by the fireplace for Riza to come in through the front porch with that shy, contented smile that she always wore in the morning.
Believing that this might’ve been a rare, life-changing occasion where Riza wanted to experience the wonders of sleeping in, Roy therefore took it upon himself to prepare breakfast for the both of them. Typically, this wasn’t preferable, as he was only capable of making two things that were remotely edible: toasts, and eggs. (Not even fried eggs. Boiled eggs, because those were impossible to screw up.) To make up for the slightly burnt toast, Roy brewed a sweet, soothing mixture of chamomile tea with cinnamon.
Then he laid everything out on the dining table and hoped for the best.
Fifteen minutes passed. Breakfast was beginning to cool down. The mugs were no longer steaming; in them only a lukewarm stillness that reflected his lonely, worried expression.  
Roy bit into the burnt edge of a piece of toast, consulting the grandfather clock down by the inordinately large hallway.
The empty hallway.
Ten-hundred hours.
Roy sighed into his tea. Ten more minutes, he decided. Ten more minutes. If Riza wasn’t down by then, he’d go upstairs and check on her instead.
In the end, Roy found himself dragging his feet up the old, creaky stairs. He balanced the tray delicately on one hand, and knocked at her door gently with the other.
“Miss Riza?” Roy called softly, deciding against dropping the honorific. (Riza might’ve given him permission to call her by her first name, but she still was not taking the liberty of addressing him as such.)
Silence.
Roy knocked again.
The tray wobbled precariously.
“Miss Riza?”
A groan resounded from the other end, before he heard footsteps padding softly towards him. Then the door opened to reveal Riza in all her pale, half-awake glory.
To say that she was a mess was a bit of an understatement. Her hair was uncombed and completely disheveled (very much unlike her usual self); cheeks flushed a deep scarlet — a stark contrast against the sickly pallor of her countenance.
“Mister Mustang,” Riza rasped weakly. But her demeanour was quick to shift once she caught sight of the tray in his hands. Instantly she straightened like a soldier standing at attention, back straight and shoulders tense. “I’m so sorry — what time is it?”
“You have nothing to apologise for,” Roy reassured hastily. “It’s about ten —“ Riza’s eyes widened, and her mouth opened like she was about to admonish herself for not getting started on her endless list of chores earlier, “— but don’t worry about it. Are you sick?”
A shiver wracked through her petite frame, one that she tried miserably to conceal by wrapping her thin arms around herself. “I’m not,” Riza lied unconvincingly. “I —“
“Have a lot to do, I know,” Roy interjected, biting back a sigh at her stubbornness. God, the girl really needed to get her priorities straight. “But you’re obviously unwell. And besides, I already made you breakfast. I didn’t do such a bad job, see? I even managed to make you your tea just the way you like it...”
“I — thank you,” she muttered, turning away to sneeze daintily into the crook of her elbow. “But really, it’s just a minor cold. You didn’t have to...” Riza trailed off as another shudder assaulted her.
Roy pursed his lips, somewhat bemused by her insistence (and poor attempts at deceit). He cleared his throat and straightened, imitating the tone that his indomitable sisters used whenever he was trying to wriggle his way out of drinking some weird, medicinal concoction. “It clearly doesn’t sound like a minor cold. You should rest before it gets worse.”
“But...”
“No buts, Miss Riza.”
Roy set the tray down on her bedside table, then strode back to where she was. Gingerly, Roy put a hand on her shoulder. When she didn’t flinch from the contact, he gently guided her back towards her bed. Riza didn’t protest. Instead, she was quick to settle back down, clutching onto her blankets for dear life — as if the short walk to her door had sapped her of all her energy.
“Just rest, okay? I’ll take care of everything else.”
Evidently too weak to argue further, Riza nodded and coughed into a fist. “I’m really sorry for the trouble —“
“You have nothing to apologise for,” he nearly exclaimed, a little frustrated by her self-deprecating logic. In what universe was it someone’s fault for falling sick — something that was not even within one’s realm of control? “Just let me know if you need anything, okay? A doctor, medicine, whatever. It’s what friends do for each other.”
“Friends...” she mumbled, eyes averted — in embarrassment? He couldn’t tell. Despite the remarkable progression in their relationship, Riza Hawkeye was still very much an enigma.
“Friends,” Roy affirmed, fluffing the coverlet a little before leaving hastily, his own heart pounding in his throat.
~x~
Roy spent the rest of the day dusting the window panes, sweeping the carpeted floors and drying the laundry in between studying for his upcoming test. More than once he’d spotted Riza coming down the stairs, meandering around the hallways aimlessly like she was inspecting for non-existent dust under the guise that she was just about to pour herself another glass of water.
Roy was quick to see through her excuses, however, and had ushered her back into her room with a full jug of water instead. Every hour or so, he’d go up to check on Riza, a warm cup of freshly-made ginger tea in his hands (a remedy that his aunt swore by, despite its repulsive taste) and constant reassurances that he was doing just fine with the chores.
When evening-time came around, Riza appeared in the kitchen, eyes bleary and nose pink. Roy withheld the urge to roll his eyes.
How stubborn could one person get? And was there — no, would there ever be a point where she’d come to spare a thought for herself? To put herself ahead of others?
Probably not, he thought wryly.
“I’m a lot better, really,” she sniffed, huddling an old, tattered shawl around her for warmth. (Roy made a mental note to get a new cardigan for her — one that was thicker; more suited for unfortunate days like these. Maybe a pink, fluffy one that matched her secret femininity.) “I should start making dinner.”
Right. He’d completely forgotten about that.
“I can take care of that,” he said. Riza quirked a brow at him, unconvinced. Roy shoved his wounded ego back down his throat and tried again. “Really. I’ll just make up a simple stew for us.”
What could possibly be so hard about throwing a few ingredients into boiling water, right? He’d just have to wait for the ingredients to work their magic. And if they didn’t, then he’d have to trust in the mythical powers of sesame oil and salt to save the day. Or so he’d gleaned from his sisters’ numerous mishaps in the kitchen and Riza’s incredible cooking.
“... Please don’t trouble yourself, Mister Mustang.”
“Nonsense. You’re always troubling yourself for my — for our sakes,” he insisted, guiding her towards the living room. Riza opened her mouth like she was about to protest. And Roy scrambled for a better argument. Something that might work on her desire to avoid causing trouble to others at all costs, perhaps? “Think of it this way. You’ll be - um, it’ll be worse if you pass out in the middle of the kitchen while cooking.”  
After a long, contemplative moment, Riza relented and stepped back hesitantly. “Try not to burn anything down.”
This was a remarkable challenge, but Roy Mustang was not one to back down from challenges. Instead he nodded, solemn. “I won’t.”
Riza nodded, settling herself on the old rocking chair by the fireplace for warmth. The evening was remarkably chilly tonight, however, and so Roy tucked his coat securely around her, ever thankful that his reclusive hermit of a teacher did not choose to grace them with his presence at that moment.
Then he scurried back into the kitchen like a mouse and began rifling through the lower compartments of the fridge.
To his dismay, Roy found the following items: corn, cabbage, and carrots. Naturally he despised them all, since they belonged to that vile, disgusting category of food known as vegetables.  
But carrots. God, carrots were the worst of them all. Those malicious sticks of bright orange clearly hated him with a deep-seeded passion, and so did he. Things never turned out well whenever he was forced to work with them in the kitchen.
Unless one considered multiple cuts and band-aids ‘well’.
Still, he was determined to make Riza a decent, hearty meal tonight. (Or maybe not ‘hearty’ -- that implied that he was a good cook, which was a little ambitious. More like edible, perhaps.)
Inhaling deeply, Roy rolled up his sleeves and set about to work once he found Riza’s little recipe book. But determination soon melted into frustration after he’d chopped up cobs of corn and sliced potatoes and had to face his greatest adversary in the world: carrots.
And after a lot of groaning and grunting and wheezing, Roy somehow ended up peeling more of his own skin than the carrot’s; a feat he hadn’t even thought possible until now.
… Like he said, they really hated him.
“Damn it,” Roy cursed softly under his breath, not wanting to wake the sleeping blonde. He quickly rinsed them under running water, then rummaged through the cabinets for a box of band-aids.
Torn between mild amusement and self-pity, Roy stuck them over the numerous cuts decorating his poor fingers and sighed.
Well.
Nothing like a few lacerations to prove his gallantry, right?
Still, Riza’s fitful, shuddering frame was all the motivation he needed to conquer the menacing abomination. At least most of them were chopped up by now, even if they looked nothing like the neat wedges that Riza usually managed to cut them into.
But it was all the same in one’s stomach, he reasoned.
Mindful to not set the kitchen ablaze, Roy got back to work and began dumping everything into the pot.
~x~
By some miraculous stroke of luck, the kitchen was still intact about an hour later. Roy popped back into the living room with a wooden tray holding two bowls of vegetable soup, billowing clouds of steam curling around his face.
“Hey,” he called gently. Riza cracked an eyelid open, still semi-conscious. “I made us some soup for dinner. Think you can get up for some?”
“I - oh,” Riza mumbled. Her face fell slightly as she adjusted herself on the seat.
Roy got the nagging feeling that she was about to apologise once more for not helping.
“I mean, it’s not the best, but it tasted… edible,” he cajoled. Barely edible, actually. It’d tasted bland, sort of watery; but Roy had been too afraid to add in more salt or seasoning for fear of screwing the whole thing up entirely.
One could only hope that the cold had muffled her taste buds.
“Thank you,” she said softly. They ate together in companionable silence; metal clinking gently against ceramic as the fire crackled.
Roy resisted the urge to scrunch his face up at the blandness of it all.
Riza, on the other hand, did not appear to have any qualms about the simple fare; she made no comment on his ostensible lack of talent in the kitchen. Instead she flashed him a small, grateful smile that warmed his heart immensely.
“How are you feeling?”
“A little better, I think.” Almost inaudibly, Riza added, “Thank you. For all of this, I mean. I really appreciate it.”
Roy beamed. “It’s no problem. Like I said, you’re always doing so much for our benefit. It’s the least I can do.”
Roy got up to clear the dishes before she could, once they were done with dinner. By this point, however, Riza was clearly too tired to argue. She waited by the fireplace as he rinsed the bowls; a shivering cocoon of blankets and soft sneezes.
And like a panicked mother hen, Roy started fussing. Without warning he helped Riza up, bringing her close so that she could lean on him for support. She was dangerously warm to the touch, he realised. It seemed her fever hadn’t broken yet, and he could feel the goosebumps trailing up her skin as they walked.
“Mister Mustang,” she called feebly, flushing scarlet.
“Hm?” he asked, oblivious to the heat crawling up his own neck.
Gently, he led Riza up the stairs and guided Riza back into her room.
“Are you sure you’re alright? I can go get a doctor or something, if you need…”
It’d be hard to get one at this hour, especially out in the isolated countryside, but the boy was willing to do anything to help his friend feel better.
“N-no. I’ll be better once I get some rest, really,” she said, almost pleadingly as she nestled underneath the inviting coverlets.
Catching sight of her wide and frightened eyes, Roy instantly swallowed his earlier words. “A-alright,” he said worriedly, caught in a bit of a dilemma himself. “I’ll stay with you, then. Just rest, okay?”
Feverish and utterly enervated, Riza offered him a tiny, hesitant nod and drifted back to sleep.
~x~
For the rest of the night, Roy stayed by Riza’s side like he was holding some sort of sad, long vigil, changing the damp towel on her forehead every hour or so. But her fever did not subside. If anything, it only got worse. Delirium was starting to kick in. At some point she’d started muttering imploringly for her — mother?
Roy’s heart shattered.
How many ill, lonely nights had she endured aloneafter her mother’s passing, all because she wanted to avoid inconveniencing her negligent father? Riza was strong, yes, maybe even almost to the point of being invincible. But she was still very much a child. She was only thirteen, for heavens’ sake! Yet the girl always carried herself with an independence and maturity that far exceeded their peers’ — the sort that could only have been derived from hardship and misfortune. And Roy found himself feeling something akin to guilt and sympathy and admiration, for a girl who’d been forced to grow up far too soon because of her predicament.
Overcome by some profound, unknown emotion, Roy leaned forward and brushed her damp, matted fringe aside to press a chaste kiss on her forehead.
“Get well soon,” he murmured.
Riza fidgeted slightly. For a moment, Roy thought she was about to regain consciousness. And all of a sudden he became acutely aware of what he had done: he’d trespassed some unspoken boundary and kissedher.
Roy recoiled sharply like he’d been struck. He leaned back into his seat, running a hand over his scruffy hair and crossed his arms decisively over his chest; an exercise of self-restraint. What was he doing, anyway? Taking advantage of his friend in her sleep? 
God forbid he do so! Roy had grown up learning that women were to be treated with utmost respect. The importance of chivalry had been indoctrinated in him from the time he’d learnt how to walk, and he was not about to engage in any sort of funny business. Nope. Definitely not.
(He would be lying, however, if he said Riza wasn’t adorable while she was asleep like that.)
Fortunately for him, Riza was sound asleep. She was still shivering, though, so Roy drew the blankets up and readjusted the towel on her forehead. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she rolled over on her side.
Content that he was able to bring his friend some comfort, Roy lolled back into the seat to take a short nap, not seeming to mind in the least the inevitable stiff neck that awaited him.
Beside him, Riza let out a small smile as she tugged his coat closer around herself.
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fieryanmitsu · 4 years ago
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An Innocent Interruption | A3! (Itaru/Izumi) | 18+, NSFW
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I HAVE A MILLION OTHER THINGS I SHOULD BE WRITING, BUT I DID THIS INSTEAD.  🤣 This is directly inspired by this post and this post from the hilarious @mankai-onlyfans account and is my take on the hints being dropped by those posts, haha. There’s also an interrogation a continuation of these two posts on the 18+ @mankai-afterhours​ account if you’re curious how the rest of the shenanigans went, haha!
Thanks again for letting me write this @mankai-onlyfans and for putting this genius idea into my head! 😂
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AN INNOCENT INTERRUPTION
CHARACTERS: Itaru, Izumi, Muku (don’t worry, the NSFW parts don’t involve him at all)
PAIRINGS: Itaru/Izumi
Masterpost for my other fanfiction: here
AO3: Link in my Blog Menu
CONTENT WARNING: 18+ rating, NSFW, contains smut/explicit sexual descriptions and situations
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Izumi buried her face into her arms, letting out another gasp as she felt Itaru’s fingers pull out of her slowly before sinking back in.
“So naughty, Izumi. You’re sucking up three fingers like it’s nothing,” Itaru chuckled from his position kneeling behind her.
Normally, words like that would make her embarrassed, but, right at that moment, Izumi didn’t care – she was much too focused on how amazing his fingers felt. She moaned again, fists gripping the bedsheets underneath her, as she pushed her hips towards Itaru, desperate to feel more of him inside her as he started to withdraw again.
“You’re seriously dripping wet,” Itaru remarked, pulling his fingers out after a few more long thrusts.
Izumi couldn’t see him from her position, but she could hear the salaryman licking his fingers with noises of appreciation.
“I-Itaru,” she gasped, distressingly aware of his absence. “D-Don’t stop.”
“Don’t stop what?”
“You know what!” the brunette snapped, twisting around to pout at him over her shoulder. “P-Put it back in.”
“My fingers, you mean?” he drawled, a fingertip circling the opening of her pussy lightly before letting the very tip of it press inside. “Or do you want something bigger?”
Izumi let out a breath and moved herself backwards again, sighing with satisfaction as she felt him sink inside her.
“S-Something bigger,” she replied, still pumping herself against his finger. “Please, I need it so badly.”
“Well, you know I can never say ‘no’ to you,” Itaru responded with a breathy chuckle. “Hold on.”
Izumi felt him shift behind her and then heard the tell-tale sound of a condom wrapper ripping and the pop of a bottle lid. A moment later, she felt his hands on her waist.
“Lean forward a bit more,” Itaru instructed.
The young woman shifted on her bed, positioning her pillow under her chest to make herself more comfortable, and canted her upper body forward. Then, she drew her legs closer to her chest and spread her knees open wide, lifting her butt as high as she could.
Izumi held her breath in anticipation. Then, a moment later, she felt the tip of Itaru’s cock press against her, sliding against her wet lips a few times before he finally pressed firmly against her opening. She couldn’t help letting out a moan – louder than she’d intended – as he slowly and steadily pushed himself into her.
“Fuck,” Itaru swore quietly, his swear devolving into a groan as he fully sheathed himself in her.
Izumi gasped and groaned with each of Itaru’s thrusts, forgetting entirely that she should keep her voice down. Behind her, Itaru panted as he pumped into her, his fingers gripping her hips tightly. Her mattress creaked beneath them as she began to meet his thrusts with her own movements. She could feel tension building up in the pit of her stomach and—
KNOCK! KNOCK!
They froze. Had they imagined it? It was well past one o’clock in the morning - everyone should be asleep, or at least in their rooms.
“D-Director? Your lights are on – are you awake?” came a muffled voice from the other side of the door.
They had left one of her lamps on and she saw that the light reached the doorframe.
“It-It’s Muku!” Izumi whispered, her heart rate quickening as she recognized the middle schooler’s voice.
“Pretend you’re asleep,” Itaru whispered back.
“B-But, what if something’s wrong – why would he be here in the middle of the night?”
“D-Director?” Muku’s voice came again.
As Izumi’s mind raced with how she should respond, she felt Itaru shift behind her and then felt him thrust his cock into her again. Deep.
“FUCK!” she swore out loud as she simultaneously managed to slam down a moan.
“I-Izumi?! Are you okay?!” Muku cried in alarm from the other side of the door.
“I-I’m fine! I-I just stubbed my toe! G-Give me a minute!” she blurted out.
Izumi immediately whipped herself around to glare at the man behind her.
“You idiot!! What are you doing?!” she hissed, not amused by his silent snickering.
“Sorry,” he mouthed back, not looking apologetic at all.
Izumi rolled her eyes and huffed in exasperation before she crawled off of her bed and rummaged through their pile of discarded clothes on the floor.
“Did you see my panties?” she asked quietly, fumbling her pajama top on.
“No idea,” Itaru responded, reclining back onto her bed. She didn’t have to look at him to know he was staring at her ass.
With a sigh, she pulled her pajama pants on without bothering with her underwear – she needed to answer the door before Muku got even more suspicious. She then picked up her blanket, which had half fallen off the bed and threw it over Itaru.
“And stay hidden! Don’t you dare let Muku see you!” she threatened quietly.
“Yes, dear,” he responded, shooting her a cheeky smile before pulling the blanket over his head.
Then, she swiped her phone off her desk, tossing it into her pocket, and turned off the lamp – just for good measure – before she carefully opened her door.
“S-Sorry about that Muku. I… I was just, er, doing some exercises so couldn’t answer right away,” Izumi said with a chuckle as she surreptitiously stepped into the hallway and casually closed the door behind her.
“Ahhh – I’m sorry for interrupting you! So that’s why your face is so red – I was worried for a second that maybe you were sick, too,” Muku responded, clutching a hand to his chest in relief.
“N-Nope! I’m totally okay!” she practically squeaked in response. “Wait, hold on. Too? Is someone sick?”
“Uhh, well, it’s me,” the pink-haired boy stammered. “M-My stomach isn’t feeling good and I kinda threw up earlier and I still feel really nauseous…”
“You’re feeling sick?” Izumi asked, her voice softening with concern. “Did you take your temperature yet? What about medicine?”
“I-I wanted to get some medicine, but I couldn’t find the right one… I-I was going to try waking up Kazu to help me, but then I saw your light was on, so I thought I’d ask you first.”
“Okay, c’mon, let’s go down to the kitchen. I’ll take your temperature and go find the medicine for you – we just stocked up, so it should be there somewhere.”
“Th-Thanks, Izumi,” Muku replied with a wobbly smile. “Sorry I startled you earlier and made you stub your toe.”
“D-Don’t worry about that! It wasn’t your fault, at all,” Izumi responded with a forced smile, gently ruffling Muku’s hair. She was going to have words with Itaru later.
While Muku took his medication – the poor boy was running a slight fever, as well – the young woman began boiling some water to make him ginger tea. As she tossed the slices of ginger into the roiling pot, she felt her phone buzz in her pocket. Taking it out, she saw that she had received a message from Itaru.
‘Oops. Found your panties. I was sitting on them.’
As if for good measure, he had attached a photo of said panties.
She felt her eyebrow twitch.
Oh, Itaru was really going to get it once she got back to her room.
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I HAVE NOTHING TO SAY FOR MYSELF, HAHAHA. 😂 
 I hope you all enjoyed this silly little piece. Feel free to leave a comment and any reblogs are always appreciated!!
-Anmitsu
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the-crows-typist · 4 years ago
Note
I'm very very sorry for my neglect of the rules last time. I hope I do it right now. May I please request a ficlet with Cater and a fem! Reader with the word 'Haircut' Thank you very much in advance 💞💞💞
I enjoyed writing this story so much that I have decided to make a two-parter for this request. With the consent of the requester, of course! Part 2 will be ready soon!
CW: Emotional abuse and Manipulation, a trait to expect from Mother Gothel.
The Possibilities are Endless
“Hold on tight, we’re going for a ride!”
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Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine, make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine…
Cater knew the words of the incantation all by heart at this point, he closes his eyes and lets his mind wander as she continues to sing and absentmindedly hum the tune. Her mother, the old lady, the benefactor, the parasite hummed in delight as the power of the healing song coursed through her as she held the long flowing and glowing hair against her wrinkling skin, revitalizing it and reversing time.
Heal what has been hurt, change the Fates’ design, save what has been lost, bring back what once was mine…
Cater hated her, she was a parasite seeping them both of their future, their freedom. His frown was deep as he waited, waited for the moment he needed to change to a face that would appease Lady Gother and shield the flower and himself from her wrath.
What once was mine.
He needed to put on his mask.
“Very good, my flower.” Mother Gothel smiled, kissing her on the top of her head where her hair met her skin. “It seems that this session has taken more than I thought out of you but…You know what happens when you make mother gets angry, correct?” She nodded her head, lips quivering and almost to the point of tears. Gothel clicked her tongue, holding onto the younger lady’s chin “Come now, don’t cry. You know you’re too old for that. You’re not a little girl anymore.” Cater gripped the side of his pants hearing the singer, his precious friend, whimpering under Gothel’s scrutiny. “Do well to take care of those locks of yours. Mother wouldn’t want her flower to become a waste now, would we?” Cater’s skin prickled at her light laugh as she exited the room and leaving an exhausted singer writhing on the floor.
“See to it that she is well rested before you leave for your supply run.” Gothel glanced over to Cater whose smile was ready and warm, one that she expected to see on him always “You got it,” A vibrant voice from his laps and the clap of his hands. “I’ll make sure to buy lots of veggies for her to eat when I get back.”
“Good.”
She nodded, aura now very different from when she was with the singer. It was cold, haughty, narcissistic, vain. “And no pit stops this time. No gifts. No trinkets. No nothing, understand me?” Her voice was poison to him, like acid eating away at his skin, he hated every second she was near him. “Yes, I understand.”
“Well, as if a lowly thief like yourself would keep his hands to himself, just don’t bring any trouble to the tower or I will know.” She sauntered off, going to the room deep into the tower and into the darkness of an exit only accessible to her. Cater couldn’t use it, sadly, but he had other ways to do so.
“Enjoy the night, Miss Gothel, and good evening.” Cater bowed his head and only lifted it when he heard the door close. His ears, those talented ears of his, picked up the sounds of a lock. A smirk graced his lips, all he needed was a key.
He could make a few arrangements on that.
“Parasite.” Cater whispered the coast was clear and he bolted for her room, pulling her close at the point she burst into tears in his chest and her voice worn from the grueling hours of singing. “She made me sing…” She whispered into her chest. “She made me sing for so long, she got angry at me…My throat hurts, Cater.”
“Hush now, you don’t need to say anything.” His nose pressed to her forehead as he rocked her back and forth. “She’s gone, you’re safe now.” He gently rocked as she singer sobbed into his chest. “She won’t come back. She won’t come back anymore, okay?”
“I’ll go get us some tea, ginger and honey should do the trick.” He pulled away, smiling down at her. His hands coming up to wipe the tears that slid down her face.
“Mm-hmm.”
She sat in the kitchen as Cater got to work, letting the ginger and lemon boil in a pot of water. “I’ll be going to the market soon to get some supplies; you want me to buy you another sketch book? Maybe some new paintbrushes??” He poured the tea into a clay cup and sliding it over to her. “Oh, maybe I should get you something sweet to eat. You liked those honey glazed buns I got for you, right?”
She held onto the cup, letting the steam touch her lips. “I want to go with you.” She said, looking up at him longingly. I don’t want to stay here anymore.” She sets the cup down harshly, spilling the hot tea against her fingers and harming her hands. Cater puts a rag over it quickly, wiping the liquid from her skin. “Be careful, you’ll—“
“I don’t want to sing for her anymore, Cater. I want to leave.” She gripped his hands, squeezing tight. “Please take me with you. I don’t want to be here anymore.”
A hurt expression crossed his face and he looked down. “Flower…I—”
“Anywhere is better than here.” You reasoned. “Please Cater, I don’t want to live like this anymore.”
He bit his lip and closed his eyes, pushing his forehead to here. A small smile graced his otherwise worried expression, this was an order he was happy to comply with.
Anything for her. “Take what you want to take with you. We leave at midnight.”
A clip of a bent needle, a professional kit or a piece of wire, Cater knew how to pry the locks open and he knew how to do it well. Once the lock on the special door was opened, he smiled triumphantly as his flower peaked over to see his handiwork. “I didn’t know mother would pass through here after she’s done. I’ve gotten used to pulling her from the window…”
“You know how secretive the old lady gets. Do you have everything you need? We aren’t coming back here.” She nods her head, holding up her satchel full of things. “I’m ready.” They linked hands and walked down the spiraling staircase to freedom. The singer could not help but hold her chest, palm feeling the quickening beat of her heart.
“Cater?”
“Yes?” His steps slowed to a halt as he looked up at her, his smile was kind under the veil and hat he chose to hide himself with.
“What about my hair?”
He pulls up the bag of ribbons from his side. “Already have it covered.”
The trip down was long and a rush of wind greeted both of them, brushing against Cater’s veil and your long locks of hair. The evening was quiet and the moon high, the creatures of the night soft and mumbling. Once her feet touched the ground, a gas left her lips in surprise. Cater quickly leaned forward, catching her in his arms. The grass was ticklish; the smell of dirt strong, the moon was so much bigger than she realized.
“Take it easy, let yourself adjust.” He knelt down, letting her feel the grass with her fingers and took out the bag of ribbons. “Let’s fix your hair.”
When the he last ribbon was tied, her long hair was in a long braid that reached her ankles and decorated with different colored ribbons; at that moment Cater knew that all those time with his sisters did help after all. He pulled away to adjust his hat, letting the veil fall over his face. The red centerpiece on his chest shined ever so slightly against the moonlight. “There we go.” Holding onto the cloak, the flower looked up at the tower once called home.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes.” The two joined hands and she walked away from the prison that was once her world.
The forest was vast, the trees so high and the silence of the night very loud. “What is the world like, Cater? Is it colorful??” She asked, jumping over fallen logs and walk on damp soil. “It’s very noisy but…Once you get there, you’ll feel as if you just belong no matter how different you are.” a small clearing was shown to them, a small road of sorts. “What about the ruffians and thugs, o-or the poison ivy and quicksand?”
“Those exist, yeah,” He looked around, clearly waiting for something. “But they’re the least of our problems.” The rumbling of a carriage and Cater took a step back. “Because where we’re going? It’s a paradise.” The carriage came through the clearing quickly and Cater hoisted her into his arms, running for the back.
“Cater, what are you doing?!” She held onto him tightly only for him to blow a hush into her ear “Quiet now  flower, be still. This carriage doesn’t stop for a long while.” He quickened his pace to throw her into the back of the carriage, letting her fall into a bundle of soft hay. Cater soon followed after her, parting the hay with a soft chuckle. “How’s that for your first activity outside the tower?”
“You really gotta teach me how to do this!”
“Little steps, flower.” Cater looked on ahead and leaned down. “But for now, let’s keep quiet and get some rest. This is gonna be a long trip.”
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neerasrealm · 4 years ago
Text
Jason doesn’t like children
A story in which Jason has to deal with some children in his workshop. Word Count: 1810
Jason did not like children. He swore up and down that he despised them. Babies were disgusting and irritating, small children were annoying, and teenagers? Teenagers were the most terrifying creatures to walk the earth. 
It was ironic, being a toymaker. And especially ironic considering he was fixing up a stuffed toy tarantula for a fourteen year old boy. The toy was well made, as it should have been. Jason made it for the boy when he was only about eight years old. He finished sewing up the small hole and pushed his chair back, turning to the young boy sitting against one of his other worktables. He had golden hair cut in a short bob and wore baggy yoga pants and an oversized sweater. He stood up excitedly and reached out. Jason handed him the stuffed toy.
"There you are," he said softly. "All fixed up." He sat back in his chair, watching the boy hug the plush tight. 
"Thank you Jason." He murmured. "I'm sorry again for letting him get hurt…"
Jason smiled, just a tad. "it's alright, you're a responsible boy. It was an accident." He turned back around to the table he was working at. He put away his sewing supplies and glanced over his shoulder at Charlie, who stared back at him with big blue eyes. ‘’Mr Glutton is in his bed, if you’d like to go play with him.’’ he said, turning back to his desk. Charlie nodded and smiled wide. He quickly wandered away from the toymaker’s workstation and over to the large pillow fort. Jason sighed gently and grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil. Just as he had begun to sketch he heard a knock on the door. Two knocks, then three more in quick succession. He knew immediately who it was.
‘’Come in, girls.’’ he called. The door opened behind him, then he heard it close. He hummed quietly in greeting. ‘’Couldn’t sleep again, Zari?’’ 
The smaller of the two girls standing by his door nodded. Lazari had long red hair, curved red horns that stuck up from her head and red eyes. Despite her demonic appearance, she wore cherry pink pyjamas, patterned with white stars. Her older sister Eloise stood beside her, wearing her own striped pyjamas. Eloise was a good deal taller than her, and chubby. Her brown hair was cut in a short bob, and like her sister she had red eyes and curved black horns. However, Eloise was paler and had seven mouths on her face alone. One large, regular one, and three smaller ones on either side of her cheeks. Lazari hugged her older sister’s arm and nodded.
‘’Yeah…’’ she murmured. ‘’Is Mr G here?’’
‘’Charlie is playing with him.’’ Jason nodded over at the boy, who waved at the two girls in greeting. Lazari smiled wide and let go of her sister and ran across the room to go bother Jason’s pet snake. Eloise smiled softly and wandered over to where Jason sat.
‘’Sorry for bothering you, Jason.’’ she murmured. Jason waved her off.
‘’It’s fine, girls.’’ he murmured. ‘’I know Zari has trouble sleeping. If being in here helps her relax then that’s fine by me.’’ Eloise nodded beside him and folded her hands in front of her. She was a prim and proper kind of girl. She was raised with good manners, and Jason appreciated that. ‘’How is your embroidery going, Eloise?’’
‘’Oh! It’s good.’’ she smiled a bit. ‘’I’m getting really good at it I think. I kinda wanna try making a quilt but I’m not sure how I’d do it…’’ 
‘’Quilts are hard work. You’d need to buy a lot of fabric, not to mention all the sewing…’’ Jason murmured. ‘’You could borrow my sewing machine for it though. It’d speed things up a bit.’’
‘’Heh...maybe I’ll just stick with making the hoops…’’ Eloise laughed sheepishly and shifted on her feet. Jason smiled a bit in amusement. 
‘’I’ll help you make it. It can be a project for the two of us,’’ Jason said. ‘’It could be a christmas gift for your father. That would be fun, wouldn’t it?’’
Eloise broke out into a smile. ‘’Oh! I didn’t even think of that!’’ she held her hands up excitedly. ‘’Papa loves comfy things, right? It’d fit perfect in his lounge!’’ 
Jason laughed gently and nodded. ‘’Yes, he would.’’ he looked up from his sketch and over at Lazari and Charlie. Mr Glutton had curled himself entirely around Lazari, and seemed to be set on constricting Charlie too. Jason smiled a bit as he watched the two children giggle and fall under the stuffed snake’s weight. He glanced over at Eloise. ‘’Are you hungry?’’ he asked. ‘’I can make you some crumpets with jam if you’d like.’’ 
Eloise smiled. ‘’That’d be lovely.’’ she nodded politely as she spoke. Jason stood up and rubbed at his neck, rolling his shoulders with a groan. ‘’Are you alright?’’ the girl asked. Jason nodded.
‘’Just tired,’’ he murmured. He pat her head as he strode past her. ‘’I’ll be fine.’’
‘’You should get papa to give you a massage.’’ Eloise said. ‘’I’m sure he’ll have the time for it.’’
Jason nodded half-heartedly. He didn’t exactly like to bother Zalgo. He was a busy man. So busy sometimes he didn’t even have time for his two daughters…
‘’Zari! Stop sticking your hands in his mouth!’’ Eloise bolted across the room to stop her sister from getting her hand bitten off by Jason’s stuffed snake. Jason listened to the two girls yelling combined with distressed wails from Charlie. Eloise would keep them out of trouble, he was sure. She was a responsible and polite girl, and she made her father proud. Very proud. Jason felt proud of her too in some...odd way. She was strong, independent and looked after her sister well. 
‘’Lazari, Charlie,’’ he called as he opened the fridge and grabbed the package of microwaveable crumpets. ‘’Are you two hungry?’’ 
‘’Starving!’’ Lazari called back excitedly as Eloise pulled Mr Glutton off of her. She calmly pet the snake, cooing at it lovingly. 
‘’What’re you making?’’ Charlie asked.
‘’Crumpets. I have biscuits too, and teacakes.’’
‘’Can I have a teacake?! And some cookies?!’’ Lazari asked excitedly. Jason sighed gently.
‘’One teacake, Lazari. Your father will kill me if I give you sweets at this time of night.’’ he replied sternly. Lazari whined in disappointment but a stern look from Jason made her go quiet. He sighed tiredly and put the crumpets in his toaster. "Anybody want tea while I'm at it?" He called.
"Yes please." The three of them chorused. Jason nodded, pulling out mugs and examining the large selection of flavored teas he kept. He decided he'd make Lazari some golden milk tea, to make her sleep, ginger and lemon for Charlie, and mixed berries for himself and Eloise. He flipped the kettle on and leaned against the kitchen counter, watching the children again. Eloise sat herself down calmly and Lazari leaned against her. Mr Glutton wrapped himself around the girls, letting out a happy hiss as he did so. He could hear Charlie quietly mumbling to them about something or other. Probably insects. 
The toaster popped and he grabbed the crumpets, putting two each on a plate and putting two more in for Charlie. While they cooked he poured boiling water into each mug and grabbed a teacake for Lazari, and then one for himself because he deserved it. Once the last two crumpets were done he spread jam on Eloise's, butter on Charlie's and both on Lazari's. With a tired, but satisfied sigh, Jason took up his tea and walked off towards the small couch he had by his kitchen area. 
"Your tea is ready." He called as he walked off. He sat himself down on the couch and took a long sip of his tea. The flavor was tangy and sweet, but the scent and warmth was calming. He heard the children grabbing their plates and, to his surprise, footsteps coming closer to him.
Lazari flopped herself down on the seat next to him and Eloise curled herself up on the arm of the couch. Charlie shyly climbed onto the seat on Jason's other side, curling up in the corner to put distance between himself and the tired toymaker. Jason looked at the three of them for a long moment, then just calmly went back to sipping his tea. The children were quiet, and ate calmly. Save for Lazari. Jason had given up on trying to teach the redheaded girl manners. 
Once Lazari had finished scarfing down her crumpets and teacake she scooted closer to the toymaker, laying against him. Jason looked down, watching her get comfy next to him. He sighed gently and draped an arm over her. She yawned and rested her head against his chest. Her yawning made Jason yawn back. She looked up at him and giggled. Jason smiled, just a tad.
‘’Did you have a long day, girls?’’ he asked quietly as the four of them sat there, just together, enjoying the quietness of each other’s company. Eloise nodded.
‘’We spent the day with Nat and Jane.’’
‘’Oh you poor things.’’ Jason murmured. The two girls laughed loudly. He smiled a bit to himself. Charlie giggled. "What were you doing together?"
"Sparring." Lazari replied below him. "Then we went out for ice cream and crepes. It was fun."
"You mean crêpes."
"Yeah, that's what I said." She looked up at the toymaker innocently. He smiled a bit in amusement. She'd pronounce it right- one day. For now though, her focus was on sleeping. She finished the last of her tea and set her mug on the coffee table, then rolled over and draped an arm over Jason, nuzzling her face up against him. He tensed up for a few moments and relaxed when she went still. He looked down at her and sighed quietly. 
"You tired, Zari?" 
"Mhm…"
"Yeah...me too." he set his own mug down carefully, being wary of shifting Lazari too much, then leaned back and looked at Eloise. He nodded for her to come closer and she did so, hugging her sister and Jason gently. He glanced over at Charlie. "Come on, you might as well get comfy too." He murmured. The boy broke into a smile and crawled over, resting against Jason's side and hugging him just like Lazari was. Jason wrapped his arms around the three children and sighed tiredly.
"Sleep well, JJ…" Lazari murmured below him. He looked at her for a long moment, then smiled. Just a tad.
"You too, Zari." He murmured as he settled down and closed his eyes. Jason did not like children, not a bit, but the three children curled up against him? ...They weren't so bad. He could stand them. Just about.
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jaskierswolf · 4 years ago
Text
You Set My Heart Ablaze pt. 9/25
Previous
The winter holidays were a chaotic affair for the wolf pack. Since their own families were a mess it had become tradition to come together as a team and spend the Solstice as one big found family. This year was extra special because it was Ciri’s first winter with them and her first without her own family. This year was Lambert’s turn to host and he was going to make damned sure it was the best Solstice that the team had ever had.
The only problem was his cooking skills.
Cooking had never been his strong point.
When he’d lived with his brother, Eskel had done most of the cooking in the house and had developed quite a passion for it. So Lambert, like any good younger sibling, had quite happily taken advantage of every second of it. Of course, once living together had reached boiling point and they’d decided it was best for everyone to move apart, Lambert’s quality of diet had dropped considerably. He now lived on ready meals and takeaways most of the time, unless Eskel took pity on him, which happened on a fairly regular basis.
He stared at the cook book in front of him. The woman on front was smiling brightly in a sunlit kitchen and holding a ridiculously picturesque pie.
“Fuck it.” Lambert growled as he flipped through the pages to the right section.
He’d brought all the right ingredients and he’d carefully written down all the timings for everything, just like he’d seen Eskel do in the past. He read through the recipe for the roast lamb a couple more times before tying an apron round his waist and pulling his hair back into a bun.
“Cooking. I can do this. Easy as pie!” He grumbled as he pulled the ingredients from the fridge.
Today was all about prep, chopping veg and potatoes ready for cooking tomorrow, baking cookies for snacks during the day. He was also making an onion soup to start with that could be reheated tomorrow. He grabbed his peeler and stared down at the sack of potatoes.
There were so many fucking potatoes.
He was going to be here all day.
He should probably ask for help. Eskel always called him and Renfri round to help chop shit up.
“Fuck off, I don’t need help.” He grumbled and got to work with the potatoes.
He was about three potatoes in when he decided he was going to die of boredom. He washed the starch off his hands and put on some music. The sound of acoustic guitar filled the kitchen. It was some unknown folk band that he’d discovered online by chance, called Dandelion and the Bards. The two lead singers Dandelion and Priscilla harmonised so perfectly that it was like they’d almost been born to sing together.
He spent the next hour or so dancing around his kitchen with the potato peeler and singing along to the songs. The music was so loud he almost didn’t hear the doorbell. He paused, turned the music off and dumped the potato in the bucket of water.
The doorbell went off another three times in quick succession.
Eskel.
“I’m coming you ass!” He called out as the doorbell continued to ring.
He swung the door open with more force than necessary and glared at his brother who was grinning back at him. Geralt was stood behind him with Ciri perched on his shoulders. Geralt raised an eyebrow at his appearance and Lambert looked down at his starch covered apron. He huffed but didn’t say anything, for Ciri’s sake.
“Ah Ciri! Hello little lion cub!” He waved the peeler at the young girl and then paused. “Wait. What day is it?”
“Don’t panic, you big lump. We’re here to help.” Eskel pulled him into a hug and thumped him on the back.
“Oh. Yeah. Well I have it all under control.” He growled.
“Nice singing.” Geralt said with a smirk.
He felt his cheeks heat up, damned ginger complexion. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“Sooo… what’s the plan of attack?” Eskel asked as he pushed through into the house. “Apart from putting the heating on. It’s freezing in here!”
Lambert shrugged. “Kitchen’s hot.”
The four of them made their back into the kitchen. Eskel pulled out a bundle of aprons from his rucksack and a cloth carrier that contained his set of actually sharp knives. It took about three minutes to delegate the tasks between the four of them. Eskel was in charge of marinading the lamb and making sure it was properly trimmed and ready to go in the oven. Lambert was to finish the potatoes and start on the veg. Geralt and Ciri would be on cookies. It was a tad cramped in his kitchen with all four of them working together and they almost crashed into each other at every turn but they were laughing and chatting away.
It was actually sort of fun.
He was starting to understand why Eskel enjoyed cooking so much.
They sorted out a game plan for the next day. Eskel went through his list of times and corrected any mistakes. Honestly, how was he supposed to know you were meant to let the lamb rest out of the oven after cooking. Surely that just made the food go cold. He hated cold food but Eskel insisted it would be ok but they had to make sure the plates were heated. In the morning Ciri and Lambert would make cinnamon buns together for team breakfast, Eskel would be in charge of the savoury snacks and salad, and Geralt would make the mulled wine and hot spiced apple juice for Ciri.
That way Lambert wouldn’t be stuck in the kitchen for the whole day and he’d actually get to spend some time with the wolf pack. He breathed a sigh of relief as he collapsed down onto the sofa with a beer in his hand. Ciri was sat by his feet with a glass of chocolate milk and Geralt and Eskel were lounged out on the arm chairs.
“See that wasn’t so bad.” Eskel grinned.
“I would have been fine.” He growled back.
Geralt raised an eyebrow at him and smirked. “Seemed like you were having a party in there before we arrived.”
He shrugged. “I like to cook to music.”
Eskel almost choked on his beer. “You don’t like to cook.”
He growled. “I do too!”
“You never once cooked!”
“Only because I knew you liked it so much!” He shot back.
“I had fun!” Ciri announced loudly. “Even if Dad did drop flour in my hair.”
“Sorry, Princess.” Geralt grumbled.
“It’s ok! I blame Uncle Lambert! He crashed into you.”
Geralt laughed. “I blame Uncle Lambert too.”
“So what was the music you were listening to, Uncle Lambert?” Ciri asked as she wiped chocolate milk off her nose.
Lambert chuckled as she scrunched her nose up. She still managed to miss a huge smear of chocolate that was on her cheek. He wasn’t even sure how she’d managed to get chocolate that far away from her mouth. Geralt sighed at went to the kitchen to get a damp cloth to help her clean up.
“A band I found on the internet.” Lambert smiled. “You wanna hear some of their stuff?”
Ciri nodded enthusiastically. “Yes please! Dad get off!” She squirmed as Geralt attacked her with the kitchen roll.
“Mucky cub.” He laughed.
“I can do it myself!” She squealed and grabbed for the paper towel. Geralt let her take it and she scrubbed ferociously at her face until she was sure it was all clean. “Good?”
“Perfect.” He ruffled her hair fondly and she grumbled under her breath like an angry kitten.
Lambert went to get his phone so he could put his music back on. The melodic tones of Dandelion’s guitar filled the room. They sat in silence for a few seconds before Eskel chirped up.
“Thought you liked the heavy metal stuff.”
Lambert shrugged. “I’m a man of many tastes.”
“I like it!” Ciri agreed. “Sounds like Mr Jaskier’s playing.”
Eskel and Lambert both rolled their eyes at that. They heard enough about Jaskier from Geralt at work. They had almost forgotten that it was all because Ciri was just as fond of her teacher.
The first song was sung almost entirely by Priscilla. It was a soft heartbreaking number that always left him feeling emotionally strung out. It was only about halfway through that he remembered the cursing and he coughed loudly over the swear words earning a glare from Geralt. Ciri didn’t seem to notice though, thankfully.
The next song began just as quietly on the guitar but this was one of Dandelion’s. The moment he started to sing, Ciri began to scream excitedly and Geralt spat a mouthful of beer out onto the floor.
“Mr Jaskier!!” Ciri shrieked.
“Calm down, Cub.” Geralt spluttered. “I’m sure it just sounds like him.”
Lambert and Eskel exchanged a despairing look.
“No!” Ciri stomped. “It is him!”
Geralt looked at Lambert with a fierce glare. “What the hell, Lambert?”
He put his hands up in defence. “Woah now. I didn’t know anything about Ciri’s teacher.”
“Jaskier isn’t exactly a common name.” Geralt challenged angrily.
“Exactly!” Lambert cried. “It’s not Jaskier!”
“It is!” Ciri demanded with tears welling up in her eyes.
“Well what’s the band called?” Eskel asked as he scooped Ciri up into a hug.
“Dandelion and the Bards!” Lambert exclaimed. “Not Jaskier. The guy singing is Dandelion.”
“No!!” Ciri cried.
“Ciri, Princess.” Geralt said calmly and tried to smooth the young girl’s hair as she squirmed in Eskel’s arms.
“No!!” She repeated.
Lambert sighed and turned the music off. “I’m sorry Ciri. It doesn’t say anything about any Jaskier.”
But it didn’t matter. Ciri was having a meltdown. No matter what they did or said helped her to calm down and in the end Geralt had to bundle the screaming girl into the car with the promise that they would email Mr Jaskier about the band. Eskel left soon afterwards with the excuse that his goat needed feeding and Lambert was left alone once more.
“Ah blessed peace.” He sighed happily as he watched Eskel amble down the road towards his own house.
__________
For the second day in the row, Lambert’s kitchen was covered in flour. Ciri’s hair was now as white as her father’s and her fingers were covered in sticky cinnamon sugar. Lambert’s shirt was covered in tiny floury handprints from where Ciri had hug attacked him, her tantrum from the previous day now a distant memory. He’d reluctantly made sure to uncheck all of Dandelion’s songs from his Solstice playlist. He would miss the calming melodies of his favourite band but it was not worth another screaming match from the youngest wolf cub.
Ciri was dancing happily in the middle of the kitchen. She twirled and leapt about effortlessly with all the energy of a six year old. She was incredibly graceful and Lambert wondered whether Geralt had secretly enrolled her in some sort of dance lessons. That was a thing girls did right? He groaned as he thought about his present for Ciri. He’d probably completely fucked up. He’d bought her a wooden sword and matching bow and arrow set, something he’d always wanted as a kid but never had the good fortune to receive. Ciri would like that right?
He ran a hand through his own hair with a sigh. How the fuck was the White Wolf raising a daughter? It seemed like only yesterday they were all just getting pissed at the pub after every shift. Lambert had to admit. Geralt had guts. He would probably have had a meltdown if the task had been left to him but Geralt seemed to have taken to it pretty well.
“Uncle Lambert!!” Ciri giggled excitably.
“Yeah?” He scowled at her mischievous grin.
“You made your hair all white!” She pointed up at him.
He looked down at his hands in horror and sure enough they were covered in sticky floury dough.
“Fudge.” He caught the swear just in time.
“You look like Dad!” Ciri exclaimed as she spun round in a pirouette.
“So do you!” He shot back.
“Do not!”
“Do too!” He argued and scooped her up into his arms. “And I’m right because I’m the adult!”
“That’s not true!” Ciri countered. “Mr Jaskier says even adults make mistakes!”
“Mr Jaskier hasn’t met me.” He growled.
Ciri laughed. “Yes he has! See you made a mistake!”
“I was testing you.” He grumbled and flushed as he realised the young girl was right. He had met Jaskier at the school back in October.
“Suuure.” Ciri sang. “Now let me down! I want to open my presents!”
Lambert chuckled and dropped the girl gently back on the ground. She sped off out of the kitchen like a blur. It was almost certainly a mistake letting her dip her fingers in the butter and sugar. He grinned. The sugar crash was Geralt’s problem. He was the fun uncle and got to enjoy eating sugar out of the pot. He squatted in front of the oven to check on their creation. The warmth seeped right into his bones and he hummed contentedly. It had been a cold couple of weeks and there was just something unsurpassable about the glow of a warm oven, especially when it contained baked goods. The kitchen was full of the smell of baking and cinnamon, the perfect scent for the winter holidays.
“Wolf!” Vesemir barked from the doorway sternly.
Lambert looked up sharply and almost toppled over from his squat.
“Exactly how much sugar did you give the cub?” Vesemir muttered wearily. “She’s bouncing off the walls.”
Lambert shrugged. “It’s Solstice. Give her a break.”
“Smells good.” Vesemir nodded at the oven with a softening smile. “We’ll make a chef out of you yet.”
Soon enough the oven timer went off and the kitchen was crowded by hungry firefighters. Vesemir ordered them to queue up properly and in no time they were all crammed into the living room. The fireplace was lit and crackling. Ciri stared into the flames, mesmerised by the ever changing patterns of the fire licking up the chimney. Lil’ Bleater was curled up next to her licking at her hands. Geralt had put on a pan of mulled wine and a smaller pan of spiced apples juice for his daughter and the spicy scents had permeated the air. It was warmth and homely. Lambert grinned as he looked around at his family. He’d never felt so at home in his house before.
“Presents!” Ciri demanded as she tore her gaze away from the fireplace. Her face was now covered in icing and crumbs, and her emerald eyes seemed to dance in the light of the fire.
The sound of laughter filled the air. Renfri and Vesemir got to work distributing the presents until everyone had a pile. Naturally the young girl launched towards the biggest present but Geralt had her in his arms before she could tear the brown paper off.
“Dad!” She whined and struggled to get free.
“That one is last.” He ordered. “Promise me?”
She glared furiously at the floor but mumbled an agreement under her breath.
“Good.” He let her go and she picked up the smallest present instead. She looked up at Geralt to make sure it was ok and he nodded with a small smile.
Ciri tore off the wrapping paper to reveal a small jewellery box. She opened it with an adorable confused expression on her face.
“Did you check who it was from?” Vesemir asked.
“Sure.” Ciri growled but Lambert didn’t miss the way she sneaked a glance at the shreds of wrapping paper on her lap that were already being chewed up by Eskel’s demon goat. “Auntie Yen!”
“What is it, Princess?” Geralt asked.
“A necklace, with a bird!” She held the box up to Geralt.
“Looks like a swallow.” Geralt mused.
“That’s what Uncle Vesemir calls me!” Ciri exclaimed happily. “Help me put it on!” She thrust the box into his hands.
Geralt fumbled a bit with the clasp but wouldn’t let Renfri help him and eventually Ciri had a beautiful silver necklace around her neck. The swallow pedant was embedded with what looked like emeralds, and knowing Yennefer, they actually were emeralds.
Most of Lambert’s presents were new pieces of gym kit which suited him just fine. His old boxing gloves had sorely needed replacing so he was very pleased with Renfri’s gift. Although he knew it was probably so they would have an excuse to spar again without him blaming his gloves every time he lost. Vesemir had bought him a new set of guitar strings and a subscription to his favourite boxing magazine, Eskel and Geralt had come together to get him a brand new set of weights, one’s he’d been eyeing up for months but hadn’t been able to justify the costs. Yennefer’s gift was bottle of very expensive vodka that he’d had once in a bar on holiday and had never forgotten. Ciri had bought him a DVD of a film they’d watched together in the summer and a box of his favourite chocolates.
Vesemir had a brand new collection of history and gardening books. He was settled into his arm chair closest to the fireplace with his nose buried in one the books. Next to him was a crystal whiskey glass that Yennefer had bought him. The damned witch seemed to be intent on showing them all up this year with her fancy job and her even fancier salary but who was he to complain?
Eskel had his arms full of new goat supplies from most of team. He turned round to show the little bastard his new stuff when they realised he was missing.
“Where’s Lil’ Bleater?” Eskel frowned as he looked around the room.
Lambert shrugged. The last he’d seen of the goat he’d been munching on brown wrapping paper. Ciri leapt to her feet and started looking for clues to track the goats movements. Something she’d seen on one of her tv shows.
“How about the kitchen?” Geralt suggested. “Goats like food right?”
“Everyone likes food.” Renfri poked the silver-haired man in the arm. “We sort of need it to survive.”
“Goats really like food though.” Geralt insisted.
“Goats eat anything.” Lambert countered. “He could just as well be in the bathroom by that logic.”
“Well I’ve looked under all the wrapping paper and sofas so he’s not in here!” Ciri chimed up from where she was buried half under cushions and half under brown paper. “Oooh what if we track his smell? Lil’ Bleater stinks!”
Eskel gasped at the accusation. “He’s a very clean goat! I take good care of him.”
“There’s a reason Vesemir bought you fancy pet shampoo.” Lambert smirked and punched his brother in the arm.
“Shut it.” Eskel grumbled. “He’s a handsome boy.”
“Who stinks!” Ciri agreed.
“I still think we should try the kitchen.” Geralt insisted and then paused looking at Ciri thoughtfully. “I think I can smell goat from that direction.”
Ciri squealed and ran into the kitchen. “Fucking liar.” Lambert hissed under his breath earning a smirk from Geralt.
They trudged after the young girl. There was no obvious sign of the goat but Lambert could hear a strange scuffling sound coming from the oven.
“He wouldn’t jump in a hot oven would he?” Lambert asked.
Ciri yelled at him for that and hit him squarely in the chest with her wooden sword. Lambert seized the opportunity to fall dramatically to his knees, pretending to be fatally wounded. He let some of his weight fall onto Ciri who shrieked underneath him.
“Uncle Lambert!”
“You got me real good, little lion cub.” He groaned as she tried to hold back his weight. He was still supporting himself enough that she wouldn’t get hurt but she didn’t need to know that. “This might just be my last day in this world.”
“Get off!” Ciri growled. “I didn’t hurt you!”
“I am wounded!” He fell to the floor and pulled her down on top of him.
“You’re an asshole.” Ciri grumbled and there was an echo of shocked gasps from the adults in the  room. “What? It’s not a swear!”
“And it’s true.” Eskel added.
“It is true.” Geralt agreed.
Lambert glared at them both. “Screw you.”
“You’re awfully loud for someone who just died.” Renfri pointed out and he had to bite his tongue so he wouldn’t swear colourfully at her.
“Yeah! I told you I didn’t hurt you!” Ciri poked his chest.
A loud bleating ended the argument there.
“Lil’ Bleater!” Eskel cried happily.
Seconds later the a fluffy horned head poked out from under the oven. Lambert hadn’t even realised the gap between the oven and his kitchen floor was big enough for the goat to hide under. He was only a little goat but still it seemed like an impossible accomplishment.
Eskel picked up his beloved pet and swung him round in a big hug. “I missed you buddy! No hiding under ovens again, alright?”
The goat bleated.
“I know, I know. The oven smells of yummy food but you could have been hurt!” Eskel continued.
“Melitele save us.” Renfri sighed and topped up her mulled wine from the pan before stalking back into the lounge. So they could finish unwrapping the presents.
Eskel clipped on Lil’ Bleaters brand new collar and kept the mischievous goat in his lap as he unwrapped his last present, petting his sandy white fur absentmindedly.
Lambert had bought his brother a new cookbook that he was absolutely not allowed to open in front of Ciri. The names of the recipes were all very crude and there were pictures to match. Eskel had barely removed the paper before bundling it into his bag. His face flushed with embarrassment as Lambert cackled until his stomach began to ache. Ciri obviously asked what the big joke was and Eskel grumbled some lame excuse that made no sense. Luckily Ciri seemed content to let it go as long as she could open her next present. Vesemir had bought her a collection of new books after hearing so much about her love of school and reading. Some of them were a little hard for her age but Geralt would be able to read them with her.
Renfri only had two presents. Ciri had bought her a leather bracelet with wolves stitched into the band chasing each other’s tails all around the strap and howling at some unseen moon. The wolf pack and Yennefer had all teamed up to get her a decorative dagger that she’d seen at a craft fair over the summer. It was a beautiful blade, engraved with some kind of fantastical elven language and there was a stunning moonstone embedded into the hilt. It had been extortionately expensive but between the lot of them they had managed to afford it. Renfri’s eyes had lit up when she’d ripped the paper off the box, not quite believing it until she’d carefully lifted off the lid with shaking hands.
“There’s no way.” She whispered and then pulled them into a group hug. Even Vesemir put his book down to pat her awkwardly on the back. The blade fell from her lap with a clatter but thankfully she hadn’t quite managed to unsheathe it.
Ciri pouted at the sudden outburst of emotion but Renfri pulled her into the hug as well. “Your’s was better obviously! You’re the only person to get me their own present. These guys cheated.”
Ciri preened at that and stuck her tongue out at the rest of them.
The hug fell apart when Lil’ Bleater head butted Eskel in the back and they all toppled in a pile on the floor, much to the oldest wolf’s amusement. After that it was Ciri’s turn to open another present. Renfri bought her a new colouring book with glittery pens that Ciri loved. She had a strange obsession with anything glittery. The young girl declared it was because glitter was obviously magical and the rest of the team just couldn’t understand its power.
Geralt’s presents were all of a practical nature, a new toolbox from Vesemir, a couple of new shirts from Yennefer with a letter telling him that he had to wear them or else she would know. Ciri giggled at that but Geralt just looked at the freshly pressed black shirts in disgust. He was definitely more of a baggy t-shirt kind of guy but at least Yennefer hadn’t strayed from his usual colour scheme. Renfri had bought him some new stirrups for Roach. Lambert had bought him a new pair of boots after Geralt had complained about his old ones leaking following a particularly rainy shift at work. Eskel had made a picture frame filled with photographs of their little family. He’d even included a picture of Ciri with her parents and grandparents. The whole team had gotten a little sniffly at that one. Ciri was still yet to get off of Eskel’s lap and had promptly decided that he was the best uncle.
Geralt also had another present in the form of an envelope that he tucked into the pocket of his jeans. Lambert raised an eyebrow at that but Geralt just shrugged it off.
After Geralt’s presents Ciri was the only one with any presents left. She got a new wolf onesie from Eskel, further cementing his place as favourite uncle, much to Lambert’s displeasure. He vowed to make up for it on her birthday. He hated it when Eskel got one up on him.
And then it was time for Ciri’s last present and the last present of the day before they had to get busy in the kitchen for dinner.
She pulled at the paper excitedly and screamed when the guitar case fell into her lap.
“You got me a guitar!!” She shrieked.
Geralt winced at the high pinched tone of her voice and Lambert didn’t blame him. He was sitting across the room and even his ears were ringing. Geralt shook his head. “I got you a Ukulele.”
“A ukulele?” Ciri scrunched her nose up. “Does Mr Jaskier play the Ukulele?”
Geralt nodded. “He can. He thought it might be a better fit for you. It’s like a mini guitar and you’ve still got little hands. There’s some music in there too. Once you learn you’ll be able to read it just like Mr Jaskier.”
“Will he teach me?” Ciri asked brightly and Geralt shook his head.
“Jaskier won’t have much time outside of class to teach you but he has recommended a friend of his.” Geralt explained but Ciri was already scowling.
“I want Mr Jaskier to teach me!” She pouted.
“I’m sure if you ask nicely he can show you some things at school?” Eskel suggested.
“And you wouldn’t want to upset his friend.” Vesemir added from his place at the fireplace.
“Her name is Priscilla and she’s very excited to meet you. You’ll be starting lessons after school when term starts.” Geralt pulled his daughter into a hug.
Lambert almost dropped his mug of mulled wine.
“Sorry what?”
Everyone turned to face him with matching confused expressions on their faces.
“Lessons are after school?” Geralt repeated, raising his eyebrow at Lambert.
“No no… What was her name?” Lambert’s hands were trembling around his mulled wine.
“Priscilla?” Geralt repeated slowly. “He didn’t mention her last name.”
“Fuck!” He cursed.
Ciri gasped and pointed her finger accusingly at him and everyone in the room glared fiercely at him.
“Dandelion is Jaskier!” He yelled out to try and defend himself.
Ciri squealed happily and all the colour drained from Geralt’s face at the revelation.  
“What the fuck, Lambert?”
______
Next
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whump-in-progress · 3 years ago
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klaus & the gang, pt 4
klaus visits oura's room.
cw: references to past physical whump (whipping), references to past vomiting.
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klaus awoke to shimmering golden rays, piercing his line of vision. he shielded his eyes.
shifting upwards, he felt a gnawing emptiness in his stomach. his throat was sandpaper, and his mouth held the foul taste of bile. he remembered last night.
it looked like rory and xavier were still asleep.
good, he thought. let them sleep a bit longer.
he stood up to make his bed.
wait...
oh no.
there was a faint patch of blood, and little shreds of herbs, staining the flower-patterned sheets. he'd bled through his bandages overnight.
without waking his teammates, he slipped on a loose tunic and a kilt, and snuck to oura's room.
from the other side of the door, steam of near-boiling water poured over mint leaves wafted over and tickled his nose. oura must be up already, beginning her morning ritual.
he knocked.
"coming!" she shouted. bear footsteps padded closer, and the door opened, revealing her, towering over him, in the undershirt she'd slept in. her eyelids drooped.
"hey, man. you had a rough night." she murmured empathetically.
"no, it was awesome!" he joked. a pang of hunger hit him in the empty pit of his stomach.
she giggled a little. "come on in, i'm just making some tea."
he crept in, and sat on her large bed, while she went into the bathroom and cleaned herself up. she emerged a while later, fresh-faced and alert.
"seriously, though," she began. "you had a tough time last night. did you overload yourself on the food?"
he nodded.
"yeah, that'll do it. your stomach wasn't used to it, so it panicked. let me put on another cup of tea. i'll put ginger in yours, that'll help quell any nausea you might have left."
he nodded again.
she moved over to her dresser and put on her stays, lacing them up over her tank top. a puffy-sleeved shirt, jerkin, and leather belt followed. she didn't need pants, because, well, they don't make a lot of pants that fit beartaurs.
the tea had finished steeping, and she handed a cup to klaus. the spicy ginger scent cleared his sinuses, and he breathed it in eagerly.
"so, to what do i owe the pleasure?" she asked.
"i bled through my bandages."
she set her teacup on the nightstand. "ah, so you'll be needing new ones?"
"no, i need more whip lashes," he joked. she smirked slightly and rolled her eyes.
"i'll have to prepare more poultice, but you can take off those old bandages in the meantime."
she reached into her backpack, and withdrew a clean roll of badanges, and a jar of dried herbs. she set the roll on the nightstand by her tea, and prepared the herbal paste.
he took off his tunic and peeled the sticky bandages off of his back, setting them awkwardly on the bed next to him, making sure the wet side wasn't touching the sheets.
"turn around for me?"
klaus rotated, crossing his legs. he winced as she drew a wet cloth across his back, to clean it, and again as the sharp sting of the antiseptic medicine was applied on his still-tender wounds.
"deep breaths, man. you're doing great!" oura encouraged.
he relaxed his posture and rested his elbows on his knees.
"arms up, please."
klaus put his arms in the air, and oura wrapped his entire torso, until he might as well have been wearing a binder.
"there. good as new!" she announced, confidently placing her hands on her hips. he slipped his tunic back on, and held his old bandages up, with a questioning look at oura. where do i put these?
she gestured to a small trash can in the corner. he shifted off of the bed and placed them in.
*knock knock*
"oura? is klaus in there?" rory's voice sounded from behind the door.
"yeah man, c'mon in!"
rory stepped over the threshold, with xavier close behind.
"oh, good. we thought you'd run off, or something."
"i'm okay. just getting my bandages rewrapped."
"good on ya, k... klaus." she stopped herself before calling him kid. his appreciation was evident in his bright smile.
"c'mon!" xavier interrupted. "let's go downstairs and get breakfast!" he charged down the stairs, not waiting for anyone else.
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"you don't have to eat if you think you won't be able to hold it," oura reassured klaus, now staring down a croissant, just as he stared down his soup last night.
"no, i want to. i think the problem was just that i had too much, too fast."
"alright, man, but be careful."
he hesitantly lifted the pastry close to his lips, and took a little bite. it was so warm, and flaky. he closed his eyes and made a happy sound.
oura high-fived rory as he continued.
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taglist: @whumpzone
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aboutcaseyaffleck · 4 years ago
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BOSTON BY CASEY AFFLECK
October 25, 2020 For the record, what follows is nostalgia, false memories, and generalizations. But it’s all true. I grew up in Cambridge, Massachusetts, across the Charles River from Boston proper. Cambridge was one of the most diverse, multicultural cities in America. It was a beautiful, colorful, vibrant place. People from all over the world lived there, all mixed-up together. It is the place I was born and will return to, God willing. It is the city with the smells and sounds and tastes and people I love the most. Despite how much I loved it, when I look at old photos, I often look like this:
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I’m in the front in the blue shirt. My best friend was Michael, the tall kid in the red shirt, whose family came from Barbados. Through the middle school years, anytime we weren’t in school we were roaming the streets like Dickensian urchins.
In the ‘90s, Cambridge got rid of rent control. Families who had lived there for four or five generations were squeezed out. Now the city is gentrified; but when I was growing up there, it was scrappy and beautiful. It was mostly working people, except for West Cambridge—where wealthy families lived, where professors lived. Where Cornel West, Yo-Yo Ma, and the Governor lived. East Cambridge was working-class Portuguese families, butcher shops, funeral parlors, and tow yards. Cambridgeport, where I lived, was mostly poor, Italian, Black, Greek, and Irish families. North Cambridge had some big housing projects and the school where my mom taught fifth grade—in a gigantic cement structure called The Tobin School that felt like it was far away because I would have to take a train AND a bus to get there. In reality, it’s like three miles from where we lived.
This is me hanging out in her classroom:
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As people and places evolve, the past always reveals blemishes unseen at the time. However, Massachusetts manages, as time unfolds, to be a place that was so often on the right side. Not always, but often enough that I am proud to be from Cambridge, Massachusetts, no matter what.
From Massachusetts came the first national publication denouncing slavery, America’s “first feminist”, and The Cambridge Woman’s Suffrage League, which formed in 1886. My high school had the first girl to play tackle football in that division. Cambridge voted-in the first openly gay African-American mayor in our country. Right now our mayor is a very popular and forward-thinking Muslim woman who immigrated from Pakistan named Sumbul Siddiqui. We have marvels of architecture, science, and tech. It was in Cambridge that the very first email was ever sent (and received). And every year the Red Sox stand up to the wealthier bullies from the Bronx. These are all things we are immensely proud of, but nobody is resting on these laurels.
I am going to tell you about the places I remember fondly, whether they are still there or not.
Luckily, the city’s history isn’t going anywhere, and it hasn’t lost all of its charms. It is a place best seen by walking. So just walk. It’s also seasonal. Different activities for different seasons. But if you can hoof it for a few miles do this: start at the Old North Church and go by Paul Revere House, through Faneuil Hall, by The Old State House through Boston Common, through the Back Bay, go left and pass through Roxbury, another left, and go through South Boston till you hit the water and go left till you hit the Children’s Museum. Sit down and relax. If you just want a path, walk that. Map it or wander around. The city is full of little back streets with lots of character.
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MY BOSTON FAVORITES
When looking for things to do and see in the area, you can ask ten people and get ten different answers. You will get a long list of historical buildings, or you will get names of some of the country’s prettiest parks, or you will get pointed toward the campuses of some of the very best schools in the world. But for every Bunker Hill, there are ten other places you haven’t heard of. So I am going to tell you about the places I remember fondly, whether they are still there or not. The thing about Boston is you can miss all the best stuff, and you will still leave thinking it is one of the best cities on Earth. Have fun. 
Pinocchio Pizza, Harvard Square. I asked my son to describe it. He says, “the food is good but the vibe is fire, old school; whatever, just get a slice and sit on the ground. That’s why I like it.”  I have no idea why he wants to sit on the ground, but I guess that’s part of the charm of the place. We’re both vegan so we both scrape the cheese off and eat bread and sauce. That should tell you something.
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Oleana Restaurant on Hampshire Street in Cambridge. Chef Ana Sortun is a baller. The food is Turkish inspired, and it is delicious. Always. Friendly people, pretty inside, and it is in a nice residential neighborhood. My dad lived in an apartment a few blocks away behind a Store 24 until he was evicted back in 1989.
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Maharaja, Harvard Square. Incredible Indian food. And it has one of the only third-story views of Harvard Square.
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Veggie Galaxy is great diner food. It is vegan. It has breakfast, lunch, dinner, milkshakes and other deserts. All day and all night food that is filling and really good.
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Life Alive Organic will serve you the healthiest and heartiest meal you can find anywhere. It’s across the street from City Hall, the post office, and the oldest YMCA in the country.
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Cantab Lounge, where my dad was a bartender, and then a janitor when he was too drunk to be a bartender. I drank six thousand ginger ales, sitting in the corner at a sticky table while he worked. Forever it was a bar for postal workers that opened at 10 am, where alcoholics ate hard-boiled eggs from jars that had been sitting on the bar top for two weeks. A couple of days after initially writing this, I got an email from the owner. It is being sold after tens of thousands of years. I don’t know why I care because I don’t exactly have any fond memories from the place, but seeing the brick-and-mortar of your childhood torn down is a kind of mid-life, coming-of-age moment. Life is change.
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Darwins Ltd coffee shop and attached mini-grocer and sandwich spot. If you get a coffee and then walk west two blocks on Mt. Auburn St. you will discover on your right a nice little park with a fountain to hang out. It is called Longfellow Park. Or you can look to your left and you will see the Charles River, and you can stroll there.
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Fomu for dessert.
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Zhu Pan Asian Cuisine and True Bistro for good vegan food.
Newbury Comics is famous and cool. 
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Million Year Picnic is for comic connoisseurs. They are both great. And they were both plagued by roving bands of middle school thieves in my day. The most notorious was named Mathew Maher. He is now a well-known theater actor on Broadway and appeared in the comic book movie Captain Marvel. But back then he stole shit.
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Harvard Coop is the best place to browse for books. Especially the kids section. We spend hours there and nobody kicks us out.
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After the game ended everyone would come out and buy sausages [from me] on their way home, then I would clean up and go into a bar outside the park, where my boss was drinking and I’d wait till he was done so I could get a ride home. I was 12 years old. A couple of years ago I threw out the first pitch. Life is change.
The Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum is my favorite museum in town, maybe anywhere. It was once her home and it features an indoor garden that is perfect. It also has a great collection of art from around the world.  Back on March 18, 1990, two famous paintings were stolen from the museum. As I remember it, a couple of guys showed up in the morning in police uniforms and the guard let them in. They tied the guard up and took a dozen paintings—Vermeer, Rembrandt, Degas—and vanished. The FBI never found them and never found the art. There are two plaques below two empty spaces on the walls to this day. On some days, classical musicians perform in random rooms while you walk around. You won’t want to leave.
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Fenway Park. Greatest professional sports arena of any kind. I used to sell sausages in front of the Cask ‘N Flagon, a bar behind The Green Monster.
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 It is the best baseball bar in the country. When everyone was in the park watching the game, and there was nobody buying food, I would go in and find a seat and watch the game with whoever I was working with; I have seen hundreds of games from every part of the park. After the game ended everyone would come out and buy sausages on their way home, then I would clean up and go into a bar outside the park, where my boss was drinking and I’d wait till he was done so I could get a ride home. I was 12 years old. A couple of years ago I threw out the first pitch. Life is change.
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Plimoth Plantation is a living museum in Plymouth, which is 40 minutes from Boston. It is amazing. The actors working there are some of the best I have seen anywhere. If you are even mildly interested in history you have to go there.
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Fresh Pond is where you can go running or biking. Two and a half-mile loop. 
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Or you could hit The Emerald Necklace which is a great run that hits many of the best green areas, Franklin Park included. When we were young we would hop the fence and swim in the water. That isn’t done anymore ever, and everyone has grown up and leading better, more responsible lives.  
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John Weeks Footbridge is a very pretty, very old, brick walking bridge that spans the Charles River. Watching the Charles Regatta from here is awesome. That is in the Fall. But it’s also great any night.  
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The King School is a grade school not too far from there. It has maybe the best playground in the city. If you are there in the summer you can just walk on. When I was a kid, the King School is where a girl went who I was head over heels in love with. I finally got a shot at winning her heart in my early twenties and blew it.
Mount Auburn Cemetery is beautiful if you like that kind of thing. Lots of cool people are buried there, and the trees and stones are really nice. It’s a maze but just walk uphill. You will reach a monument with a great view of the city.
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The American Repertory Theater puts on good plays. I grew up going there cause a friend of my mother’s directed many of the shows and could sneak us in the back. I wasn’t the adult making that decision; had I known better I would have scraped together the ticket price and supported the arts.
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Boston Common is beautiful but you have to avoid all the shopping around it. If you have to shop go to:
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NOMAD on Mass Ave in Cambridge is a store that you shouldn’t miss. In a world lost to chain stores and general homogenization of everything, Nomad is the real deal. Deb Colburn has been curating this place since I was ten. It is her store, and she has been trying to wake people up to folk art from around the world since Reagan was in office.
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Bodega is a hidden high-end sneaker and casual wear store that must be entered through an unmarked door inside a bodega on a nearby side street. It’s cool how they have done it. Great presentation. Kids will like it.
KIDS ACTIVITIES
There are lots of things you can force your kids to do—things they won’t like the sound of at first, but will ultimately enjoy.
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IMAGE CAPTIONS, LEFT TO RIGHT
On a rainy day, hop on the T and ride around town all day reading comics. Then stand outside in the warm rain (kids from LA don’t get this much).
Looking at murals. Cambridge has great murals everywhere. They are old and, incredibly, not vandalized. This one has been on this wall near the river since I was a kid. The child is mine and he is sick of walking around Cambridge.
If you feel like a pilgrim hit the gift shop at Plimoth Plantation.
Playing chess at Leavitt & Pierce Tobacco. You can inhale the scent of pipe tobacco without smoking it, and rent a chess set, clock, and table for $2 an hour in a beautiful old, wood-paneled shop with great ambiance.
Going to the oldest YMCA in the country.
Kayaking on the Charles River. You can get your kayak on Soldiers Field Rd. Take it east under all the bridges until you get to the inlet at Kendell Sq. It will all be clear. It will take about an hour.
Climbing the stairs at Harvard Football Stadium.
Reading books at the Harvard Coop.
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NEARBY BOSTON
If you wanna go a little farther, go out to Gloucester for the day. Swim, eat, walk around, go back.
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Whale watching sounds like a lame tourist trap but seeing whales up close will change the way you think about life on Earth.
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You can take the ferry from Downtown Boston to Provincetown. It is a great place to visit or stay a few days while in town. Ptown is the eastern-most point on the continent. I might be making that up, but it’s close. It’s an arm that sticks out into the Atlantic. It’s really lovely there with a great vibe all around. You can’t have a bad time and everyone is super happy to be there. The beaches are all beautiful.  Sharks mostly only eat the seals and won’t come any closer to shore than two feet—but if you want to see a great white up close, we can make that happen.
Cape Cod has some great flea markets.  If you plan on spending time on vacation with your family you can find some essentials, like a medieval battle helmet, at the flea market.
SALEM, MASSACHUSETTS
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30 minutes on the local train line from downtown. Made famous by the Salem witch trials; a fun place to visit and walk around for about 128 minutes. Newburyport and Rockport lines, which depart from Boston’s North Station, stop at the Salem station. You can go into the homes of people who lived during the witch hunt.
The House of the Seven Gables, made famous by American author Nathaniel Hawthorne‘s novel The House of the Seven Gables, is a 1668 colonial mansion in Salem, Massachusetts named for its gables. The house is now a non-profit museum, with an admission fee charged for tours, as well as an active settlement house with programs for children. It was built for Captain John Turner and stayed with the family for three generations.
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The Jonathan Corwin House in Salem, Massachusetts, known as The Witch House, was the home of Judge Jonathan Corwin. It is the only structure still standing in Salem with direct ties to the Salem witch trials of 1692, thought to be built between 1620 and 1642. Corwin bought it in 1675 when he was 35, and he lived there for more than 40 years. The house remained in the Corwin family until the mid-19th century and is located in the McIntire Historic District. 
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A MECCA FOR ARTISTS
Lastly, for centuries, Cambridge has been a mecca for artists, especially writers. Here are some spots to see if you like that kind of thing:
The corner of JFK Street and 1390 Massachusetts Avenue. This is a good spot. Here is why: America’s FIRST PUBLISHED POET was a woman named Anne Bradstreet who died in 1672 and lived on this spot! It went through lots of changes, and 300 years later, by the time I was walking around, it became a great burger place called THE TASTY. In 1996 or whatever, The Tasty appears in the movie Good Will Hunting in the scene when Matt Damon kisses Minnie Driver. It might have also appeared in the film Love Story back in the 70s. I mix them up. Now it is a CVS.  God help us.  
The Longfellow House. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow lived at 105 Brattle Street. The great poet taught at Harvard and lived in the Georgian mansion from 1837 until his death in 1882. Before the author, George Washington used the house as his headquarters during the Siege of Boston. The house is open to the public, and it is where I had my eighth-grade graduation ceremony. The mayor attended and forgot the name of our school in his address to the kids. I heard people mutter that he was drunk. I can’t blame him. I had my first drinks hours before that ceremony.
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71 Cherry Street, Cambridge. The woman considered to be American’s FIRST feminist, Margaret Fuller, was born and lived here.
Henry and Alice James lived at 20 Quincy Street. The house was knocked down in 1930 and the Harvard Faculty Club was erected there.
W.E.B. DuBois lived at 20 Flagg Street. The writer and pioneer of civil rights rented a room in this Cambridgeport home from 1890 to 1893. This is blocks from my childhood home. He was the first African American to receive a degree from Harvard.
Robert Frost lived at 35 Brewster Street. Frost, who attended high school in Lawrence, Massachusetts, lived in the West Cambridge home from 1943 to 1963.
T.S. Eliot lived at 16 Ash Street.
E.E. Cummings lived at 104 Irving Street. He was an innovator. He also wrote a poem about “Cambridge Women”. He lived at the Irving Street home from 1892 until about 1917.
Also you can find homes of the genius Nabokov and the great and beloved Julia Childs if you look around.
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