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notsolocalsimp · 4 months

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Rotten Ribbons

Chapter Eight

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he tried to cook, but it didn't go as planned. he had made a mess of his kitchen, flour was scattered on the apron he wore, and all over the counters, who knew making bread rolls was so hard! he already prepared a simple meal of ramen, but he wanted to add something more to it. and now his kitchen was a mess he'd have to clean up later, the ramen was getting cold since he made it to early, and he just used brick ramen anyway. . . he can't cook for shit!

with a frustrated huff, he threw the ramen container in the trash, grumbling under his breath about how shitty this was. he had barely managed to keep a lid on the ramen after pouring it all over the counter. what a mess.

"ugh, why is this so horrible" he sighed, pulling his hair into a messy bun and looking at the recipe again, "why do I even need salt for something that's supposed to be sweet? it's banana bread!"

there was a knock at the door, and it happened to be you, he rushed over to the door, not even bothering to take off the flour covered apron. when he opened the door you took one look at him and began laughing.

"You look like a mess Aizawa!" you snickered "anywho, how's the cooking going?"

"oh it's. . . fine." he lied, avoiding eye contact.

You raised an eyebrow at his response, clearly not buying his lie. "hm. . . okay?"

"Look, I'm just. . . not the greatest at cooking. . ." he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"I can tell" you chuckled again, setting the box you were carrying on the flour covered counter. "I also made some mint scones for dessert, but I think we might have to clean this mess up first. . ."

"We? no no no, I made the mess, I'll clean it up" he insisted, grabbing a small broom and dustpan from the linen closet, and began sweeping the mess off the counters "we can just order takeout"

"or we can cook together?" you offered with a grin, picking up the ramen and rice ball ingredients. "I know your favorite food is ramen, so I thought we could start there."

"...i guess you're right..." he relented.

"good!" you grinned at the defeated tone he spoke with and set the groceries back on the counter before heading towards the oven and grabbing a pot to boil the water. as you wanted for the water to boil, you offered a scone to Aizawa while he waited.

"I feel like I should be helping, not eating the scones you brought." he deadpanned, shaking the flour off his apron

"I don't trust you near an oven, Aizawa." you deadpanned "not after what I saw"

"wow" he had a hurt expression, before sighing "I mean I wouldn't trust myself near an over either. but still."

you chuckled, shaking your head before continuing to gather ingredients. after the water had begun boiling, you had managed to gather everything you needed, which included a large bowl of water, a wooden spoon, a plate of maruchan noodle bricks, and two plates that you filled with the extra ingredients.

"can you cut these?" you gestured to the two plates of extra ingredients.

"yeah, sure," aizawa grabbed a knife from the knife block and began cutting the Ingredients at the dining table as you cooked the noodles

once the noodles were done you added the broth seasoning packets because you were too lazy to make regular broth. Aizawa handed you the chopped ingredients and you began preparing the bowls.

"And. . . Done!" you said happily as you set the two bowls on the table before looking for the silverware. "uhh. . . where's your silverware at?"

"that drawer." he gestures to the drawer between the fridge and oven.

"thanks." you went to grab two forks, and handed one to him.

He slid the fork into the bowl of ramen and stirred the noodles before adding a bit of sauce.

the two of you ate quietly for a few moments.

"hey um, about the other day. . ." he began "I'm really sorry for taking you for granted even though you cooked for me, and then saved this night by cooking for us. . . again"

"oh it's fine, it's really not a big deal," you smiled, before taking another bite of ramen. "really"

he stared down at his bowl in disbelief. "so you just forgive me without a second thought?"

you rolled your eyes playfully before taking a bite of noodles. "of course, why wouldn't I?"

". . . because I was an asshole who took what you did for granted, and then when I try to properly thank you you have to go and save the day" he deadpanned

"well don't you need a break from saving the day? Mr underground hero." you laughed, pointing your fork at him teasingly.

"what's that suppose to mean?"

you looked up at him, feigning innocence and shrugging "you've been working hard lately."

"so you think I haven't worked hard enough?" he smirked mockingly.

"no way, you're working harder than ever!" you retorted defensively. "your literally a teacher and a pro hero! how are you not exhausted?"

"I mean I get 8 hours of sleep every day. . . I think" he admitted, blushing lightly and running his fingers through his dark hair, scratching lightly at the back of his head.

"okay, whatever you say Aizawa." you shook your head and picked up your drink. "now, about the normal dinner topics, what are your interests?" you asked curiously, leaning forward and resting the plastic rim against your lips once more.

he shrugged. "I mean I like cats." he then stood of and made a pot of coffee

"uhh, you realize it's like 7pm right?"

"yeah? and?" he turned around to face you with a mug full of hot coffee in hand.

"and what do you plan on doing for your evening once I leaveif I may ask?" you asked.

a mischievous grin slowly spread across his face as he walked towards your, standing behind you. "sleeping, I'm exhausted"

"I mean I can leave now if you want."

"no, finish eating at least while I think of conversation topics" he protested

"I can just look some up" you pulled out your phone and searched 'conversation topics for dinner with a friend' and quoted one "number one, what's a super common thing you've never done or experienced?"

"getting shampoo in my eyes" he curtly responded drinking his scorching hot coffee with a deadpan expression

"two things" you began "one, how the hell have you not gotten Soap in your eyes with that mop on your head? and two, that just come out the pot, isn't it hot?"

"how dare you speak to my hair like that!" he exclaimed, acting offended. "don't talk about my hair with such disrespect!"

"sorry" you chuckled "so, number two, opinion of pineapples on pizza" you asked

"never." he answered simply, sitting back down at the table. "I feel like the only fruit that should go on a pizza is tomatoes, and that's only for the sauce"

you continued to scroll through questions "number three, If you could choose anyone, who would you have narrate your inner monologue?"

"Kevan Brighting" you both said at the same time before laughing a bitawkwardly.

"um... okay." you giggled nervously, not used to having conversations quite like these with someone you didn't know very well yet. it wasn't like your relationship was completely new, you had met before, but it seemed like you would have to reacquaint yourself with each other sooner than later...

"these questions kind of suck. . . maybe we could just watch a movie or something" you offered "Maybe The Mask?"

"sure, I like that movie" he kneeled down to go through his CDs, and pulled out The Mask after a minute or so of searching. "here it is."

after putting on the DVD, you turned towards Aizawa and noticed he was already asleep. you decided to sit and finish the movie after covering him with a blanket covered with kitties.

you then wrote a note that said: 'I took care of the dishes and then went home, I hope that was okay!' before standing up and grabbing your bag, and heading home

once you got home you greeted your Norwegian Forest cat, Fudge, with a smile before feeding them and heading to bed. as you stared up at the ceiling, you thought about how funny it was that Aizawa wasn't great at cooking, maybe you could teach him sometime? or at least, he'd get better if you helped him a lot more often

#aizawa shouta #aizawa x reader #aizawa x y/n #bnha aizawa #ao3 #mha aizawa #writers on tumblr #writing #archive of our own

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patatahluwa · 1 year

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Think about Julian... And cooking. Yes.

Lemme say, i honestly think Julian has a great artistic sense. He knows what art is, and food is art too, y'know.

You'd never think the busy plague doctor would have time to ever cook, and given his eyebags, and the cup of coffee that seems like it never gets empty, you'd think he lives on that only.

I mean who needs food when you have to treat an impossible number of patients and save all Vesuvia from the plague-

Anyway, back to subject. It was kind of a date? One that wasn't planned.

It started when you visited for no reason than to spend a little time together, in a sunny autumn morning. You knocked, hoping he'd be there rather than in his clinic.

"Enter!!"

You heard his voice from afar, the moment you opened the door you were welcomed into the house by a harmonious touch of scents, inviting you to go straight to the kitchen (not only for the food, 'cause he was there anyway).

Pumpkin bread for sure, freshly out of the oven, and... A red sauce? Doesn't matter. You tried to distinguish the cooking from what you smelled, but all that matters is that it smelled tasty, that's it.

He held the arm of the pan with his right hand, and a wooden spoon mixing in the pan's content with his left. It looked like a painter holding a brush and playing with colors.

He rolled the contents of the pan up with a skillful move of his arm, mixing the ingredients so they absorb every bit of flavor there is.

Since the kitchen was a whole festival of sizzle sounds and dancing scents, he didn't hear your steps after the door closed. He turned around to the sound of you grabbing the chair to sit, welcoming you with that grin you could never learn not to blush at, how could you not swoon at that handsome face? And that smile??

"Fancy seeing you here! If you allow me to ask, ma'am, you seem well and healthy. What may have brought you to see the doctor at this hour of the day?"

He continued his cooking, talking so spontaneously as if the one speaking is a character unrelated to him and to what he was doing.

"Excuse me, I am not a doctor, but... allow me to say you might be mistaken."

You saw from the corner his eyebrows rise.

"How could you think I'm doing all good and healthy, when i haven't taken my daily dose of prescribed medicine?"

You played along

"Is that so?" He hummed. "A patient shouldn't ignore their doctor's instructions. Do you even remember what i prescribed for your case?"

He finally served you with a plate of pasta with meat and mozzarella, decorated with few leaves of coriander. He finished dressing the table with utensils, side dishes and desserts he prepared à l'avance.

"Hmmm what was it..." You waited until he sat in front of you, finally able to look at him, to look into his soft, mesmerizing grey eyes. "A daily dose of loved ones... Wasn't it?"

He smiled fondly at you with a gaze that felt like his familiar soft touch of fingers, caressing your face features one by one, or sometimes clasping with your hands, or playing with your hair...his hand could do a lot of wonderful things, and evoking a lot of wonderful feelings.

Despite the food put before you with its inviting smell, you couldn't wake up from your drunken state, still drowning deeper in his eyes, moved along with the movement of his lips. For a while now, you weren't hearing the words he spelled.

He didn't repeat himself, tho. (Did he notice your case is helpless already?) Instead, he picked the fork and took a mouthful of the dish, bringing it close to your mouth after making sure it wasn't too hot.

With an unconscious "ah" formed over his lips, he waited for you to taste. You took it gratefully, and my my, what a taste it was !

With that bite, you started thinking of all the marvelous food Julian could make, with the various possible shapes, colors and tastes flooding your mind and senses.

How he could make any simple food turn into a piece of art, without ignoring his skill in decorating the dish.

You couldn't let that thought be held longer, you started describing how it made you feel, that mix of coriander and special tomato sauce.

And with that, you talked over lunch how he started cooking, how it makes him feel, how much he caused Mazelinka troubles, and sometimes having a dinner-less night because of how much disastrous some ideas turned out.

To you, you were mesmerized by this new information, and expressing it felt natural.

But to Julian, it might have made his day- no, probably his whole month. The way you talked about it, how it felt sincere, not fake complimens, probably made him love himself a little bit more...

And fall in love with you a lot, lot more.

... Maybe or maybe not, he started considering the idea of cooking for you everyday, for as long as he can live...

#julian devorak #writing #the arcana fanfic #the arcana #nah im just writing anything that comes to my mind #maybe I'll talk about it again and more in detail next time #i got caught up in the feels kinda

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dark-magical-ships · 2 years

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15, 18

Hi Mike!! Thank you so much for the asks! :D <3 Alrighty...

15. What is your current writing habit?

Writing only at work. XD The gatehouse has just turned out to be like the perfect environment for me. Quiet, not too many distractions but not totally devoid of them, easy access to Outside when I need fresh air, and I'm mostly there at night during my most creative hours. Perfect writing recipe for me.

18. Show us a piece of dialogue you really like.

I've posted this before on my main, where it was heavily redacted, but short of digging into my Dragon Age fics (which I've considered dropping into Anonymous or straight-up orphaning more than once, honestly), it's still my favorite dialogue I've written so far. <3

“Who had the Dragon Steak and Dwarven Battle Bread?” the server asked. “Cheers, ma’am,” Naomi grinned and accepted her plate from the other woman. When everyone had been served, all four spoke in unison before digging in, their chorus of “Itadakimasu!” ringing a little in the unusually empty dining room. Naomi nudged Katsuya with an elbow as she cut into her steak. “Or should I say, ‘I’a-darkey-mass?’” Hiroto barked a laugh, then swore as he tipped his cup a little too far and spilt his soda. “Shit, Naomi. I’d forgotten about that!” Katsuya elbowed her back, grinning. “That first day I asked you to hang out and you were all ‘Oh, alright, sho'nuff, thanks fo' th' invite! I'll be thar! Bob’s yer uncle!’ and for the life of me I could not figure out what it was you said.” His squeaky-voiced, excessively Cockney impression of her was not flattering, and Naomi harrumphed with feigned indignation. “I never sounded that bad!” She sniffed, primly sipping her iced tea with her little finger sticking out. “And I did not say ‘Bob’s yer uncle.’ That’s not even the right way to use that expression.” Katsuya snagged a piece of her Battle Bread from her basket and waved it at her. “Pffft doesn’t matter. Still couldn’t work out what the hell you said to me.” Naomi rolled her eyes at him, taking the time to eat a bite of steak before responding. “Why’d you even invite me, then, Katsuya?” “Fuck, you know why Naomi.” Katsuya raised his eyebrows at her. “You saved our asses, we owed you dinner. Simple math, you limey.” He threw a chip at her, which Naomi anticipated and deflected. “Git,” she said with a fond grin, and he cuffed her lightly on the shoulder. Anzu, who had been watching their exchange with the look of a man watching puppies play for the first time after spending a month in isolation, raised an eyebrow at Katusya. “I thought Naomi just got herself beaten up along with you guys?” Hiroto nodded enthusiastically, swallowing a bite of his teriyaki chicken. “Pretty much. While the big guy was busy making sure she stayed down, though, I got him with a nerve strike.” He demonstrated a swift jab with his fork. “Then Katsuya threw her over his shoulder and we booked it.” Katsuya nodded sagely. “Ergo, she saved our asses. By getting hers kicked. Pass the ponzu sauce?”

#ask game #q&a #amy writes #thank you for the asks!! <3 #about The Longfic #s/i: naomi carter

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cheapvewor · 2 years

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Bread crumb macaroni and cheese

#Bread crumb macaroni and cheese full

#Bread crumb macaroni and cheese mac

And while Macaroni & Cheese was a depression-era meal and is lauded as a “soul food” even today, Macaroni & Cheese is no longer a “cheap” or a budget meal. For one, it can be pretty pricey, if you want it super creamy and oozing with cheesy flavor. Saving Money on Ultimate Macaroni & Cheese with Herbed Bread Crumbs: You don’t want to take all day about it, either, just briskly add it and whisk it in. That’s going to ensure your sauce doesn’t break or turn grainy. It’s a lot, but be patient and let each clump of cheese melt into the sauce before going on to the next. It’s very important, after making the White Sauce (the mixture of butter, flour, and milk) to remove it from the heat and add the cheese in small handfuls. There’s something about panko that’s dull and lifeless and it will never give you the gorgeous color and just-right texture of a homemade breadcrumb. Make your own bread crumbs for the topping.The cheese has to have a lot of flavor but not be so sharp it loses that great meltability. You’ll want them with just a bit of resistance.

#Bread crumb macaroni and cheese mac

Cook the noodles just right if not they’ll either be mushy or soak up too much liquid, leaving the mac & cheese dry.

There are a couple of tricks to making a great Mac & Cheese: Ultimate Macaroni & Cheese with Herbed Bread Crumbs Making Ultimate Macaroni & Cheese with Herbed Bread Crumbs: Just a little something to enhance the whole dish. That crispy, crunchy topping should contrast with the texture of the macaroni and contrast with the taste. Hey, if they don’t know Cheddar in Great Britain, where do they know it! And then there’s the herbed topping. There are a couple of little ingredients that always boost the flavor of the Cheddar and creamy sauces, and that’s why you’ll see them so often in classic cheese recipes like the British Cheese Rarebit. That being said, you don’t want the cheapest cheese, either.Īnd while my Ultimate Macaroni & Cheese is a nod to Mac & Cheese from generations past, that doesn’t mean it’s dull or plain. I’ve even had some Macaroni and Cheese that was actually difficult to get down, not so with this creamy dreamy Ultimate Mac & Cheese. The sharper the cheese, the drier the taste. So it’s kind of counterintuitive that the “Best” cheddar doesn’t necessarily make the Ultimate Macaroni & Cheese. The thing is, though, for the best meltability, the Cheddar can’t be too sharp, too dry. Because if Parmesan is the King of Italian cheese, Cheddar has to be the King of cheese in the States. I know a lot of recipes use different cheese other than Cheddar, but my ultimate Mac & Cheese has Cheddar. And while some people rely on processed cheese for that smoothness, I didn’t want to – simply because I wanted all the real cheese flavor I could pack into this casserole. It should be a sauce so gorgeous, you’ll literally want to lick your plate. And that sauce should be smooth, creamy and luscious. It will hold together only minimally and the sauce, well, it should still be saucy. So what does make a Mac n Cheese fantastic? In my mind, first of all, the macaroni has to be just perfectly done when the dish is finished they still need to be distinct, not a solid mass. (Only better!!) About Ultimate Macaroni & Cheese with Herbed Bread Crumbs:

#Bread crumb macaroni and cheese full

And over the years, having tried many variations and many “Cheffy” touches, I came around full circle and am right where I started! I’ve come “home” to the Mac & Cheese of my childhood. So the funny thing is, on my quest for the Ultimate Macaroni and Cheese, I left the basic old school recipes behind me. You might notice as you read the recipe that this is really an Old School Mac n Cheese. So I know that’s kind of smackdown talk, to claim this is the Ultimate Macaroni & Cheese! You’ll just have to give it a try and see what you think. It has not been tested for home use.The Ultimate Macaroni & Cheese with Herb Breadcrumb Topping This recipe was provided by a chef, restaurant or culinary professional. In a small bowl, combine all ingredients and mix well. Bake the macaroni and cheese until it is warmed through. Pour the macaroni and cheese into a baking pan and top it with the Bread Crumb Topping. Season, to taste, with salt, white pepper, and nutmeg. Stir in the shredded cheeses and mix until melted. Strain this milk mixture into a heat-proof bowl. Strain the milk mixture into the flour mixture and stir until it's thickened and smooth. Add the flour and cook for 2 to 3 minutes. Add the diced onion and carrot and saute until tender. In a large saucepan, heat the butter over medium heat. While pasta is cooking, in a heavy, medium saucepan, combine the milk, clove-studded onion, thyme, and bay leaf over medium heat. Cook the pasta according to package directions drain and set aside.

#Bread crumb macaroni and cheese

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momolady · 3 years

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Dragon Boyfriend: Deiphobos

It’s been far too long, but there is finally a new dragon!

Female Reader x Male Monster (both cis)

Stories have been passed down for generations about the dragons forging the lands with their fire and strength. It was not man who first founded what is now known at the Ruby Empire, but dragons. The isles that were formed by the dragons were given the names of gemstones, each one the territory for a certain tribe of dragons. The Ruby Isle was one of the biggest, and later became home to the rakshasa and lizardfolk kingdoms.

Over time, the isles joined together, forming the Dragon’s Chest before they became the Ruby Empire. Your home, Malachite, is an inconsequential island south of the rakshasa shores. While malachite are still in abundance around your home, copper is your most common export. The men in your family have been miners for generations.

The women, on the other hand, are prodigious cooks. Even in your earliest memories you were in the kitchen, where your great-grandmother taught you how to make dough, roll it and let it rise. Your grandmother passed down recipes that had been in the family for generations. Your mother bestowed on you cookware and knowledge of presentation on the plate. Before you had reached puberty, you were a master chef in your own right.

Due to their culinary skill, the women in your family are highly sought by the richest households on the island. Your grandmother still works for her original employers, as she has for decades. Your mother works for the household you were born in. You’ve been in the employ of another family for a decade, ever since you were sixteen.

It’s also a family tradition to never cook your best for the household you serve. You save your best for your blood, something your great-grandmother taught you during her final days. “When you work, you do not put love into the food,” she told you. “It does not come out the same, but people who don’t know will never know. Only those you love will be able to taste that care. Do not work yourself to death trying to make others see your gifts when it will not matter to them either way.”

The birthday of the young daughter of the household is approaching. She had been so young when you arrived, barely five. Now she’s celebrating her debut, something you find utterly remarkable. You’ve heard your mother and grandmother talking about the celebrations and milestones which they prepared feasts for in the houses they worked. You’ve certainly had your fair share of feasts, but in your ten years of work this feels like the first household milestone you’ve witnessed. Also, this girl is like a sister to you. She hides in the kitchen to escape the bickering of her family, watches you cook, and has even picked up cooking skill in her own right. She loves making bread, kneading for hours to create a perfect loaf.

As her birthday draws nearer she talks more about her dresses and who she wants to dance with. She has daydreams about meeting the love of her life at the party.

“Are you married?” she asks you one day, in the midst of describing a romance with a foreign prince.

You smile back at her. “I am not.”

Her expression widens into shock at this. “I thought you were!”

You’re chopping vegetables that will be fried and tossed in a sauce. “I am not. My family tends to marry older because of how busy we are. Either working in the kitchen, or working in the mines.”

“How awful,” the girl murmurs.

You shrug, tossing a batch of chopped vegetables into the pan to sizzle and pop. “Not really. Mama says it helps to keep us young. The later we get married, the longer we go without the stress.”

The girl seems to think long and hard about this. After all, her parents married young, had her young, and all they do is fight. “I still would like to meet someone,” she says decidedly. “Then I could have my own household and staff, and I could take you with me.”

You throw back your head and laugh. “Are you ready to put up a fight with your mother, young lady?”

“Very,” she says brightly. “I would not be able to stomach anyone else’s cooking besides yours. I would simply ask my father, and he would have no choice but to let you leave here to come and be with me.”

You smile as you stir the contents of the pan, tossing in spices to combine with the sauce in a wonderful symphony of flavor. “If you say so, dear.”

“What would your dream man be?” The girl practices dancing with an invisible partner as she asks you this. “How would you want to meet him?”

“How are you so sure it is a man?” you ask teasingly.

The girl grins at you. “Then that would certainly be the talk of the house!”

You chuckle and shrug. “I never really thought about it. I grew up only knowing miners. I suppose a scholar or an artist might be interesting.”

The girl continues to dance. “Then how would you meet?”

You hum as you think. “I would want it to be a surprise. Something sudden, like a bolt of lightning.”

“That sounds scary.”

“Does it?” You toss the vegetables in the pan. “I think it sounds rather romantic. The shock and surprise of it all is what binds you. You talk about it, you learn from it, and you slowly grow to know each other more. Eventually, it’s second nature.”

“What about seeing each other from across the room? Your eyes meet, and you are pulled to one another by a force stronger than yourselves?”

You snicker. “When was the last time you saw someone across the room and didn’t avert your gaze immediately?”

“Well...” she murmurs.

“Those are stories, little one. More than likely, you will bump into someone while getting a drink. You’ll both laugh, he’ll offer to fill your glass, and the night will progress from there.”

“That sounds boring,” she whines.

“That’s life. It’s not what you want, but what is expected.” You offer her a taste of what you’re cooking with a blob of rice. “Now try this and tell me what you think.”

She happily takes the bite. “It’s spicy!”

“Good, that’s what the rice is for.”

You begin preparing the feast for her party days in advance. You work on the cakes first, then soups, then chop up everything, and so on until the day arrives and you begin putting everything together. You start early in the morning, knowing you’ll be working until late that evening.

Suddenly there is a great commotion, but you figure it’s just the party commencing. Perhaps someone already had too much to drink and knocked over an entire table. You continue working, even as screams begin to pour into the hallway. You finally stop when the noise begins to bother the rest of the staff. “What’s going on? Is there a fire?” You walk away from the stove right as the doors burst open and some of the servers come running inside.

“Dragon!” one screams.

“Impossible!” you scoff. “How can there be a dragon? They’re all gone!”

“It’s circling the island!” another server blurts. “It’s heading this way! You can see it outside.”

“This must be a trick,” you scoff. You step towards the doors which lead into the garden. “I’m seeing this for myself.”

“Chef! Don’t go out there! It’s dangerous!”

You open the doors and walk out, surprised by how dark it is already. You assumed it was earlier. Then, you hear a low growl, and just as you look up, it lands in the garden. There’s no way to describe what you feel then. You’ve been told all your life that all the dragons had died, or returned to Grattertock to hide. You’re shaking, but quickly close the doors behind you so the dragon doesn’t see the staff inside.

The dragon descends, looking directly at you with bright golden eyes. “Something smells divine”.

The shaking spreads from the core of your body all the way to your hands. “You’ve come to the kitchen.”

The dragon tilts its head. “Are you the cook?”

You’re not sure why - probably because you are only moving on instinct - but you nod.

The dragon holds out a forepaw. “Then come with me.”

You don’t remember what happens after that, and you must have fainted. When you regain consciousness, you find yourself in a wholly new place, surrounded by the rich green color of the malachite. There are veins of it in the stone walls and the floor. All around you are pillows piled high to form a nest. As you lift yourself from the pile, you see a massive fireplace lined with copper and great stone pillars carved in the shape of dragons, their eye sockets filled with various gemstones.

You try to get out of the nest, but you keep falling backwards, plopping into softness each time. You shake in frustration, until you finally manage to find some footing in something solid and brace yourself at the edge.

As you’re pulling yourself out, the dragon steps out of the fireplace. You yelp as you fall back into the void of down. “Good. I was hoping you would be awake.” The dragon reaches in and pulls you out, setting you on the malachite floor.

“No!” is all you can say, throwing up your hands and jumping back when the dragon releases you.

The dragon lowers to the ground, massive, strong, and hypnotically beautiful. His scales are various shades of copper, from golden to fiery red. His great head tilts down to you as he closes his golden eyes. “Forgive me, but I only intend to keep you here for a short while. My name is Deiphobos, and I am humbly asking for your help.”

“You’re a dragon!” you blurt.

He opens his eyes again. “I am.”

Your mouth opens and shuts like a landed fish.

“I understand you’re frightened, but I want to change that. You see, I have just woken from a long slumber, and I found I am alone. I need help.”

“Why?” you sputter. “Why me?”

Deiphobos tilts his head to the side. “Your smell is very familiar to me. Before I fell into my deep sleep, I used to partake in the festivals below my keep, and one woman used to make a special dish in my honor. Whatever you were making smelled exactly like it.”

“I am a chef,” you murmur.

Deiphobos lowers his head further. “I am alone, little chef. I am afraid. Please, all I ask is your presence and understanding. I will let you go once I am able to clear the path from my keep. Then people can come and go as they please, and my home will be filled again.”

“You can be afraid?” you ask in awe.

“All creatures can,” he replies quietly. “Fear is familiar to all of us.”

You wring your hands as you look up at him. “You aren’t going to eat me?”

Deiphobos shakes his head. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The quaking in your chest hasn’t subsided, but it has moved away from your hands. “What are you afraid of?”

“I am lonesome,” he murmurs. “My keep used to be filled with people and other dragons. But now...”

You look at him apologetically. “Dragons,” you start nervously, “I’m so sorry to tell you that dragons haven’t existed in some time. Sightings have been rare. Most are gone, either dead or returned to Grattertock.”

Deiphobos sighs heavily. He lays his head and long neck upon the floor and begins to weep. “I missed it! I was foolish, and thought it was a mere nap!”

“Don’t cry on the malachite!” you exclaim urgently. “It’ll make you sick!”

Golden tears fall from his eyes, splashing onto the ground and cooling to form hard lumps upon the ground. “The mass migration, the hibernation... I thought there was more time.”

You approach him gingerly, kneeling beside his head and touching it. He’s hot to the touch, and his scales are like smooth metal.

“I know this means nothing to a human like you,” he sniffles. “But I missed a rebirth. I will be lost to the ages.”

“I’m sorry,” you reply. “Usually, I cook something when someone is sad. I don’t know what to do here.”

Deiphobos chuckles softly. “You smell like the festivals that were held at the base of my keep. It makes me feel safe.”

You continue to pet him, rubbing his muzzle and the sides of his face until his head is in your lap. Never in your wildest dreams did you ever expect to hold a dragon in your hands, let alone comfort it in your lap. “I am sorry,” he sighs. “I will take you home. You don’t need to take care of me.”

“I would like that very much. But I would feel bad knowing you’re here alone.” Warring instincts toss back and forth inside you. “Take me home. But just long enough for me to see my family and pack my things.”

Deiphobos lifts his head and stares at you in disbelief. “You would do that?”

“Once you clear that path, I can come and go as I please, right? Not only that, my family could come as well.” You give him a firm nod. “Let me cook for you if my work smells so familiar. Let me help you fill your home again so you are not alone.”

Deiphobos nudges your cheek and breathes against your hair. “I will greatly reward this kindness. Ask for anything, and I will give it to you.”

“Right now, I’ve used up everything in me to decide upon this. Let me think about it and I will let you know.”

“That’s fine,” he chuckles. “Do you want me to take you to your home now?”

“Please. I’m sure my family is panicked beyond reason.”

Deiphobos places you on his back, and as he walks through the fireplace he comes out the other side flying into the sky. You direct him where to go, and he lands in the street outside your house. It is utter chaos. Your grandmother tries to rush into the street with her best knife to attack the dragon, only to find that his scales break the blade. She keeps trying to attack him, and you have to force her inside. While your family tries to convince you to hide, you have to calmly talk them down.

It takes what feels like hours, but eventually you convince them of your plan. “I want to cook for him. I’m not sure why, but I feel as though this is what I’ve been preparing for since our family began. Don’t ask me to explain it. I just...”

“I see,” your grandmother murmurs. “My mother used to tell me that our recipes came in the hopes of finding favor with the dragons.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “I thought she was crazy. Always talking about dragons, that one. But now… seeing this creature on our doorstep, I have to admit my mother may have been right.”

“But we can’t just let her go!” your mother argues.

“I know it’s frightening,” your grandmother says. “But giving up your child is in itself the most frightening thing a parent can do. Granted, I expected her to go off with a miner like everyone else. Living with a dragon? It’s a shock to this old heart, but not much different.”

Your mother looks at your grandmother like she’s ready to attack her with a knife too. “You’re joking, right, mother?”

“Only a little.” Your grandmother stands and goes into the kitchen. From under the cupboards she takes a giant pan and hands it to you. “This was to be your birthright on your wedding day, but I think now is the proper time.” The pan has been in your family longer than even your name. It’s been used during celebrations and family gatherings, only for the most important of events. It’s been your family’s greatest heirloom and pride, used since the festivals first began.

“Take it now to please your dragon,” your grandmother says. “The more of a dragon’s trust you earn, the greater your fortune becomes.”

“This is crazy!” your father argues. “We can’t just let her go with this beast! How do we know she’ll be safe?”

You take the pan into your hands. “Because he remembers our family’s cooking. Our ancestors used to feed it to him at the festivals.” You look into his eyes. “He just wants a companion. He won’t hurt me. My food will make him happy.”

“And he will bless our family in return,” your grandmother says thoughtfully.

You finish packing your things, including more spices and cookware. You say a tearful farewell to your family. “It won’t be long. Once the path is cleared we can all come and go as we please.”

Your grandmother kisses your cheeks. “You’ll call it home soon, and we will come visit.” She brandishes another knife at Deiphobos. “You owe me a new knife!”

He tilts his head. “You attacked me.”

Your grandmother waves the knife, and your father quickly takes it away. “And I’ll do it again if you hurt her!”

“Then I will make sure nothing does.” Deiphobos loads your supplies onto his back, then gently lifts you up and lets you say one more goodbye before flying back to his keep.

“Your grandmother felt familiar,” he says.

You chuckle. “Sorry she tried to stab you.”

He glances back as he flies, a smile appearing on his face. “She loves you. I understand her motives.”

#monsterxhuman #monster boyfriend #dragon #dragon boyfriend #monster romance #my writing #momolady monsters #monster fudger

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frenchpuppycormier · 3 years

Note

HI ZOË!!! angst #16 for that sentence starter post if you're still up for some writing. i love getting my feelings hurt 🤡

"Are you hurt?"

"No."

"Then why are there bruises all over your face?"

—

Kara doesn't have a mean bone in her body.

She waves at every animal she sees on her daily walks and patrols at night. She gives and gives to people without expecting anything in return. When someone is having a bad day or just really needs to talk, she listens, even criminals. Most of them aren't any different than the average person, they simply were dealt the wrong hand. She's extremely loyal and doesn't take anything personally. One time, Kara saved a fly that was trapped in a spider's web.

So yeah, Kara doesn't have a mean bone in her body. Which is why today is such an anomaly.

She's in the kitchen still dressed in her navy chinos and baby pink button up with palm trees from when she came home from work. Andrea made her rewrite an article thrice, Jeremy from accounting had broken the copier machine and politely asked for her help in fixing it, she stopped a bank robbery a few blocks down from CatCo when she realized the police wouldn't get there in time, and to top it all off she unwillingly skipped lunch after someone stole her sandwich from the staff fridge.

To say she was exhausted and starving was an understatement. Changing into her pajamas meant she had to walk all the way to the bedroom and Kara was too lazy, even for superspeed.

As she stirs her homemade tomato sauce she taps her phone screen and checks the time. 6:35 pm. Frowning, Kara doesn't see any missed messages or calls from Lena letting her know she's going to be late.

She shrugs to herself and thinks Lena must've gotten caught up in her lab and lost track of time. It happens more often than not, and Kara doesn't think it'll ever change, much to her chagrin. It's bad enough Lena forgets to eat lunch most days, but to continuously forget her phone and watch in her office? Kara knows her wife's a workaholic, but she wasn't aware until now, the fourth night this week, that it was getting this bad.

Kara strains the pasta and cuts the garlic bread while periodically stirring the sauce and checking her phone. She decides to finally turn on some music when the silence of the penthouse becomes too stifling and daunting.

She's in the middle of dancing to ABBA and plating the food when she hears a familiar heartbeat walking down the hall. Kara tries not to listen to it too often—she doesn't want Lena to feel like her privacy has been invaded—but sometimes she can't help it. Her wife's heartbeat is one of the most soothing sounds she's ever heard, and ever since she heard it for the first time, she's just been naturally drawn to it, like a moth to a flame.

Kara smiles as she hears it get closer until Lena's opening the door and walking through. "Hey, babe! I'm in the kitchen!" she yells, her energetic voice reverberating throughout the house.

There's no verbal response like there usually is, which is the first warning sign. The second is when Lena walks by—she has to in order to go to their room—it's with quick steps and careful avoidance. But Kara's been able to read her like a book since they've known each other, and she knows something's amiss by the way Lena doesn't even greet her with a kiss. She always does.

"Lena?"

Her wife stops frozen in her tracks, head angled down, hair covering her face like a curtain. Lena's heart ticks up a beat, leaving Kara wildly concerned.

"Lena?" she steps around the island and stands in front of her. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she mumbles.

Kara tilts her head to make eye contact, but Lena moves her head so she can't. "Then why won't you let me look at you?"

"It's nothing, I-I'm fine."

"And why does that not convince me?" Kara sighs. Lena doesn't move a muscle and she keeps quiet. "Are you hurt?"

"No." She still shows no signs of moving. It's like she's decided her next career move is becoming one of those marble sculptures at the museum people love to gawk at.

"Lena...you're scaring me." She tentatively reaches out and grasps Lena's fingers, tremendously thankful when she doesn't pull away. If there's one thing her wife is bad at, it's letting people in. But she also knows when she's feeling stressed or overwhelmed that holding her hand relaxes and grounds her. "Please..."

Finally, after standing there in an awkward and probably painful way with the way Lena's neck is positioned, she slowly looks up. Kara audibly gasps when she sees her, and what she sees ignites a fire in her chest and a fury in her eyes. "If you're not hurt, then why are there bruises all over your face?"

"Kara.."

"Lena," she breathes and lifts her hands to gently cup her face, tears pooling in her eyes. Her breathing is significantly more ragged than before, and she mentally takes note of why that is. "What happened?"

"It's nothing," she repeats.

Kara frowns and backs away, crossing her arms. "Who did this to you?"

"Please, Kara. I don't want to make a big deal—"

"Who?" her voice is lower and angrier, sending chills down Lena's back. She grits her teeth, "Lena, tell me who did this to you now, so I can kill them."

"Kara, this isn't you," she reaches forward to calm her down, but Kara starts pacing.

"The hell it isn't!" Kara exclaims, fists clenching at her sides. "My wife was beaten for all I know, and she's acting like it's just another day at the office!" she gestures at Lena, exasperatedly. "How would you expect me to act?"

Lena flinches at her tone.

Kara notices, because she always notices when Lena's in distress, and she deflates. "Lena, you're the love of my life, my person, and when you're hurt I can't help how I act. I'm sorry if I seem like I'm overreacting or if I'm yelling, but it's you." She walks back into her space and places her hands over Lena's face, thumbs lightly grazing her cheekbones, careful not to bump her wounds. "It's you," she whispers.

Lena swallows thickly, and when she speaks her voice is soft and afraid. "It was an accident."

"Did someone do this to you?" Kara's jaw clenches as she lets go. She doesn't stray far though, crossing her arms in front of her chest to try and calm down.

"Kara, no," Lena sighs, tears pooling in her eyes. "I...I did it to myself."

"What?" Kara's arms drop to her sides. "What are you talking about?"

"I was in a board meeting," she clears her throat. "Um...I was presenting a new prototype for...for," Lena shakes her head and frowns tensely. She rubs her eyes with tight fists and with a shaky breath, she cries, "Kara, I—I can't remember!"

Kara steps forward and grasps her hands. "Hey, it's okay. Take your time." She rubs soothing circles over her knuckles with her thumbs.

Lena takes a deep breath and tries again. "I was in a board meeting, and I vaguely recall getting a terrible migraine. Everything after that is fuzzy," she sniffles and takes her hands back to wipe her eyes. "Jess said I fell and hit my head on the table on the way down."

Kara inhales shakily, "What?"

"I had a seizure, I guess," she says it with a slight lilt at the end like it's a question she doesn't want answered. "Uh, it lasted about five minutes until the paramedics arrived. They said I was lucky I wasn't doing something else, like driving. It could've been a lot worse."

"Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't anyone call me?," Kara looks at her with pleading but sorrowful eyes.

"I didn't want you to worry."

"We promised each other, remember?" squeezes her hands. "For better or worse," she says with all the conviction she has. Kara kisses her knuckles and asks, "What did the doctors say?"

Lena sniffles and bows her head. "They ran all these tests on me, but couldn't find anything serious as to why I had a seizure. It could be any number of things, but they can't really do anything for me until I have another one," she looks up at her wife, lips wobbling.

"Kara, I'm scared," she whispers. "This is—" her words catch in her throat, and it's hard for her to breathe. "This is—my mom," she cries hysterically, covering her mouth with her hands, "This is how my mom died, she—she had a seizure while she was in the lake and she drowned. I can't—I can't believe this is—this is happening," she hiccups into another sob.

"Shhh," Kara envelops her in a hug and rubs soothing hands along her back. Lena bawls uncontrollably into her neck, hands gripped tightly to the back of Kara's shirt. "I'm so sorry, Lena," she kisses her on the head and murmurs into her hair, "We're gonna figure this out, I promise."

"What if I have what she had?" Lena questions, voice muffled and watery. "Kara...I don't wanna die," her mind begins to fill with thousands of different scenarios and she spirals into a panic, her whole body shaking, "I don't wanna die, Kara!"

"Honey, no," Kara hugs her tighter, as much as she can without harming her, then pulls back and kisses her on the forehead. She pointedly looks into her eyes when she says, "You're not dying. Okay? Not today, not anytime soon, alright?" Lena's face is red and splotchy. She tries to reign in control of her emotions, and she exhales a shaky breath while managing to give a slight nod. "Good. We'll figure out what's wrong with you, and if we can't do that here, then...we'll go to Argo. Their advances in science are way ahead of Earth's, and if that's not enough then I'll personally travel to other earths or other planets until I find a solution. You're not going anywhere if I have anything to say about it."

"Promise?"

Kara palms the underside of her jaw and rests their foreheads together, Lena's puffs of breath hitting her lips. "I promise," she presses their lips together in a chaste kiss and mumbles, "I love you." Kara kisses her again, "More than anything."

"I love you, too," Lena replies and buries her face in Kara's chest, her arms wrapped around her waist tight and what would be restricting if not for Kara’s invulnerable body. A calming minute passes for them in the aftermath of Lena's breakdown, when Lena quietly asks, "Is something burning?"

Lena feels her wife stiffen in her arms. "Shit!"

She pulls back and raises her eyebrows curiously, an amused glint in her eyes as she asks, "Did you just swear?"

Kara extracts herself from Lena's hold and stutters, "N-no, I said sh-sheet," she fumbles over to the stove and turns off the burner. Kara leans over the pot and frowns at the wreckage.

Lena chuckles with such fondness it's almost like their previous conversation has been forgotten. Kara beams at the sound, one of the reasons she fell in love with Lena in the first place; that girl can make laughter sound like music. Even her out-of-control snort laughs are adorable. At least to Kara's ears.

"There's no point in denying it, love, I heard you loud and clear," Lena smirks and joins her in the kitchen, poking her in the side. Kara squeals and feigns hurting by falling to the floor dramatically.

Lena playfully rolls her eyes and holds out her hand. "Baby, get up, the floor is a mess." Kara easily obeys and jumps to her feet with barely any help from Lena. "I married a weirdo," she shakes her head.

"Do you regret it?"

"Never," Lena states firmly. "You're my weirdo, forever."

"I like the sound of that," Kara blushes. Even after being married for five years, and knowing each other even longer, Lena still possesses the ability to fluster Kara on a daily basis.

"C'mon, let's order Chinese."

"You're speaking my language!" Kara kisses Lena on the nose and watches with pure affection as it scrunches. She grabs the takeout menu from the junk drawer before twining her fingers through Lena's and snuggling with her on the couch.

No matter her diagnosis, not matter the outcome, Lena will be more than okay with Kara by her side.

#half of this was written with an edible in my system #so i apologize if it doesn't make sense #lasdkjfldskjf #prompt ask #supercorp #supercorp fic #a lot of angst #but also PURE FLUFF

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a-simple-gaywitch · 3 years

Text

“I’m SO Fired”

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Spencer falls in love with Dave Rossi’s adopted daughter

Word Count: 2038

Warnings: canon-typical violence, mentions of brutal case, mentions of death of parents, that’s it. it’s mostly fluff

“Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.” -Anton Chekhov

Spencer was leaning over Emily’s desk, helping her with some details of her paperwork. He glanced up and noticed a beautiful woman briefly talking to Anderson before entering through the glass doors.

“Reid. Reid!” Emily said, snapping her fingers to get his attention.

“What? Oh, sorry.”

Emily shook her head. “And just like that, 187 gets slashed to 60.”

The woman walked over to the desk with the two. “Uh, hi,” you said. “Is Dave Rossi here?”

“Oh, um, he should be here. Did you- do you have a meeting with him?” Spencer asked.

“Kind of,” you said with a small laugh that made Spencer’s stomach flutter. “I’m-”

“(Y/N)!” Hotch said when he saw you.

“Aaron!”

Emily and Spencer exchanged glances as you gave Aaron a brief hug.

“Are you here to see your dad?” he asked you.

“Yeah, is he here?”

“He should be in his office. How long are you in town?”

“Just the weekend,” you said. “But I’m coming back in June for vacation.”

“Well, I’ll let you go see your dad,” Hotch said. As you walked up the stairs, he turned to see Spencer gawking at you. Emily looked at Hotch apologetically. Hotch sighed and said, “Reid, focus on your paperwork, not (Y/N) Rossi.”

You knocked on the office door, waiting to hear your father’s voice.

“Come in!” You pushed open the door and your adoptive father’s face lit up. “Tesorina!” he said, getting up to kiss your cheeks. “I was wondering when you were getting in. How’s work? And what about that boyfriend of yours? Anything-”

“Dad,” you said, cutting him off. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know at dinner. But you promised you’d introduce me to your team the next time I was in town.”

“I did promise that, didn’t I?” he said, pushing up from his desk. He slung his arm around your shoulder and steered you out of his office. The team was gathered in the bullpen, and they all turned to face Rossi when he cleared his throat. “Guys, this is my daughter, (Y/N).” He then introduced each team member to you, save for Aaron.

“Wow, Rossi, I didn’t know you even had a daughter,” Morgan said.

“Gee, Dad, you don’t talk about me to your coworkers? I’m hurt,” you said, pressing your hand over your heart.

Rossi rolled his eyes. “Drama queen.”

“So, you’re a Rossi?” Emily asked you.

“Not biologically. Dave adopted me when I was five,” you explained.

“Initially, I was just fostering her for a little while, but I fell in love with this little rascal,” he said, ruffling your hair.

You set about fixing your hair. “Well, I gotta run. See you at the house for dinner?”

“Yeah, I should be done around 6. Don’t get into trouble.”

“Me, get into trouble? When have I ever been known to do that?” You shot a wink at the man you now knew to be Dr. Reid before leaving the BAU.

Spencer’s cheeks turned pink and he felt Rossi’s eyes on him. He looked down at his desk, busying himself with organizing his pen cup. When he heard Rossi’s office door close, he let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

Derek rolled his chair over to Spencer’s desk. “You’re looking a little flushed there, Pretty Boy. That wouldn’t have anything to do with Ms. Rossi, would it?”

“Shut up, Morgan,” he muttered, focusing on folding a small piece of paper on his desk into even smaller squares.

Dave walked into his house (mansion) to the smell of garlic bread and tomato sauce. He smiled and set his coat on the rack by the door.

“You know, I would have cooked!” he called as he made his way to the kitchen. You were setting the table for the both of you.

“Yes, but how often do you actually cook?” you asked him as you poured two glasses of red wine. “You’re always away on cases, I know how much fast food and takeout you eat. Now shut up and enjoy my carbonara.”

Dave chuckled and sat down at the table across from you. “So, how’s work going?” he asked you.

You shrugged. “You know, there’s good days and bad days. We had a brother and his little sister get adopted together this week, which is always one of the big wins for us.”

He nodded. “What about that boyfriend of yours, Chad?”

“Oh, we broke up,” you said. “About a month ago.”

“Good, I didn’t really like him.”

“Dad, you say that about every guy I date.”

“And it’s true, I haven’t liked any of the guys you’ve dated.”

“Yeah, the only guys you’ve liked have been the ones you’ve tried to set me up with.”

“That’s not true!”

“Dad, remember Stephen?”

“I thought you would be a good match, honest. And before you say it, it’s not just because I’m overly protective.”

“So, we can admit you’re overprotective of me?” you said.

“Of course I am. And can you blame me?”

“I guess not,” you said with a shrug. “And you could be worse. I could still be living here.”

“Oh, come on. Would that be so bad, having a huge house mostly to yourself?”

“Well, no, but I like living in Pennsylvania,” you said. “And I like having an apartment.” Your father gave you a skeptical look. “Stop profiling me.”

“Sorry, it’s hard to turn it off.” He took a sip of his wine. “You’re planning to go to the cemetery tomorrow, aren’t you?”

“I do every year, you know that.”

“Yeah. They’d be so proud of you, you know.”

You smiled down at your plate and pushed the pasta around. “I know. I, uh, I don’t have many memories of them anymore,” you said. “But the one I’ve been trying to get rid of is still there.”

Dave reached across the table and grabbed your hand. “Hey. Your parents loved you, so much. That’s all you need to remember, okay? They loved you so much that they sacrificed themselves for you.”

“Yeah.”

You lost your parents when you were five. There was a serial killer in the Greater DC Area, a family annihilator. He’d called himself the Orphan Maker. The man would seek out young families with kids no older than 8 and kill the parents first, in front of the children. Then he would kill the children.

Rossi had been on that case, and had found that your family was the next target. Unfortunately, they did not get to your family before the man killed your parents. But fortunately, they caught him before he could get you.

Rossi felt guilty they didn’t make it in time. When the law officers found that you didn’t have any family to take you in, Dave offered to bring you home. The plan was to originally just be a foster parent to you until CPS found a place for you to stay officially. But he fell in love with you. You were a little spitfire, a little troublemaker. Dave adopted you and dedicated the rest of his life to taking care of you and protecting you.

“Hey, Rossi!” Morgan said as he met the man in the kitchen to get coffee. “How was your weekend with (Y/N)?”

Rossi noticed Reid’s back straighten at the mention of (Y/N)’s name. He smiled to himself, a plan forming in his head. It was a bit of a convoluted plan, but it would work out for everyone in the end.

“Oh, it was fine. She made me watch an episode of that show Reid and Garcia like.” He glanced over at Spencer’s desk and noticed he was listening intently. “I agreed since she’s still recovering from a recent breakup.”

“Is she okay?” Derek asked. “I know breakups can really suck.”

“She’ll be okay, she bounces back quick. I didn’t like the guy anyway. He was a meathead jock who thought being the high school quarterback was his entire personality. I want her to find a guy who’s smart and kind, someone I like.” He walked out of the kitchenette and passed Reid’s desk. He clapped his shoulder. “Morning, Reid.”

You were back in the area for a week-long vacation, and Dave had promised to go sight-seeing in DC with you.

You walked into the bullpen and were greeted by Penelope, who had quickly become your friend. She wrapped you in a hug before Rossi made his way over to you.

“Hey, Dad. You ready to go?” you asked after giving him a hug.

“Um, actually, I have to work late. But, you know, Dr. Reid here,” Spencer’s head snapped up from where he was packing his bag at the mention of his name, “knows more about the area than anyone I know. He can show you around. Right, Reid?”

Spencer looked like a deer caught in the headlights. He cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure.”

You smiled at him and Spencer felt the butterflies that were already in his stomach go crazy. The two of you walked out of the office, Spencer nervously gripping the strap of his bag while you walked alongside him.

Penelope looked at Rossi narrowing her eyes. “You don’t have to work late.”

Rossi smiled. “No.”

Penelope gasped. “You’re trying to set them up, aren’t you?”

“I will neither confirm nor deny,” Rossi said before walking back to his office.

“So, Dr. Reid,” you said as the two of you walked out of the FBI building, “I heard you’re a huge Doctor Who fan.”

Spencer turned to look at you, losing his footing and tripping on the sidewalk. He straightened himself up and cleared his throat. “You, uh, you can call me Spencer. And yeah, I’m-I’m a fan.”

You smiled and Spencer thought the sun had come out again with the brightness you radiated. “Who’s your favorite? Personally, I’m a Tennent girl, but Baker is a close second.” Spencer was staring at you, his jaw dropped. “What?”

“You might be the hottest girl I’ve ever met.”

When Spencer woke up, the first thing he noticed was the beautiful woman asleep next to him, her head on his bare chest. He smiled and ran his hand through your hair as you started stirring.

“Morning,” he said as you looked up at him, resting her chin on his chest.

“Morning, Pretty Boy.” You saw his smile falter and his eyes go wide. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m so fired,” he said. “I slept with my boss’s daughter. I’m so fired. No, I’m more than fired. I’m dead. Rossi is going to kill me.”

“Hey. Spence, breathe,” you said, cupping his face in your hands. “He’s not going to do anything to you. And if he tries, he’ll face my wrath.”

Spencer chuckled. “Well, after that guy drove through that puddle and splashed you last night, I believe it.” He was silent for a moment as the two of you sat up in the bed. Spencer wrapped his arms around you, pulling your back to his chest. “What are you going to tell him when you go home?”

You shrugged, leaning your head back. “The truth. I got to know a sweet guy last night and I stayed the night at his place.”

Spencer smiled and gave you a soft kiss.

You slipped into the Rossi Manor, feeling like a teenager missing curfew again. You got about halfway through the kitchen before hearing Dave clear his throat. You spun around to see him standing by the kitchen island with a cup of coffee.

“Oh, uh, morning, Dad.”

“So, you were out all night.”

“Yep.”

“And you’re wearing the same clothes.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Who is he?” When you didn’t answer, he said, “Spencer?”

Your face paled. “How did-”

“You didn’t really think you could hide that from an old profiler, did you?” He handed you the mug. “Don’t worry, I approve. I’d be more than happy to have Spencer as a son.”

“Dad!”

“I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone.” - J.R.R. Tolkien

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #x reader #rossi!reader #criminal minds #em's fics

398 notes · View notes

forever-rogue · 3 years

Note

116 and 139 from the prompt list with Bucky please

Prompts used:

116. “I love you a lot, but please stop trying to cook me dinner, you suck.”

139. “I thought you were a dream come true.”

A/N: Hello friends! I’m so glad to be writing for Bucky again. I hope you all enjoy! 🥺

Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: none

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

Bucky paused as he started at the brass 314 just above the top of the door to your apartment. The delicate gold threading of his vibranium arm glinted in the bright, artificial lighting of the hallway, causing him to pause for a moment as he contemplated walking away and never coming back. But no; that wasn’t him anymore, he wasn’t going to continually run away and lock himself up and shut everyone out in the process. The time for that was over, despite how hopeless it seemed at times.

Besides all of the hesitations and reservations he experienced, you’d never once made him feel small or insignificant or like he was just that Bucky. You’d always managed to see him for who he was, and slowly, over time he worked to shed the layers of worry and fear and let you see him, the real him. The seemingly ever present gloves had come off, followed by his jacket, and every other little barrier he had put up over the years. When he’d first told you who he was, who he really was, he’d watched your face flicker through a series of emotions before a smile tugged on the corners of your mouth and you’d responded with a simple okay. Then you told him everything about yourself; trust wasn’t easy, you’d reminded him that day, and it was a two way street. If he allowed himself to be vulnerable enough to open up to you, you would do the same.

It was hard to believe that it had been almost four months. In some ways it felt like no time had passed at all, and in other ways he felt like he’d known you for eons. He’d abhorred the concept of online dating, but for once, he was glad he had listened to Sam and Dr. Raynor and hadn’t deleted his profile on the spot. He had been ready to give up until he received the simple notification that you had matched with him and messaged him. Everything after that felt surprisingly...easy. You had proven to be a beacon of bright, brilliant sunlight in the seemingly endless storm. Not that he had told you that...not in those specific words anyway, but he had a lot of other tells that you picked up on.

As soon as he slipped back into reality and he prepared himself to knock, the door opened and he found you beaming at him.

“Hi James,” his expression softened and any lingering doubt he had about staying was washed away as he held out a bouquet of your favorite flowers. Wide doe eyes met his and suddenly all he could think about was the fact that he really, really wanted to kiss you then and there, but he would save that for later if he felt bold enough to steal a kiss or two, “they’re beautiful! What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion,” he insisted, stuffing his hands into his pocket as was customary, offering a shrug of his shoulders, “I saw them when I was walking over and I thought you’d like them.”

“I love them,” you promised, a gentle hand on his forearm as you pulled him inside, “come on. And no hands in pockets! Not around me anyways.”

“Right,” he reminded himself with a light grimace as he stepped in and closed the door before shucking off his jacket and hanging it on your coat rack. Your apartment was small, not much bigger than his, but much more homey - he always enjoyed the warmth and comfort it provided. The whole place smelled delicious, and judging from the small mountain of dishes in the sink, he could see that you had been working away for some time. An odd, warm, sensation bubbled him in stomach as he trailed after you, noting the music you had on in the background. He made a mental note to ask you about the artist later as he was still getting a grip on what was popular...Sam wouldn’t let go of that one.

“Beer?” you nodded in the direction of the fridge as he sauntered over and made quick work of grabbing two bottles out. He set one down for you before studying you intently as you stirred the pot of pasta sauce. You’d noticed that about him, he was quiet, and aloof, always analyzing everything. But you relished into it too - when silence fell over the both of you it was never awkward or uncomfortable. You turned to him, a smile on your face as you raised an eyebrow at him, “what? Is there something on my face?”

“N-no,” he answered quickly as he took a swig of what he already deemed as liquid courage, “it’s just...how did you know I was at the door?”

You snorted at his question, barely able to contain a fit of giggles as it was his turn to raise his eyebrows at you. But god, did he love hearing that laugh; even if you thought it was a silly question, it was worth it just to hear your amusement, “really? That’s what you want to know?”

“Yeah,” he grinned back at you, “out with it.”

“Well,” you clinked the neck of your bottle against his before taking a long drink, “you’re always early, never more than ten minutes, but always at least five, from our planned time. You have a particular walk, not loud but not soft...just you. I dunno, but it’s distinct. It wasn’t hard to figure out. Plus I heard you and then you didn't knock, so I had to make sure you weren’t having some sort of ...panic out there. And maybe I was just really excited to see you.”

“Excited to see me?” he was incredulous. He wasn’t sure when someone had last told him that.

“I’m always excited to see you, James,” you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching over and gently putting your hand on his cheek. And he practically keened into your touch, eyes fluttering closed at the tenderness so you openly displayed, “oh! I almost forgot, will you grab a vase for the flowers so I can get them in water?”

“Of course,” he agreed. Of course he was ready to do almost anything for you, “one more question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why don’t you call me Bucky?” he kept his gaze trained on the vase as he pulled it from the cabinet and filled it with water. For some reason he was almost nervous to hear your answer.

“You told me that only your family or friends called you Bucky,” you reminded him as he answered with a simple nod, “so I figured it was something earned, something that I should only call you if you trusted me enough to know you in such an intimate manner. I-I didn’t want to overstep your boundaries either. W-would you like it? If I called you Bucky?”

His throat felt tight and his heart constricted as he listened to your words. For once it wasn't a cloying, negative feeling but one he...enjoyed. How very odd. A silence fell over the kitchen as he arranged the flowers in their new home and you finished dinner. For the briefest second did you think you’d said something wrong, but after he set the flowers on the dining table, he turned to and nodded, a slow, sure thing, “yes. Please - call me Bucky.”

“Bucky,” you repeated softly, grinning from ear to ear to as you pulled out the loaf of bread to prep to throw into the oven to turn into garlic bread, “my Bucky.”

The singular use of the possessive might have been lost on you, but it most definitely wasn’t lost on James Buchanan Barnes. He gripped the edge of the table so tightly, he was surprised it didn’t break. Collecting himself for a moment, he came back over to you and offered to take the garlic and press to assist you in your little venture.

You were quick to playfully swat his hand away before nudging your hip with his, “I’ve got it. You go ahead and start getting plates and stuff ready.”

“Come on, I can totally help,” he insisted as you brandished the press at him, “how hard is it? You’ve done everything!”

“Nuh huh,” you insisted, “remember the first we had dinner at yours? You almost burnt the kitchen down because you didn’t pay attention. Not happening - I love you a lot, but please stop trying to cook me dinner, you suck.”

“I-I do not suck,” his mouth ran dry as he gaped at you like a fish out of water. How easily the words had spilled from your mouth, without a second thought, without hesitation. He wondered if you’d even realized what you said, “I...umm-”

“Oh,” it was then that realization hit you and your face felt warmer than it ever had, “Bucky, I didn’t...I didn’t mean to say that...out loud. I’m sorry, please don’t...I’m sorry. I don’t want to seem too forward.”

‘Y-you love me?” a dark pink flush rose in his cheeks as you chose your next words carefully. You didn’t want to lie to him and backtrack on your declaration, but you didn’t want to drive him away either. Instead you settled on a small squeak and a slight nod, “I can’t even remember the last time someone told me that. Or the last time I felt that for someone else too. It’s been a long time.”

“Things haven’t exactly been easy or normal for you, Bucky,” you laughed lightly as he came closer and left only a minuscule amount of space between your bodies. You could practically feel the heat radiating off his body as it took every fiber of your being not to throw yourself at him then and there, “but you deserve kindness and love as much as anyone else, if not more so. You are a good man Bucky, despite what some people want to believe and despite what your mind tells you sometimes. The last few months with you have been...the most wonderful. You’ve made me so happy. I hope to be able to give you even a fraction of that in return.”

“You have made me happier than I thought I deserved to be,” he admitted as it became your turn to take a step closer. If you leaned in now, your lips would almost brush his. And god, you wanted to kiss him - until you were breathless, until it was the only thing you knew. The two of you had taken it slow, upon requests from both of you - Bucky for the obvious reasons and you after a very rough break up. It hadn’t been much more than sweet kisses and honeyed whispers, but he meant so much to you. You liked how things were progressing, but you couldn’t deny you would always take more, however much he was willing to give you, “when I first saw and met you, I thought you were a dream come true. Like you really couldn’t be real, or even like me, but here you are."

“I don’t really plan on going anywhere,” you promised, inching that much closer, your face almost touching his, “I hope you’re not either. Because I kind of...really like you.”

“M-may I kiss you?” he brought his hand to your face while his vibranium arm settled on your waist. It was an odd tango, one he was still trying to work out to see what felt right, normal. It had been a long, long, time since he’d held someone this way. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you carded a hand through his hair, playing with a particularly wild bit at the nape. You wanted nothing more than this, than him. It was such a simple act, and yet so saccharine and intimate when it was the two of you. It was an act of trust, an act of intimacy, and so much more.

“Please,” you beamed him before he closed the distance and kissed you. And this time, he really kissed you, like you were the only thing sustaining him, the only thing he wanted or needed - a fresh breath of life. Plush lips were delicate and soft again yours, but hungry and yearning as though nothing could ever be enough. When you chanced a breath of air, you nuzzled your nose against his and softly whispered his name, “Bucky.”

“I don’t know if I can say it yet,” he swallowed thickly as you knew immediately what he was indicating. You cupped his cheek before tracing over his features, “I…”

“I know,” you promised as you met his eyes. They were so soft and gentle; this was perhaps the most relaxed you’d seen him. At your words he seemed to melt into your touch as a soft sigh escaped him, “I’m not going anywhere, I promise. I’m all in.”

“Me too,” he promised, “me too.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #tfatws #the falcon and the winter soldier

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fific7 · 3 years

Text

Evil Twins - Part 3

Billy Russo & Aleksander Morozova x Reader

Summary: When two worlds which have already collided then collide with yours - that’s an explosive situation.

A/N: This does not follow canon, it’s mainly a mix of fluff and angst with quite a lot of lemon zest 🍋 My Fantasy Punisher/Shadow and Bone crossover AU.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW due to sexual content including oral and unprotected* sex between consenting adults. Slightly questionable consent to begin with. Some drinking & swearing.

*Irl, please don’t go wild in the country without protection.

(My photo edit)

Your head bumped slightly against the corner of the kitchen cupboard and this brought you back to reality. What did you think you were doing? You pushed Billy away roughly and stepped quickly away from him. He looked bereft but you ignored that, saying, “Okay, Billy - enough. I don’t know what I was thinking!” You picked up some of the crockery and went to the dishwasher.

Billy lounged back against the sink, arms crossed, long legs spread, contemplating you.

“That you were enjoying it?”

You huffed, “So what if I was? But it really wasn’t a good idea.” He smirked, “You don’t really believe that.” He pushed himself off the sink unit and headed back to the living room, saying over his shoulder, “To be continued, sweetheart.”

You clattered the dishes around, loading the dishwasher and mentally beating yourself up for giving in to your baser instincts, when you heard Aleksander’s voice in the other room.

“What are you looking so pleased about?” You heard Billy make a relaxed stretching noise like a cat, and you could visualise him doing just that.

“Oh I dunno. What could I possibly be looking pleased about, huh?” “You…!” shouted Aleksander, and then you heard scuffling noises so you rushed through there. As you’d feared, Billy and Aleksander were rolling around on the floor, grunting and trying to punch each other’s lights out.

“Stop it!” you yelled at the top of your voice, but they ignored you. So you waded in, trying to separate them without success. Eventually you took to landing punches on them yourself. Both of them stopped wrestling and looked at you in surprise, and you took this opportunity to yell at them, “Get up! Stop this right now and get up!”

You all unentangled yourselves, standing up and rearranging clothes. They sat down on a sofa each, while you stood there glaring at them like a headmistress, arms crossed. “What is it with you two?! You’re like a couple of stags butting heads! And I’m not talking about your stupid amplifier!” you yelled at them and glaring at Aleksander. The two of them mumbled under their breaths and you said loudly, “What? What was that? It better have been ‘we’re sorry we make you act like our mum’ or something like that!”

They both laughed, exchanging glances, and you snapped, “This is no laughing matter! I’m sick of it. It’s like having two children around the place.” Billy composed his face into a serious expression, saying, “Sorry, sweetheart. But you must know that a mother’s the last thing we think of you as.” Aleksander nodded, “For once I agree with that idiot.” He looked intently at you, “We both want you, so that’s never going to end well.”

You felt your face pink up, “I’m not some snack to be fought over!” “Course you’re not, sweetheart,” soothed Billy, “but this idiot thought I’d slept with you so he lost his cool.” “Did not!” roared Aleksander, then his head swung to you, “You didn’t, did you?” “No I did NOT!” you insisted. “But she did kiss me,” smirked Billy. Outraged, you screeched, “You kissed me, if you recall!” Billy just kept on smirking and Aleksander launched himself across the coffee table, grabbing Billy by the throat and hissing, “Just as well for you I can’t use the Cut right now!”

“Oh for god’s sake,” you said, “just stop it, will you?” Aleksander stood up, huffing and smoothing down his t-shirt, sitting down on the other sofa again. “What’s the Cut?” queried Billy. “You don’t wanna know,” you said, “now I’m going to put the TV on for you children because I need to do some housework.” You heard a chuckle from Billy, “Yeah! You could put on a maid’s outfit if ya like?” You flipped him the middle finger, switched on the TV and went back into the kitchen.

You could hear a rumble of voices from the other room, and just hoped that war was not about to break out again. What the hell were you going to do about this situation? You had the feeling it was building to boiling point.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

When you emerged a little later having seen to your domestic tasks, you found the two of them sitting on the floor with your old Monopoly set open in front of them. Aleksander was poring over the instructions and they both turned towards you, “How d’ya play this?” asked Billy. You stared at him, “Now him I could understand but you? You’ve never played Monopoly?” His face fell and he shrugged, “No, they didn’t have it in the orphanage.” Immediately you felt terrible and you’d already said, “Oh I’m sorry, Billy,” before your brain caught up with your mouth and you added sarcastically, “I should’ve known you wouldn’t have had it in your fictional orphanage in your fictional childhood.”

His big dark eyes gazed up at you, “Might be fictional to you, sweetheart but it wasn’t to me.” Now you felt bad again, holding up your hands, “Okay, okay - I really am sorry, alright?” He nodded, looking back down and fidgeting with the little dog and top hat tokens. You joined them on the floor, “You two really want to play?” They solemnly nodded, so you whipped the instructions out of Aleksander’s hands, “Okay, I’ll explain it to you.”

Twenty minutes later, Aleksander huffed as he got sent to Jail again, reached over and grabbed a load of Billy’s houses and hotels and dumped them on his own squares. “That’s you all over, isn’t it?” sneered Billy, “you’re a loser but you can’t stand it so you just grab what you want, brother!” “Oh and you don’t, hmm brother?!” snarked Aleksander.

“Billy, Aleksander!” you yelled, then in your wisdom decided to add, “in fact I’m going to call you ‘Aleks’ as your full name’s too much of a mouthful for when I’m yelling at you!” Aleks grinned at you, “Or when you’ll be screaming it in bed.” Billy eye-rolled, “Like that’s ever goin’ to happen!” “Just watch!” “I don’t go in for watchin’!” “Well, that’s all you’re going to get a chance to do, little brother!” “Little brother!?? You were definitely second - after me!!”

By now, both of them had jumped to their feet and - surprise, surprise - were nose to nose.

You cradled your head in your hands. This was purgatory.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

She’d retreated back onto the kitchen to make another pot of tea, and peace had temporarily broken out between the two warring parties.

A discussion had begun, with Billy starting it off. “She’s gettin’ really pissed off with us.” Aleks nodded, “Yes, I know.” “So what’re we gonna do? She can’t exactly throw us out I know, but I’d like it better if she was lookin’ at us with somethin’ other than disgust.” Aleks nodded, then - quickly looking round to check she was still out of earshot, “Ah… I suppose we could share?” Billy’s head shot up, eyes staring into his twin’s, “Ya what?” “Share. We could share her. Separately… or together.”

Billy’s mouth dropped into an ‘O’. “Share,” he repeated, then again, “share? D’you think she’d go for that?” Aleks nodded. “She likes us, I can tell. We both like her, and that could be a problem - well it has been, hasn’t it? - but if we play it right, I’m pretty sure we can charm her into bed with both of us.”

Billy and Aleks sat looking at each other, satisfied little smiles on their faces.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Unaware that you were now the object of a peace treaty between the twins, you experienced some deja vu when carrying the tea tray into the living room. Both of them were sitting on the one sofa again, gazing up at you with unreadable expressions in their eyes.

You had the nastiest feeling that you’d missed something important while you’d been in the kitchen making tea. What had the two of them been cooking up between themselves? You plonked the tray down on the coffee table and looked at them suspiciously.

“What’re you two up to?” They shook their heads, innocence radiating off them, “ Nothing!” they chorused. Billy continued, “We just decided that we better stop pissin’ you off so much.”

You beamed at them, “That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day!” You missed the significant looks exchanged between the two men as you placed the cups of tea in front of them.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

The rest of the afternoon and evening passed relatively peacefully, with only a few minor skirmishes between the two of them about whatever film or programme you’d put on to watch. And much to your surprise, you realised that they’d actually stopped arguing themselves without you having to step in. Well, that was an improvement at any rate.

For the evening meal you’d rustled up a ragu sauce, and as you didn’t have any spaghetti left you had to use farfalla. So sue me, you thought. Along with some garlic bread you’d heated in the oven, you dished up three portions and then pulled down your space-saving kitchen table, which folded up into the corner of the room when not in use. You got three chairs out of your walk-in cupboard and set them up round the table. “Dinner!” you yelled, and two tall figures came piling into the kitchen. “Mmmm smells great, sweetheart,” schmoozed Billy, sitting down and looking over to where the plates were on the counter. “It does, moi krasivyy,” said Aleks, not to be outdone.

You brought out three bottles of beer from the fridge. You’d almost got over the way food and drinks just replenished themselves as soon as you used or consumed something. Setting them down on the table, you popped the tops off them with the bottle opener and slid one in front of each of them. You noticed they were both looking at you with what could only be described as ‘heart-eyes’, and you squirmed uncomfortably under their gaze. “What’re you both staring at?” you demanded. “Perfection,” said Aleks. “Gorgeousness,” smirked Billy.

After the food had been eaten and beer bottles drained, amidst more effusive compliments about the meal the twins jumped up from the table and said that you needed to go and relax while they washed up the plates. “Thanks for offering, guys, but that’s why I’ve got a dishwasher.” “Well, we’ll load the dishwasher then,” insisted Billy. He took your arm and led you into the living room, “Sit down sweetheart, and just chill while we do the work now.” He gazed at you, and you saw that look in his eyes again - as if you were some kind of earth-bound angel or something.

Right! you thought, just what are these two up to???

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You sighed, leaning over and switching off your bedside lamp. The book you’d been reading wasn’t turning out to be quite what you’d expected. You’d hoped for a bit more… well, raunchier content, not to put too fine a point on it. In that respect, a nun could’ve read it and wouldn’t have blushed.

You’d wondered if you should read a fanfic or two instead - Billy Russo or The Darkling ha ha ha - but then you’d remembered that your wifi and mobile data weren’t working due to this ridiculous situation you found yourself in, so obviously whatever force controlled this… this portal?…didn’t want you contacting the outside world.

You’d fallen asleep quite quickly, laughing to yourself as you did that children were extremely tiring.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

The dreams began shortly afterwards, and they were much more vivid than usual.

Your quilt was folded slowly back off you - the rush of cold air was distinctly noticeable - and your top and sleep shorts were peeled off you. You heard deep sighs but you didn’t know who’d made them. Then you were gently rolled onto your back, and you were aware of your mattress dipping down on both sides.

You felt warm skin against your whole body - it almost felt like you were surrounded - and it felt so good that you smiled.

“See! She’s smiling, I told you she’d be fine with it.”

In your dream your brow wrinkled, she’d be fine with what? And who said that?

You felt a tongue lick one of your nipples and a hand squeezed your other breast and then switched - the other nipple was licked, the other breast was squeezed.

You sat bolt upright in bed, and that’s when you realised that you were in fact wide awake.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

In the dim light coming through your gauzy curtains, you could make out two pairs of dark chocolate eyes staring into yours.

“Darling,” said Aleks.

“Sweetheart,” said Billy.

“You fuckers!” you screeched, looking down at your nude body and trying to cover up the relevant bits with your hands and by crossing your legs.

“Too late,” said Billy, giving you a small smile and nodding at your hands which you were still moving around to try and give you maximum coverage.

“We’ve had our hands and mouths on you already,” agreed Aleks.

“Yes and without my permission!” you snapped.

Billy reached across and put on the light. You jumped, feeling like you were under a spotlight, moving your hands about even more frantically. Then Billy’s hands were pulling yours down and away from your breasts.

“Hey!” you yelled at him, and tried to pull your hands out of his but he wouldn’t let go and he was too strong for you.

Now Aleks did his bit, pulling your raised and crossed legs down onto the bed, parting your thighs in your sitting position against your pillows, and then held your legs tightly in position on the bed.

Both men totally consumed you with their eyes, and you were powerless to stop them.

“Oh, darling… you are so, so beautiful,” breathed Aleks.

Billy whispered, “You’re stunning, sweetheart. Absolutely stunning.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

“I can’t believe you two!” you were yelling at them, ignoring their compliments and lustful gazes, “Let me go!”

“But you know how much we want you, darling,” Aleks said persuasively.

“Just let us get it out of our systems and things will quieten down,” pleaded Billy, “well, a little bit anyhow.”

“I cannot believe you sneaked into my room!” you hissed, trying to get free from their restraining hands. “Let go of me. Now!!!”

But instead they slid you down the bed until you were flat on your back and then both heads dipped down to your neck, their mouths were on your skin, beginning to kiss and lick and suck.

“Get off me!” you snarled, still trying to get free but you were too firmly held between them - as if you were in a vice. “But we can make you feel so good, darling,” whispered Aleks next to your ear, Billy purring “Soooo very good, sweetheart,” next to the other one.

Then their attention moved slightly southwards. Billy changed his grip on your hands, grasping both your wrists in one big hand instead and pulling your arms up above your head, pinning them down onto your pillows. Aleks moved one of his legs across yours to keep you pinned, and then you saw their hands stealing onto your breasts, squeezing and kneading them before their mouths came into play. Their hands remained on your breasts but each nipple now had one of their mouths fastened onto it, and they began licking, kissing, sucking and biting until you squealed, squirming under them.

Desperately fighting to ignore how good their attentions were beginning to make you feel, you burst out, “Stop it!” but neither of them did. In fact they both stepped up their attentions, biting and licking your nipples and the skin surrounding them until you could hear yourself beginning to gasp uncontrollably.

You caught a look and a nod being exchanged between them, and both of them sat up on their knees. Billy was still holding your wrists and Aleks used one of his knees to keep your leg pinned. Unable to avoid looking at the two lean bodies in front of you, you saw two rampant cocks lying up almost against their stomachs and much to your disgust, you felt a tumultuous wave of arousal wash over you.

They are two very well-endowed boys, your traitorous mind said into your ear. And exactly the same size! - truly twins, it giggled at you. Oh shut up, you silently answered it and get me out of this situation! Of course now it did shut up.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

“Sweetheart,” said Billy, cupping your cheek and suddenly kissing you, tongue thrusting into your mouth, breaking away for a second to say, “We’re gonna take real good care of you now.” He went back to kissing you, and you heard a whine from Aleks, “I want to kiss her!” Billy sighed into your mouth and lifted his lips from yours. “Okay, bro,” he said, “all yours. For now.”

Aleks crashed his lips onto yours, his teeth clashing with yours until he calmed down a bit and wasn’t quite so desperate. His tongue slid into your mouth, not quite as assertively as Billy’s but still pretty forceful. You could hear him making little “Mmmm” sounds as he kissed you then he sat back, stroking your lips. “Taste so sweet,” he smiled down at you, “your lips are so soft.”

Aleks sat up on his knees again and as he did so, you felt Billy’s body lay down fully on top of you and he rested his hard cock just for a moment between your legs. His hands took hold of your hips and angled you upwards ever so slightly, then you felt just the head of his cock rubbing against your core. Wetness began to gather and you tutted, trying to squirm away from the insistent teasing, but Billy just chuckled and moved his cock along with you when you managed to move slightly, still rubbing at you.

Aleks’ thumb went to your bottom lip and he gently pulled it down further, opening your mouth to him. He leant over and licked both your lips, sucking on them gently then pushing his tongue inside your mouth. Now he was hovering over you, his erection brushing your lips, the tip starting to edge inside.

Okay, okay, okay, your slightly panicking brain chanted. This was happening. Really going to happen. They were both going to take you right now.

You weren’t 100% sure how you felt about it.

Angry that they were just going to have you whatever you said about it. Excited because they were both very hot, very sexy guys.

But whatever your feelings on the matter, it was inevitable - that much was obvious.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

“I promise I’ll make you feel like you’re in heaven, darling,” you heard Aleks say and then Billy chipping in with, “An’ I promise I’ll make you scream my name, sweetheart.”

You closed your eyes, waiting.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

@aleksanderwh0r3 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @s1xthirty @tartiflvtte @slythvoid @edithsvoice @paracosmenthusiast @mizelophsun11 @eroda-harry @theshadowkingsqueen @kestrafagnor @thelightinmyshadows

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#ben barnes #billy russo #aleksander morozova #general kirigan #the punisher 💀#shadow and bone #billy russo & aleksander morozova x reader #billy russo and aleksander morozova fanfiction #billy russo and aleksander morozova imagine #billy russo and aleksander morozova fanfic #billy russo x reader #aleksander morozova x reader #general kirigan x reader

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sigmaleph · 3 years

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@serinemolecule asked me for hot takes on this 2006 article on Argentinian food, which I am now reorganising into a proper post for y'all's consumption. you're welcome.

First of all: the titular thesis that you should eat two steaks a day. I am forced to clarify that as 'should's go you should eat zero steaks a day, but this is ethical rather dietary advice and I don't follow it as well as I should, so, y'know. I would engage with this on the level it was stated, but I actually have no opinion on it. Moving on...

Argentine beef really is extraordinary. Almost all of this has to do with how the cows are raised. There are no factory feedlots in Argentina; the animals still eat pampas grass their whole lives, in open pasture, and not the chicken droppings and feathers mixed with corn that pass for animal feed in the United States.

This is, as it happens, completely false. There absolutely is plenty of feedlot beef being eaten in Argentina, and this was also the case back when this article was written. There's grass-fed beef too, and maybe the writer structured their life around only eating those, but the claim that there are no feedlots is just not true.

if you let them make the call, you get a two-inch thick of meat[...]The Argentine steak stands alone, towering three inches over the plate,[...]This gorgeous specimen is called a lomito; it's a standard lunchtime steak, clearly so thin that the Argentines are embarrassed to send it out into the world without a protective wrapping of ham and cheese

I have no idea what their obsession with steak thickness is; meat exists at various levels of thick and thin to suit various tastes. If you like yours thick that's fine but quit the projecting, y'know.

As you might expect, vegetarians will have a somewhat rough time here. For most people in Argentina, a vegetarian is something you eat. One's diet will accordingly lean heavily on pastas, gnocchi, salads, and (for the less squeamish ) fish. Vegans will not survive in Argentina.

This is, unfortunately, true (well, hyperbole, but). Rinna had a rather bad time trying to find vegan food when fae came over for visits. The situation is improving slowly, at least.

The homemade cookies bought in the minimarket downstairs taste of steak. [picture of alfajores de maicena[

Jesus. Find somewhere better to buy your snacks.

It should be no surprise that the land of beef also has excellent milk and butter. The milk comes in plastic bags that would give any American marketing department a heart attack. They proudly advertise "GUARANTEED 100% BRUCELLOSIS AND HOOF-AND-MOUTH FREE". One brand even brags that its bacteria count never exceeds 100,000 per mL, and prints daily statistics to prove it (only 82,000 bacteria/mL on Monday! mmm!).

Are you under the impression American milk doesn't contain bacteria and that when it spoils it's because of the molecules' sheer willpower? Or do you just object to the reminder that they exist?

This menu is delicious, but with rare exceptions it is all you are going to get. People coming for more than a few weeks are advised to bring a discreet bottle of Tabasco sauce.

Eat at better restaurants.

With any order from the master menu comes the Bread Basket, which should be treated as you would treat a basket of wax fruit, that is, as a purely decorative ornament. It is considered bad form to actually eat anything from Bread Basket

What are you talking about. Do all your dining companions just suck, eat some bread.

Dulce de leche is a culinary cry for help. It says "save us, we are baffled and alone in the kitchen, we don't know what to do for dessert and we're going to boil condensed milk and sugar together until help arrives". This cloying dessert tar is so impossibly sweet that you wish you were ten years old again, just so you could actually enjoy it. It is everywhere. There is a special dulce de leche shelf in the supermarket dairy case, and the containers go up to a liter in size. Even the churros are stuffed with it - the churros, Montresor!

It is rare that I feel insulted for the sake of my country, but this? How dare you.

Yes, of course we fill churros with dulce de leche; the real question is why anyone doesn't, short of dietary restrictions. Finding out that people do otherwise was like learning that in other countries, "sandwich" just means two slices of bread. Live a little. Eat a real godsdamned churro.

I spent a considerable amount of time trying to figure out how meals work in Argentina, and they remain a mystery to me. Dinner is clear enough: people tend to go to restaurants beginning at ten o'clock (for those with small children), with the main rush around eleven, and dinner is pretty much over at one or so in the morning. And breakfast - or rather, its absence - follows as a logical consequence of eating a steak the size of a beagle at midnight. But I have yet to figure out whether people eat some kind of meal in the afternoon, and if so, when.

At... noon? Like. We eat lunch. Usually somewhere around 12:00. I am eating lunch right now, and I have done so essentially every day of my life. This is just baffling.

I've come to think the culprit in the missing Argentine lunch scene is yerba mate.

how.

Where the ignorant foreigner may see just another kind of herbal tea (yerba mate is a very unassuming shrub that grows in the northern parts of the country) the Argentine sees a taste treat of unimaginable subtlety, and a tonic for all his problems. The Wikipedia article on proper mate preparation should give you a warning of the level of obsessiveness attainable here (the Urugayans are even worse). To the virgin palate, mate tastes like green tea mixed with grass clippings. The beverage is traditionally drunk out of a little gourd, through a metal straw called a bombilla, with hot (but not boiling!!) water poured into it (without wetting the surface!! clockwise!!) from a thermos.

Yeah, this is accurate. Well, not the clockwise part, never heard anyone complain about that and I can't imagine it mattering.

What distinguishes mate from coffee and tea is the social context - two or more people share a gourd, with a designated pourer in charge of refilling it with hot water after each turn. The ritual is low-fuss but indispensible. You can buy mate gourds and thermoses in any grocery store, and get your thermos filled with hot water at any convenience store or gas station, but you will never see mate served in restaurants or sold in little disposable paper gourds, to go. it's not that people refuse to drink mate alone - anyone working a solitary shift will have a gourd in hand - but that the concept of being served mate by someone who does not share it with you seems impossible.

This is also true. Attempts have been made to sell to-go mate but it's never very popular, the social ritual is important. Also unfortunately a disease vector, I haven't had any mate in a year and a half.

Mate aficionados will tell you that mate contains a special compound, mateine, that serves as a tonic and mild stimulant, promoting alertness without making it hard to sleep, reducing fatigue and appetite, helping the digestion and serving as a mild diuretic. Scientists will tell you that mateine bears a suspicious resemblance to a chemical called caffeine. Mate aficionados will then grow indignant, explaining that mateine is really a stereoisomer (mirror image) of caffeine, with different effects, which will in turn irritate the scientists, who will snap that caffeine doesn't have a chiral center, so it can't have a distinguishable mirror image, and why don't the mate aficionados just put a sock in it.

The first part of this is true; some people definitely think "mateine" is different from caffeine and it absolutely isn't. Never heard the stereoisomer claim before but googling it does confirm some people say so.

still have no idea what any of this has to do with lunch, though. I promise you nobody skips lunch because mate is just too filling.

The wine here is very good (something has to stand up to that steak), but Argentina has no liquor to call its own, relying on whiskies like Old Smuggler and the low-maintenance Don Juan cognac to carry the flag.

There's a fundamental omission from this list and it's called fernet.

Beer is ubiquitous and comes in a bewildering variety of sizes, although there is a skittishness about the full-on liter. Things level off at 970 mL. In my case, it means I end up drinking 1940 mL of beer as a kind of personal protest, and all is well with the world. To make up for the abundance of sizes, beer comes in only one variety, Quilmes, which inevitably comes served with a tripartite platter of snacks - nuts, salty cylinders, and aged potato chips.

I never had trouble buying beer by the litre, but I confess I never tried to do so in 2006 on account of being under 18 at the time.

Anyway, beer comes in a lot more varieties today, thankfully, because Quilmes sucks. I'll never be a beer person, but at least these days there's options I tolerate.

[original post]

#dreamwidth crosspost

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uzumaki-rebellion · 3 years

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“Black Boys Bloom Thorns First: [Volume 3, Chp. 5]

youtube

"Smells good and feels nice Warm to touch and mostly good to mention Like sunny days it's warm and light Now it's time to release the tension…"

Omar – "Best By Far"

"Salud!"

Erik clinked his wineglass with the Korean woman next to him then glanced down at the delicious meal that sat before him. The beef bourguignon had diced carrots, pearl onions, mushrooms, and bacon. It sat on a sliced toasted and buttered baguette right next to roasted red potatoes and sauteed broccolini dusted with red pepper flakes and a grated French Gruyère cheese topping. He sliced into the tender beef and took his first bite. He immediately tasted the thyme, bay leaves, sage, and sea salt. His mouth watered and he closed his eyes while chewing. The savory flavors made him think of the meals his father prepared with his mother. Food was family to him, and exquisite meals humbled him. What could Disa not do?

Erik sipped the glass of water next to his plate to cleanse his pallet before he tucked into the broccolini and potatoes. Around him, he heard the loud clanks of silverware going to work and the moans of satisfied dinner guests.

"Exceptional dinner tonight, a toast to Disa!"

Hollis held up his wineglass and all the others followed suit. There were twelve people around the enormous mahogany dining table. Disa sat in the middle of the table with Hollis on the end seat and Yamilet on the other end. There was so much food and wine and the guests took their time with the meal with great conversation. Erik felt uncomfortable being seated next to Alexis. Her man flanked her other side, and she kept bumping her warm thigh against Erik's.

The rapid-fire conversations made Erik feel in his element. He stayed quiet as he felt people out around the table. Disa drew him out when she asked him about the transition to MIT from the Naval Academy, and the others listened respectfully as he gave a short comparison. She brought up his studies with bioacoustics and the others chatted him up before they moved on to other topics with Disa's lead. She picked up on his discomfort at being the center of attention a little longer than he wanted and she saved him.

He ate, drank, listened, and kept his eye on Disa when she commanded the table. Yamilet went to the kitchen and brought back another bottle of wine, and the table grew loose with laughter and loud talking. The woman next to him asked him for a platter of toasted bread and thanked him in Korean. He responded back in Korean and that started an easy conversation.

"You speak, Korean?" Alexis asked.

"Yeah," he said.

"That's like, three—"

"I speak five languages," he said scooping more stew onto his plate.

"Five?" Disa asked.

His eyes went to hers.

"English, Spanish, Korean, French, Portuguese," he said.

Disa's lips quirked.

"A polyglot. I should teach you Arabic," she said.

Erik didn't respond because he felt the heated glare from Hollis. The conversation came back on him on how he learned so many languages fluently. He mentioned his mother, Aunts, and his Korean childhood friend Walter. He left out his Wakandan heritage. He could still speak his father's mother tongue, but without his Baba around, he lost a lot of words as time went on. There weren't very many Wakandan language books available in print or online.

"Everyone ready for dessert?" Disa asked.

Nods went all about and Disa stood with Yamilet. Erik jumped up and followed them.

"We got this, Erik," Disa said.

"I want to help. I was the extra unplanned guest. I should at least assist a little bit."

She handed him a tray of apple crumbles. Yamilet carried another tray and Disa picked up a silver sauce boat filled with warm caramel sauce.

The guests clapped hands and oohed and ahhed when they saw the sweet treat and Erik walked around the table until all of his dessert bowls were taken. He followed Yamilet back into the kitchen to return the trays and washed his hands at the sink. He gave a hearty exhale that he had gotten through the meal without incident. Alexis's boyfriend was not a talker and spent most of his time stuffing his face and keeping a low profile.

Erik returned to his seat and ate his treat without joining any more talks. When people were almost done, Disa left the room. They all heard music being switched in the living room from soft jazz to more upbeat instrumentals. She returned with a beaming smile.

"Espresso and whiskey in the living room. Give me a moment to hook up the hookahs and we can all migrate," she said.

Erik followed the routine of the others as they cleared their own plates and returned things to the kitchen where Hollis and Yamilet stacked dishes in a dishwasher and the sink. Folks cut up once they began smoking from three hookah pipes and vibing to the music. Those who wanted espresso and a hard liquor helped themselves in the kitchen and the real conversations began to take place. The room grew smokey, loud, and fun. Erik stuck close to a bookshelf and watched others as he cradled an espresso. Alexis bounced up in his face. The liquor had her tilted.

"Small world," she said touching on his arm.

"Yo, Alexis, just chill, a'ight. Your man is right over there."

"It's cool. We're cool."

"I don't like being in situations like this, so let's just stay away from each other," he said walking away from her.

The last thing he needed was a scene in Disa's house. He saw Yamilet grab onto Disa's arm and another woman's and the three of them slipped out of the living room. They giggled, and it made Erik curious. He followed them into a hallway that led to a master bedroom.

Disa and the women sat on a gigantic bed. She lit up a joint and puffed on it before passing it to her friends. She tossed back her hair and noticed Erik in the doorway.

"I was looking for the bathroom," he said.

"Oh, it's the next room over… you smoke?" she asked handing the joint to him when it came back to her.

He stepped into the room and took the weed from her fingers and toked. He blew the smoke out and her eyes looked tight to him. She was faded from the wine. The weed just hemmed her up.

"You are one entertaining young man," her white female friend said eying him up and down.

Svetlana was a tall, lithe Ukrainian woman with a strong accent.

"Yeah," he said pulling in the strong smoke into his lungs and letting the weed twist him up.

Disa tapped the space next to her and Erik sat down. She smelled like sandalwood and cloves. Her fingernails were polished in rose gold color and her off-shoulder top revealed moisturized skin that needed his lips on them. She was barefoot now and her toenails matched her fingernail polish. All she had to do was ask and he would rub her feet or suck her toes. He was so gone over her that it was hard to look her in her face. Could she tell that he was smitten? Nah, more than smitten.

When Erik was a boy, he sat at a dinner table with his parents and asked his Baba how he knew that his mother was the one. His father made his mother cry. The words stuck with Erik. Baba's dark perfect skin flared nose, and supple lips gazed at his mother with such a piercing stare.

"She was fierce, JaJa. So fierce. When I looked at her, I couldn't see anyone else. That's the honest truth, Son. It wasn't just the way your mother looked. It was how she made me feel. Strong. Powerful. Happy. Special. Curious and open to new ideas...just so many things that made me feel alive and whole. No other woman has ever made me feel like that. When she was away from me, I was miserable...I didn't feel like myself without her. When she was by my side, I knew I could conquer the world. That's how I knew she was the one for me. That's how I knew. And I love her more every day each time I look at you, JaJa. I hope you can be so lucky one day."

N'Jobu's voice echoed into the void and Erik closed his eyes and inhaled the weed smoke. His body grew relaxed and his mind floated. When he opened his eyes and looked at Disa, he recognized his Baba's truth. Erik knew. Disa was the one. He knew her mind for over nine months listening to her talk on the radio. Her physical appearance was a gift, but her mind was where it was at. She made him feel…open. To ideas. To people. To his studies.

"Erik?"

Disa handed him the last of the weed. He polished it off, and she took it from his fingers to throw it away.

Yamilet and Svetlana left the room to get more wine, and Erik stayed on the bed.

They were alone.

"I'm glad you stayed," she said.

"Food was bomb as fuck. Conversation good too."

"Told you. You are cordially invited to the next one. I'm thinking of making a rack of lamb."

"I'll be here."

She raised her hand and rubbed his arm.

"You are a gifted young man. Use what you can while you're at MIT."

Her hand stayed on him, and her eyes were shiny and beautiful. Erik leaned in and kissed her. She drew back sharply and held her hand up.

"Hold on now, I'm not part of that equation," she giggled.

Erik couldn't get a fix on her signals. The weed and wine probably had her mixed up like him.

"Sorry," he said.

"It's all good, Erik."

She touched her bottom lip with a polished fingernail, then glanced at his lips.

"Soft," she whispered tracing a finger over his mouth.

Disa pressed her lips over his and he felt his scalp tingle. He reached for her waist and pulled her against him, her soft breasts feeling perfect against him. She moaned into his mouth when he slipped his tongue into hers. His hand snaked past her waist and squeezed her backside. Disa pulled his hand away.

"Okay, you got it out of your system," she said with a soft giggle.

"Wait… what?"

"C'mon, let's get back to the others before Hollis comes looking for me."

Disa stood and waited for him to leave with her. Erik stood, but he grabbed a hold of her hand.

"I'm not out of your league," he said.

"Erik, your crush is really sweet. I enjoy your company and would like for us to be friends."

"Just friends?"

"Friends… oh, don't pout."

She pinched his arm when he screwed his face up.

"You give a taste of heaven and deny me access? You a cold woman, Disa."

She chuckled.

"I'm high, and will probably forget I kissed you in a few hours."

"I won't forget."

She walked away and he trailed behind her back into the mix. No one even noticed their absence they were so caught up in a topic. Alexis's mouth was twisted up, and it matched the grim visage of her boyfriend who was listening to Yamilet hold the floor.

"… we all know it's true. Even Disa will tell you," Yamilet said waving for Disa to sit next to her on a loveseat.

Some guests sipped liquor and only three of them smoked the hookah, their eyes glazed over and mouths puckered around pipes. Hollis stood near a bookcase nursing some cognac next to an Arab engineer that had known Disa from their undergrad days. His name was Samir, and he once dated Disa before she ran off with Hollis. Samir nodded to Disa, and she grabbed a hookah pipe and partook. Yamilet waved her hand around.

"For years Black women have been brought up to adore Black men. We fight for their survival, march for them, speak their praises and all I'm saying is that it's not reciprocated. They run around talking about being Black Kangz, but they shit on us all the time. No other race of men do this to their women, and I'm done catering to losers—"

"Losers?" Kwame said with bass in his voice.

"Losers. Am I right Disa? Out of all the men in this country, Black men have had four hundred years to prove their worth, and all they do is simp. You build nothing, you support nothing but your own agenda, and you trash the very women who have been your doormats for too long. Divest ladies. They are not the prize."

Erik felt the blowback and the other Black men in the room grumbled and protested.

"Yeah whatever," Yamilet said dismissing every one of them.

"Then who is the prize?" Hollis asked.

"Black women," Disa said.

Alexis and the other Black women snapped their fingers. Disa removed the pipe from her lips and wiped a strand of hair from her face.

"The sooner Black women accept that they are the only prize in this world, the better off we'll be."

"Prizes my ass," Kwame said.

Alexis slapped his arm.

"Black women should be happy any man wants to be with them. All that foul attitude and neck rolling, acting all masculine—"

"Hold up, hold up… neck rolling and acting masculine?" Alexis said.

"See, neck already bobbing and weaving!" Kwame said making the other men laugh as he pointed to Alexis.

"Let's unpack that," Disa said leaning forward. There was a glint in her eye and her lips grew tight.

"Black women assert their humanity, their opinions, their intelligence, and it's viewed as masculine?"

"You're emotional too. Can't have a conversation without Black women getting loud—"

"Like you are right now? I'm talking calm and your voice has gone up three octaves since I challenged your words," Disa said.

Kwame rolled his eyes at her. Erik stepped closer to the man. He was ready to smack the taste out of Kwame's mouth.

"Black men do belittle their women every chance they get," Samir added.

"I don't believe Black men have a monopoly on being sexist," Hollis interjected.

"The rise of bashing culture online comes for Black women more," Svetlana said, "I can speak the same topics online with Black women, as I have done, and I get less attacked than my Black women friends. I'm a white woman telling you this. Sexism is terrible to all women, but it is ferocious for Disa, Yamilet, all the Black women in this room."

"Black men are punks," Disa said puffing and blowing a stream of smoke toward Kwame.

"You must be one of those 'Men are Trash', women," Kwame said.

"Men are the scum of the earth. I really don't like them at all. But alas, I suffer from an affliction called 'I like dick' so I have to pick and choose wisely."

Erik burst out laughing with a few others.

"Black men built the pyramids, raised kingdoms, ruled in Africa…"

"Here we go. I swear. Why do Black men always want to bring up being Kings? There ain't no royalty over here. We were regular folks who got stolen, traded, and exported. Some Kings more than likely sold their own people, so please don't cape for slave traders and race traitors. Royalty…," she snorted.

Erik grinned. If only she knew who she had in her house. A real-life African Prince. If only she knew he came from a people who turned their backs on the entire African continent.

"Black man, where is your army? Where are your institutions? Corporations? Industries? Where is your backbone? I gave up on Black men being anything other than conquered weaklings when that little boy got shot by cops and nothing happened. Black women rang the alarm—"

"As always," Alexis added.

"—and that cop is not in jail. And more hashtags cropped up. Again, where is your army Black Kangz? They slaughtered a child in the street and you did nothing. They shot a woman in her bed. You did nothing."

Where was their Black army? Erik thought. Posted up in luxury, high tech, and protection in Wakanda.

"We built our own universities, we started the Civil Rights Movement…," Kwame's voice was higher-pitched and angry-sounding.

"Why are you yelling?" Erik asked.

Kwame's chest puffed out. Disa blew out more smoke and glared at Kwame.

"Powerful men do not let their women and children march in the streets against white supremacy and the police. They take care of their women and children. Protect them at home while they go out and face the enemy. The people who built those universities long ago, who stood up for Civil Rights? Black men and Black women together. But guess what? They don't make those types of Black men anymore. The Black women are still here who do that type of fighting with little kids! Little kids fighting your grown man battles, but what do you Black men do today? Nothing. You act buck online hidden behind dusty avatars waiting to become the next hashtag because you're scared to fight. You have all the smoke for Black women every day of the week, will kill your own at the drop of a hat over some bullshit, but don't have any backbone for systemic racism and anti-Blackness? No energy for that? You don't deserve Black women. Any Black man still getting pussy from Black women should feel blessed and lucky. The world doesn't deserve Black women. At all."

Disa sat back and the air in the room was electric. Yamilet smirked and folded her arms, and the other Black women rested in their own secret thoughts.

"You hate us that much?" Hollis asked.

His eyes looked spooked. Clearly, he never knew this about Disa.

"I don't hate you, I'm just tired of you. All of you. I love us as a people, but I recognize who the weak link is."

"Damn," Samir said.

"That's harsh, Disa," Svetlana said.

"No, it's not, and it's not your business," Disa snapped.

Svetlana's husband jumped in.

"Hold up, it is her business. She's married to me and we'll have Black children one day."

"Oh please, Matthew, you've never dated a Black woman in your life and we know your self-hating ass don't want any of your children to look like you! Svetlana was your get out of Blackness pass," Yamilet barked.

"Time for a musical interlude," Hollis said trying to cut the tension by changing the music.

"What the hell, Yamilet?" Matthew said.

Svetlana stood up with her cheeks reddening.

"That's not true. Matthew is a proud Black man—"

"Who doesn't want Black children and spends more time traveling to Ukraine and embracing your culture while negating his own. Black kids? Where? Connected to Blackness in Donestk? Girl, stop. Please," Disa said.

"Matthew?" Svetlana said.

"Your husband has made numerous comments in your absence about hoping his kids have your hair and your color. He wants them to have your green eyes and features. Tell her Matthew," Yamilet pushed.

"I want healthy children with my wife. I don't care what they look like. Honey, what I meant was that if our kids looked like me, then they would have a harder life and I don't want them to suffer."

"Being Black is just suffering?" Erik asked.

All eyes turned to him.

"It's… difficult," Matthew said reaching for his wife's hand.

Svetlana looked shell-shocked.

"Then build a world where it won't be difficult. We're more than our pain, bruh, but sometimes a few of us have to die to make this country better. If not, we're just passive sheep waiting to go to the slaughterhouse. Just another hashtag on deck like Disa said," Erik pressed.

"They won't fight or build up anything, because they're scared—"

"That's not true, Disa. I'm doing what I can to make sure my children have all the advantages I didn't have," Matthew said.

"And skin color is one of those things," Erik said.

"He's right," Yamilet said.

"You should be the last to talk, Yamilet. You're light-skinned and benefit from it," Matthew said.

"Yeah, I'm light, with two Black on Black parents, but I have full African features and hair that can't go through a fine-toothed comb. Any privileges I have, I understand why, and I use them to benefit my people. You can see my Blackness the minute you see my face or hear me talk. But I would never see it as a blessing to get away from my tribe, man. That's all you."

"I love my wife," Matthew said.

"You love whiteness more," another Black woman said.

The room grew quiet. Disa played with her fingers and rested the hookah pipe on her lap.

"Matthew, we know you love Svetlana. You've just been conditioned to be anti-Black. We all were."

"Disa, come on now. You've dated non-Black men—"

"And you've never dated a Black woman ever. That's a problem for me."

"If that's the man's preference then leave him alone," Kwame said.

"That's not a preference," Disa said.

"You women are tripping up in here," Kwame said.

Alexis stepped away from him and Disa stood up.

"The fact that Erik, who isn't even a legal adult yet, can see what needs to be done, then I don't know what you grown negroes are going to do. You sacrifice nothing anymore. You gave up."

"Um, Disa..."

Karen, a cute TA in the Science department stared down at her cell phone. She looked up wide-eyed.

"Turn on your TV," Karen said.

Disa turned down the music and tapped the TV controller for the flat-screen embedded in the wall across from the couch.

"There!" Karen said.

On the screen, a female newscaster with a trepid face filled the room.

"… right now, the Pentagon has stated that the U.S. Navy is sending the battleship U.S.S. Steiner to the area. If you're just joining us, breaking news. They have reported that two coast guard ships were attacked off the coast of Florida. We're not sure if the vessel that attacked them is a submarine… hold on, we're getting some live footage from our affiliate station in Miami…"

"Wow!" Hollis blurted when they all saw the TV screen fill up with images of a submersible that skimmed just under the surface of the dark ocean with bright yellowish lights that glowed. A military helicopter hovered above it. The submersible breached the surface slick and curved like the back of an orca, but metallic and bigger.

"Holy shit," Hollis gasped.

Disa reached out and grabbed Erik's arm as a powerful bright green laser beam struck the helicopter. The entire aircraft glowed neon green for a second and exploded mid-air. The cameraman shooting the footage cursed on live TV and the picture grew jumpy before cutting back to the newscaster who now had a pallid face. Seconds later, the news studio image was replaced with an emergency broadcast static picture.

"Are we under fucking attack?" Yamilet yelped.

Disa flipped through more channels and more emergency broadcast pictures were up. Everyone went to their cell phones, except for Disa.

"That submarine, that wasn't… what was that?" she asked.

Erik escorted her to a loveseat, and he took the TV controls from her and flipped to more stations. He found a cable news network that discussed the attack and replayed the destroyed helicopter while warning viewers of disturbing images.

"Who could it be?" Svetlana asked, "the Russians?"

"The Saudis?" Kwame suggested.

"The machine looked weird. Like a… like a… whale," Hollis said.

Erik's professor moved in and sat next to Disa.

"It didn't take much for that thing to wipe out that helicopter. Will a destroyer be able to take it?" Yamilet asked.

Frightened eyes watched the TV.

Erik sat on a side chair next to Disa's loveseat. Flashes of his past rushed him and he latched on to a memory that had been one of the happiest times of his life although it was a dangerous time too. Police in Brazil tried to kill and jail his mother in Sao Paulo. But his Baba called on Wakandan rebels to fly a ship that rescued them from the top of an apartment building's roof during a daring escape in the middle of the night. A Wakandan battle cruiser that could turn invisible and take out an American city like it was nothing floated down from a midnight sky. His family spent a glorious week onboard hiding out over the Atlantic Ocean, and under it, when a similar threat came for them. The Atlanteans.

That was an Atlantean warcraft. Erik was sure of that.

He remembered the talk onboard the battle cruiser about the Atlanteans flexing against the Wakandans. He remembered the red alert and the escape from the battlecruiser in a smaller craft that his Baba piloted to get them back home. Now it seemed, the Atlanteans were ready to come for the Americans.

Erik's future was coming for him hard and on live television.

Disa reached for his hand and not Hollis's. He squeezed it tight.

"It'll be alright," he whispered to her.

She squeezed his hand back.

Chapter 6 HERE.

###

Tag List:

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@tyees @eye-raq @writerbee-ffs @chocolatedream30 @mygirlrenee @thewaysheis—awkward

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#Black Boys Bloom Thorns First Volume 3 #Killmonger Fanfiction #Erik Killmonger #Erik Stevens #N'Jadaka #MIT #Black Panther #Uzumaki Rebellion

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everybodyscupoftea · 3 years

Text

can’t help falling in love with you

college isaac x reader

christmas movies and cuddles with a hint of falling in love along the way

okay so the timeline is like they met in the fall, got together the next spring, and this is the christmas after. so like they’ve been dating 9-10 months

it’s 5 a.m. hahaha fuck. it’s a 4+1 format though!

(warnings: cursing, drinking, zero editing)

You had two problems.

The first was something you noticed early on. It was Isaac’s tendency to make himself small. Maybe not physically, but it was like he hated being too needy. You weren’t sure if it was because he thought it would bother you or if it was just a habit of trying to not take up much space, but you wanted to get to the root of it.

It took you a few weeks to figure out how to bring it up, and you really only did because of his reaction to a goodbye hug. You squeezed him tight when he left, and he full body shivered. Pulling away quickly, you gave him a concerned look, “Everything okay, did I hurt you?”

He smiled wryly and shook his head, “I’m good. Just needed a hug more than I realized.”

You’d had suspicions that physical touch was pretty high up on his preferred love languages, but he’d never said anything about it, and he kept his personal space relatively well, so you’d pushed the thought away. Maybe you should’ve just pressed it anyway.

That afternoon you promised yourself that you were going to be better. If he was too scared to ask, you wouldn’t make him, you’d just look for it more. Luckily, it was pretty obvious when he needed it.

The second was Isaac’s lack of experience with holiday movies. One afternoon, the two of you met for lunch between your classes. It was almost finals week and you’d started listening to Christmas music for the serotonin boost.

“You know,” you started when he sat down across from you, “Carol of the Bells hits so nice when you’re speed walking across campus. Reminds me of Home Alone and I feel like I can do anything.”

He hummed thoughtfully, nodding along, “Yeah, I bet.”

“You know what I’m talking about right?”

Isaac shrugged, “No, but I believe you.”

Your jaw dropped, “You’ve never seen Home Alone?”

“I never really watched Christmas movies growing up. We didn’t really do much of anything for the holidays. My dad worked a lot and my mom wasn’t there either.”

He avoided your eyes, and your heart sank. Over the months of dating, he’d pointedly avoided talking about his family. You weren’t really upset, it was his business and you figured he’d tell you when he felt comfortable, but the little references made you sad when he made them.

“We should watch some this year. It’s like a family tradition at my house to watch a bunch leading up to Christmas.”

You couldn’t help but notice his face soften a bit at the word family, and you were determined to make this first Christmas together great.

One: Klaus

Isaac cooked dinner, spaghetti and meatballs, with little to no help from you. Your greatest contribution was easily keeping his wine glass topped off. He was beautiful, face flushed from the heat coming off the stove and from the alcohol, and you couldn’t help but poke his cheek, giggling at the disgruntled face gave you.

“Cute,” you told him, pinching his cheek gently.

“Stop distracting me and put the garlic bread in the oven.”

“Yes sir.”

Rolling his eyes at your reply, Isaac turned the eye under the pasta off and took the pot off to drain it over the sink. Before pouring, he took a clean mug out of the dish drainer and scooped out some of the water.

“What’s that for?”

“Always save pasta water for your sauce,” he answered, pouring the rest out.

Steam billowed up in his face and you laughed, “Nice facial I bet.”

“Felt great,” he deadpanned, turning back with the strainer full of spaghetti noodles.

Nodding enthusiastically, “I was gonna suggest face masks for tonight, but you might be fine without.”

“No,” he was quick to correct, “I still want a mask.”

Chuckling, you held your hands up, “Fine with me. We can put them on before the movie.”

“Thought we were going to eat while the movie is on.”

“No, I haven’t seen this one before so I want to give it my full focus.”

Isaac shrugged, used to your weird requests, and went back to focusing on the food. You hoped he would hurry, you were hungry and you didn’t want to drink anymore until you had some food in your system.

After what felt like forever, he flipped the stove off and pulled the garlic bread out of the oven. He handed you a plate, “Want to fix yours first?”

“No, you cooked, I’ll go second.”

Bending down, he pressed a kiss to your temple, and stepped away to start piling food onto his plate. You filled yours after and followed him over to the couch where he was sitting, waiting on you to start eating.

“You could’ve started.”

“Wanted to wait, it’s polite.”

You rolled your eyes, “Guess chivalry isn’t dead.”

“Damn straight.”

“Okay but you really do need moisturizer,” you told him after he dried his face post-mask.

“Skin feels fine,” he told you, stroking his cheek a few times.

You sighed, knocking his hand away, and rubbed moisturizer in, ignoring the face he made in response. When you finished, you grabbed the hand you’d knocked away and pulled him back to the couch to start the movie.

“Dishes?” Isaac asked, sounding a little worried.

“Later, I’m ready for the movie.”

“You’re going to fall asleep, wine makes you tired,” he warned.

“Never.”

You pushed him down first and tried to position him the way you wanted. After a few seconds, and some amused looks from Isaac, you sat down on the couch, leaning your back against his chest, both of you’s legs stretched out across the couch.

Isaac always ran warm, and you tilted your head, pressing the side of your face into his chest to see the TV. He huffed out a laugh, “Comfy?”

“Very. Can you hit play, pretty please?”

He did and the movie started. It wasn’t noticeable how tense he’d been when you first laid down, but as time ticked on and he got more into the movie, Isaac relaxed. One of his arms wrapped around your waist, fingers pushing your shirt up and stroking rhythmically over the exposed stripe of skin on your hip.

You couldn’t stop the shiver and his chest rumbled with a laugh. Grabbing the hem of his shirt, you tugged gently, wrinkling your nose at the image on screen, “Bet those fish smell bad.”

“Bet she smells bad.”

Pausing for a second to think, you said, “You know, that whole town gives onion vibes.”

“Onion vibes?”

“I feel like it reeks. Bad vibes equals onion smell.”

Isaac laughed, tilting his head down to brush a kiss across your hairline, “Can’t argue with that logic.”

“Furthermore,” you held a finger up to emphasize your point, and he snorted, “it feels musty right? Like I bet it feels damp.”

“Well it is covered in snow.”

“But like, humid almost. Dank, maybe?”

Humming, he answered, “I think I know what you mean.”

You watched as the main character convinced the kids to pay him to send their letters with a frown, “I’m not sure how...ethical that is.”

“The evils of a capitalist society,” he said, and you nodded, chin hitting his collarbone.

“Ouch,” you muttered, rubbing it. Isaac brushed over your chin gently as if to soothe the pain before he brought it back down to your hip.

His warmth combined with the blanket covering the two of you, the wine you’d drank, and the movie playing quietly in the background lulled you to sleep, just like Isaac predicted. The music startled you awake once, eyes fluttering as you watched the sleigh almost teeter off the edge of a cliff, but his rhythmic breathing knocked you back out.

It didn’t seem like much longer later when Isaac squeezed your hip playfully, waking you back up fully.

“Gotta do the dishes, sweetheart, let me up.”

Yawning, you reluctantly sat up, stretching, “I’ll help.”

“You can go to bed, I’ll be there in twenty.”

“No, you cooked, I’ll help.”

He chuckled as you stumbled, reaching for his hand in your half asleep state. The kitchen light woke you up fully when he flipped it on, and you blinked a few times, bumping your hip playfully into his when he took up all the space in front of the sink.

“I’ll wash, you dry,” he told you, handing over a dish towel.

“Fine.”

It took less than 20 minutes with both of you working, and he held his hands out for you to grab after turning the water off. You took them and let him pull you through the living room to your bedroom.

Pulling the covers back, both of you climbed into bed. He brushed some hair out of your face and kissed you gently, trailing his lips across your cheek to your forehead where he moved back to whisper, “Goodnight, lovely.”

Two: A Christmas Story

The weather was miserable and you felt so bad for dragging Isaac out in it. It wasn’t quite cold enough for snow, an unusual “warm” snap, but it was cold enough for the rain to leave a deep chill in your bones.

“Fuck,” he muttered, shivering, “we should get some coffee on the way home.”

“Yeah, something warm sounds fantastic right now.”

He drove to the nearest drive-thru near your apartment, and you cradled the latte to your chest as he drove the rest of the way home. The rain picked up as soon as he parked and you sighed, “Wanna run for it?”

Isaac nodded, “I guess. We can always change.”

Unfortunately, there were no close spots near your building, so both of you ran, splashing through puddles carelessly, just wanting to get out of the rain as fast as possible. He laughed at your disgruntled face, and you wrinkled your nose, “Gonna be miserable for the rest of the day.”

“You won’t. We’ll crank the heat up and watch a movie. Didn’t you have a list?”

“I do,” you brightened considerably, “we should watch A Christmas Story. It’s my dad’s favorite.”

“Deal.”

The inside of your apartment was dark and cold, and you flipped on a lamp, shivering. He walked to the thermostat, and you went to your room to dig through the drawers for clothes. Isaac walked in soon after you and you handed him a pair of his sweatpants and a sweater.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, starting to struggle with his wet jeans.

You snorted at his frustrated face, “Told you to just wear sweats.”

“Never,” he swore, “only in the comfort of my home.”

“Oh,” you teased, “you consider this home?”

“Of course,” he answered, eyes looking slightly watery, “you’re home.”

Your smile softened and you held your arms open for him to walk into. Squeezing you in a tight hug, Isaac buried his face into your hair. You mumbled, “Good, because you’re my home too.”

He pulled back and started shimmying out of his jeans again. You were finished changing way before he was and sat on the edge of your bed to wait. There was a furrow between his eyebrows as he finally kicked his jeans off, and you stood to grab the pile of wet clothes to wash.

“Start up my laptop and we can watch the movie,” you told him, pulling the door shut behind you in case your roommate was home.

You started the laundry and walked back to your room, sipping the latte you’d left in the kitchen on your way in. Isaac was scrolling through your movies when you walked back in the room, propped up against your pillows, blanket over his lap.

The rain had picked up again outside, beating against the window near your bed, and you sat down next to Isaac, his arm coming up to wrap around your shoulder.

“Ready?” he asked, hovering over the movie title.

“Born ready.”

Isaac hit play and you rested your head on his shoulder, legs crossed in front of you. You couldn’t drink your coffee at the angle your head was tilted against his shoulder, but you liked feeling him laugh too much to care if it was going cold.

His arm around your shoulder went limp as he fully relaxed into the movie. At the tire changing scene, Isaac snorted, “Well isn’t this relatable.”

Biting your lip, you winced, “Sorry.”

“All good, hon. Not upset, a little funny even.”

Taking a deep breath, you nodded, “If you say so.”

Isaac’s other hand dropped to hold yours that was closest to him, and you smiled as he brought it up to his face to kiss the back of it. You squeezed his hand and laced your fingers together.

“You know,” you interrupted, “hand holding is the most underrated way to show affection.”

He hummed, “I think I agree.”

“You like holding my hand?” you asked, cheeky smile on your face.

“I do.”

“Good. Now you’re obligated to keep holding my hand forever.”

“Forever, huh? You sure you want to keep me around that long?”

Untangling your hand from his, you held out your pinky, “Promise, bub.”

He linked his pinky with yours and shook it. Before you could say anything else, he tapped your nose, “Now hush, I’m trying to watch the movie.”

Scrunching your nose, you grabbed his hand again, “Don’t shush me.”

“I thought you wanted me to watch this.”

“I do.”

“You’re distracting me.”

You huffed, “Fine. Just rewind.”

Isaac snorted and did as you asked, leaning back against the pillows when he finished. Cuddling back into his side, you couldn’t help the little sigh of happiness that escaped.

Three: Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer

Isaac had apparently been having trouble sleeping. It took you a few days to notice, but he came over for dinner one night and the bags under his eyes were incredibly pronounced.

“Hey, everything okay?”

He sighed, “Scott and Stiles went home so the apartment has been lonesome to say the least.”

“Bad dreams?” asking was a tossup, you were unsure whether he’d actually be forthcoming with the details he was usually so tight-lipped about.

You were unsure if it was because of the lack of sleep or he just decided to let you in, with a hum, he answered, “Yeah, this time of year isn’t the greatest. Everyone’s with their family and I’m just alone.”

Nodding, you held a hand out for him to take, “You know, one of my comfort movies is on the list of holiday movies, if you want to try it out.”

“I’d like that. I like learning about your comfort things, makes me feel closer to you.”

You smiled, “I’d like to learn more about yours someday.”

“You will,” he said so matter of factly that you believed him.

He let you pull him over to the couch and sat down normally, legs out in front of him. You put the movie in the DVD player and sat next to him, stretching your legs across his lap.

“You know,” you told him as the snowman started talking, “I kinda forgot what the fuck happens in this movie.”

“I thought it was your comfort movie.”

“It is. I watched it a lot as a kid with my sister.”

Looking thoughtful, he went quiet and started watching again.

“The island of misfit toys,” he said, chin resting on his hand, elbow propped on your shin, “kind of dark for a kids movie.”

You laughed, “Just wait.”

Not too much longer later, he flinched as Yukon fell over the cliff, “The fuck?!”

“It’s alright, Isaac,” you told him, reaching up to ruffle his hair.

Pouting, he slumped forward fully on your legs and pressed his head into your hand. You took the hint and started running your hand through it, scratching his scalp gently. His chin stayed resting on your shin as he finished the movie out.

“I can see why it’s your comfort movie. Happy ending, familiar tale, and a little bit of romance.”

“Yeah. My mom used to play it while we decorated the Christmas tree.”

“You’re a big traditions person, huh?”

“Definitely,” you confirmed, “something to look forward to.”

“My dad wasn’t around much,” Isaac confided, “and when he was, he was mean. I wish I had siblings, but my mom left before she could have another one.”

“Have you talked to your dad much since moving?”

His laugh was humorless, “Fortunately, no. I moved and I left for good. I have no interest in going back to Beacon Hills.”

“So that’s why you decided to stay, huh?”

“Rather stay here with you than go someplace to see people not worth my time.”

“Do you ever talk to your family members?”

“No. I don’t think I’ve ever really forgiven my mom for abandoning me, and my dad is a lost cause. I lived with a guy named Argent for a while after my dad kicked me out, but he’s been abroad since I left for school.”

“How’d you know him?”

“His daughter Allison was my good friend. She’s at school abroad.”

You paused your scratching and cradled his chin, turning his face to look at you, “So you’d go if they were still in Beacon Hills?”

Isaac frowned, “Maybe.”

“Family is important, no matter if it’s blood or not.”

“I guess that’s kind of a moral in Rudolph isn’t it.”

You laughed, “Yeah, I guess it is.”

He sat up and leaned forward to kiss you. When he pulled away, Isaac smiled, “Thanks for listening to me.”

“Thanks for opening up.”

Four: Elf

“Okay but how often do they have free drive-in,” you pleaded, “and it’s a Christmas movie, and they’re giving out eggnog.”

“Personally, not a huge fan of eggnog.”

“Hot chocolate too.”

He paused, “You might get me with the hot chocolate.”

You snorted, “Well, you don’t have much time to decide because it starts in two hours.”

Inhaling sharply, he stood, “Let’s go.”

“Yes!” you cheered, grabbing two blankets off the couch to bring for when he turned the car off.

“It’s going to be cold, sweetheart,” he warned, looking at your leggings and hoodie.

“Yeah, don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“Mhmm,” he raised his eyebrows, “we’ll see if you say so in an hour.”

It was cold, and part of you didn’t want to admit how cold you were, but eventually the shivers won out and you smiled sheepishly at Isaac, “Can you turn the car on?”

“Nope,” he popped the p, “I did warn you.”

You pouted and he rolled his eyes, an amused look on his face. After a few seconds, he lifted the console up and slid across the seat, arm out for you to squeeze close.

“Thanks, bud,” you told him gratefully as the movie started.

“I think I have a sweater in the back seat,” he offered.

“Nah, it’ll be cold anyway.”

He nodded and wrapped the blanket around you, “Offer’s open.”

Isaac was a movie talker, not that you ever minded, you were too, but you could tell he really liked Elf because he barely spoke the whole time.

Leaning into his side warmed you up, and you watched silently, aimlessly playing with his hoodie strings.

“I know it’s not the most prominent theme in these holiday movies,” he said, “it seems that shit dads are pretty common. Like, Merry Christmas to you and all your daddy issues.”

“Oh my god,” you snorted, “I guess you’re not wrong. You elbowed him, “Merry Christmas to you and all your daddy issues.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he told you, kissing your cheek, “I’d rather be here with daddy issues than be in Beacon Hills with a dad.”

Clapping a hand over your mouth, you laughed loudly, “I’m not sure if that’s the truth, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

“It’s true. You do mean the most to me.”

Your eyes widened, “Wow, I love you too.”

Isaac’s cheeks turned red and he jumped in surprise at the sudden yelling on screen. You pinched his cheek, and the best way you could describe the look in his eyes was fond. He sighed, “I don’t-”

“Don’t worry,” you reassured, “I know.”

“You’re too good to me.”

“Too good? Nah. You deserve all the good things.”

“So,” he trailed off mischievously, “if I deserve good things, does that mean we can eat only from the four main food groups for the rest of the break?”

“What?” you were lost.

“Candy, candy canes, candy corn, and syrup.”

“Fuck no. I know that you’re joking because I think the lack of cooking would do you in, but I still can’t stand the thought.”

Isaac laughed, “No, I wouldn’t, but I do really like this one.”

“Good. More found family content.”

“It is a theme.”

“The best theme.”

“I know you aren’t the most fond of reading, but I have some books really heavy on found families that I think you’d really like.”

It wasn’t the first time Isaac had recommended you books before, and you hadn’t ever taken them, but you’d thought, with all the opening up he’d been doing, the least you could do was take a suggestion.

“Give me a list, I’ll check some out.”

He smiled softly at you and squeezed your hand, “I will.”

Plus One: Home Alone

Isaac stumbled out of the Uber, and waited for you to climb out, “Come on, babe,” he slurred when you took a few seconds.

“Coming, can’t find my phone,” you told him, patting around the backseat.

“I’ve got it in my pocket,” he told you.

“Oh, shit, okay.”

He threw an arm around you and the two of you walked toward his apartment, “Fucking hell, they spiked the fuck out of that cider.”

You giggled, “To be fair, we both had a lot.”

“We did.” Isaac fumbled with the keys and managed to get his door unlocked after a minute of missing the keyhole. He grinned proudly, “Let’s fucking go.”

“Wow, a genius,” you mocked and he rolled his eyes.

“Just go change so we can watch a movie.”

Luckily, you and Isaac were both floor people when drunk. You went into his bathroom to take off all your makeup and change, and by the time you finished, he was flipping through TV channels and laying on a pile of blankets and pillows on the floor.

“ABC Family probably has a movie on.”

And when he managed to find the channel, Home Alone was playing. Isaac squinted at it, “I think I’ve seen this one.”

“It’s my favorite,” you gushed.

“We’ll watch it then. Lemme go change.”

Isaac left and you slumped back on the blankets, eyes shutting a few times as a wave of tiredness hit you. On screen Kevin screamed, and you jumped, waking up fully as Isaac flopped down next to you.

He laughed, “Comfy?”

“Could be better,” you answered, pulling at him until you could lay your head on his chest. He laughed and you tossed a leg over his. When you finally stopped squirming, you poked his chest, “Now I’m good.”

“What if I’m not comfy?”

“Tough.”

Isaac snorted, “I guess I’ll just deal.”

“Thanks for your service, bro.”

He focused on the screen, “How are these assholes not dead?”

You blinked a few times, trying to focus, “I don’t know actually. Like I would’ve just wanted to die after a certain amount of pain, right?”

“Head on fire? I’m noping right out of that. Fuck the houses.”

“Absolutely, hit me on the head with an iron and I’m gone.”

Isaac laughed, “Weak pain tolerance for the win.”

He picked up his hand and held it up limply, you picked yours up to high five him. It was sloppy and you missed most of his hand, but he grabbed it and refused to let it go. Kissing it sloppily, you smiled at him.

“Sap,” you teased.

“Only for you, of course.”

“Of course, I’d hope so.”

He fell asleep pretty soon after, and you took a minute to reflect. For a while into your relationship, Isaac refused to sleep over. You weren’t sure why, and it kind of hurt your feelings at the start. Eventually he did, but he always waited until you fell asleep first.

Home Alone played in the background softly as he slept, eyelashes fluttering, and you smiled at him. You traced over his cheekbones and across his brow bone, pausing when he made a face before tapping his nose.

“Stop,” he mumbled.

“No.”

You pulled him closer and entwined your legs with his. He huffed, “What if I have to pee.”

“Hold it, I’m trapping you here.”

“You can’t trap me, I’m bigger than you.”

“You can carry me if you must.”

He hummed, “Fine. Hopefully I don’t drop you.”

“You won’t,” you told him, confidently.

“Oh yeah, you trust me that much?”

“Mhmm, obviously,” you tapped his lip.

Nipping at your fingers, he laughed, “Why?”

“Because you love me, you wouldn’t hurt me.”

He froze under your fingertips, and you stayed quiet to let him work through it. Tracing mindlessly, you smiled at him, his brows furrowed.

“I do,” he spoke eventually, “I do love you.”

Your eyes filled up and you bit your lip, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, because I love you too.”

“Good.”

day five of @obxmermaid‘s holiday challenge: holiday movies

#isaac lahey #isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey x you #isaac lahey fanfiction #college isaac #obxmermaidholiday

110 notes · View notes

ninzied · 3 years

Photo

fire lines

based on a prompt for distracting work kisses.

for @myletternevercame. special thanks to @heidiamalia for the brainstorming session!

rated m.

Frank usually works through his lunch breaks.

He used to take them as far away from—well, everything—as he could, finding himself a lone edge on the roof or some corner of a vacant floor to eat his meal in relative quiet. But ever since Curt roped him into this management job, everything’s always coming to him whether he likes it or not.

And he doesn’t not like it, as it turns out.

It’s a small construction company, a kind of in-between place for hard-up vets to get work, either settling there or to steady their feet for something else that’s more suited to them. The work feels meaningful in that way. Karen had recently coerced a beat reporter from the Bulletin’s local business section into writing up a piece on them, and the glowing review brought in more and more jobs for his guys. Frank has found it surprisingly gratifying, minus all the paperwork.

So much goddamn paperwork.

He’d never pegged himself for an office space kind of guy. He prefers to be out there, in the midst of things with the others—so he spends most of his days doing just that, saving all that bureaucratic bullshit for his lunch breaks in his office trailer.

He’s heading there now, after a rougher-than-usual morning spent on some stubborn electrical wiring. He thinks of all the other kinds of work waiting for him in his trailer and groans, half-wishing he’d packed a beer with his sandwich today.

He shields his gaze from the midday sun, and then he turns, and he sees her.

She’s in her kitten heels, a pencil skirt and cream-colored blouse. It’s so unusual to see her at his place of work—their schedules hardly ever seem to align these days, and he spends a lot of them just fucking missing her. For a second he thinks he could almost have imagined her there, waving goodbye to one of his workers, and smiling.

Frank allows himself another moment to give her a once-over from afar, his gaze moving up her body and lingering. Her blonde hair is pale in the sunlight, flashing golden when a breeze sifts through the strands. And then he lets out a laugh, because there, perched on the top of her head, is a bright yellow hard hat.

The name PETE comes into focus as he quickens his step, sharpied onto the back of the hat in his own familiar scrawl. Karen turns to give him a fondly exasperated look as he comes up to her, sliding a hand over the small of her back in greeting.

“Shouldn’t you be the one wearing this?” she asks him.

“Looks better on you,” he says, kissing her cheek as she rolls her eyes good-naturedly at him. He takes her hand, tugging her up the steps to his trailer. “Everything okay? You never take lunch.”

“Neither do you,” she counters, and he has to concede her point. “And everything’s fine. I just thought we could eat together for a change.”

Her work bag is already tucked up against some filing cabinets—Christ, when did he become the guy who owned filing cabinets?—and there, spread over his desk, is lunch. A small charcuterie plate, two cups of coffee, and the sandwich that she knows he likes from Nelson’s, with the thick, crispy bread and extra sauces on the side.

“Shit, Karen.” He laughs, dragging her in for a proper kiss this time. “This looks incredible. Thank you.”

The meal he’d slapped together from grocery store cold cuts that morning pales in comparison. He tells her as much, opens the mini fridge behind his desk to show her, and finds a six-pack of beer stowed inside by his food.

“For later,” says Karen.

He squeezes her hand. “You’re a godsend, you know that?”

The pile of papers on his desk isn’t getting any smaller—in fact, he’s almost certain it’s grown since he last saw it this morning—but he figures it will have to wait. He’s starving, and she’s looking so irresistible to him, with her smile, and his hard hat knocked slightly askew on her head.

He kisses her again, pulling out an extra seat for her before walking over to the other side of his desk.

And then Karen picks up her work bag and pulls out her laptop.

“Is this okay?” she asks, seeing him blink in surprise at her. “I know you’re behind on your work—”

He scrubs a hand over his nape, feeling sheepish that she’s caught him out. “That obvious, huh.”

“I have a deadline anyway,” she tells him, with a rueful smile of her own. “But it would be nice to at least be in the same room as you.”

Fuck, if he wasn’t so damn in love with her already.

“C’mere,” he says gruffly, and leans over his desk, their mouths meeting somewhere in the middle. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“I’m not worried about it,” she says, nudging him gently away and powering on her laptop.

They settle into an easy rhythm, a silence that’s so comfortable he almost forgets they’re in his office and not at their dining table back home. He practically inhales his sandwich before chugging down his cup of coffee, and then he starts snacking on the charcuterie plate as he flips through a stack of ledgers and bank statements.

Karen’s typing away on her computer, brow furrowed together under his hard hat. She’s slipped off her shoes, resting her feet on the edge of his chair. They’re a little chilly, so he pulls them into his lap to warm them, massaging her calf as he works. She makes a small, satisfied sound, shifting forward in her seat. Otherwise, the only indication that she’s even aware of him being there is to reach across his desk and brush a few crumbs from his beard before returning to her keyboard.

At some point, though, she stops typing.

Frank doesn’t notice right away—she’s still staring intently at her screen, and he’s just managed to untangle some confusing orders for extra plywood. But he does notice when she presses her toes to the inner part of his thigh and starts rubbing small circles into the denim.

He glances up at her.

She’s still clicking around on her screen, a piece of fruit in her other hand. She hasn’t lost that look of intense concentration she always gets when she’s researching a piece, but then her foot ventures closer, and there’s nothing unintentional about that, either.

He scratches some updates into a ledger, and almost drops his pen when Karen sneaks her foot the rest of the way between his thighs. His blood rushes south, pooling heat straight through to his dick, and this was—fuck, if this wasn’t what she’d been planning all along.

“Karen,” he cautions her lowly. His voice sounds hoarse, even to him, thick and rough with desire that he hadn’t meant to give voice to.

She finally looks up at him then. Without breaking contact, she parts her lips around a strawberry, biting slowly down.

“Something wrong?” she asks him.

He moves his hand up her calf, cupping under her knee. His chair wheels slightly forward with the motion, bringing her foot that much closer to him. She curls her toes around his hardening dick, and he swallows.

“Thought you had work to do,” he says.

She smiles. “Just multitasking.”

And then she turns back to her goddamn computer, and starts scrolling.

Frank stares blankly down at his ledger, trying to remember where he’d left off. Plywood or some shit. Yeah, that sounds right. He retrieves his pen, poising it over the page. He blinks through the haze of desire, the clenching ache of his growing arousal as Karen kneads more firmly at his crotch. But the numbers continue to swim out of order before him, refusing to take any more enlightening form.

His other hand is somehow halfway up the back of her thigh now, gripping harder than he’d realized. As if he’s drawn to her, he wheels his chair closer, sliding his palm further, and further, and—

“Oh!” says Karen, her knee knocking up against wood when he winds up bringing his chair in too close, crowding her legs beneath the desk.

“Shit. Sorry.” The moment jolts him back enough to clear his head a little, and he’s wheeling away, putting some distance between them. “You okay?”

She crosses her legs and gives him an amused kind of smile. “I’m fine, Frank.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t seem able to manage out more than one or two words at a time. He’s hard as nails, jeans tight around his erection as he gazes across the table at her. Her cheeks are flushed pink, and she’s biting into her lower lip as she turns away.

She’s not unaffected by all of this. Not by a long shot.

Shit, if that doesn’t make him want her even more.

Her gaze remains carefully fixed on her laptop screen as Frank stands up. He walks over to the trailer door, turning the lock into place with a click. She still has her back to him when he turns around, but her body is poised as if waiting for him, the air between them thick with anticipation.

He bends his mouth over the curve of her throat.

There’s an audible hitch in her chest, and she sounds breathier than usual as she tells him, “Frank. Some of us have work to do.”

“Didn’t you say something about multitasking?” he murmurs, tonguing a kiss to her jawline. The hard hat takes some navigating around, but he’s loath to remove it just yet.

“Mm. I guess you have a point.” She inclines her head toward him, lips parting into his kiss. He tastes strawberry on her tongue, and the bittersweetness of their coffee. He half-pulls her up from her chair, and she rises to meet him, their bodies pressing fully together.

Karen pulls back for a second. “You’re sure no one’s going to—?”

“Nah,” says Frank in between kissing her. “They know not to bother me when I’m doing the, uh—” his throat bobs as she puts her hands on his belt buckle, Christ he is so hard for her “—the paperwork.”

“Right,” says Karen, teasingly. She undoes his belt before starting in on his jeans. “The paperwork.”

He kisses her back up against one of the filing cabinets, groping around her waist for her zipper. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s ruined one of her skirts by being overeager, so he tugs it off of her as patiently as he can manage before making quicker work of her underthings.

Frank leaves her blouse on—the fact they’re about to do this at work is not lost on him, so this seems like a fair enough compromise. He slides his palms beneath the silk fabric to glide over her ribcage, under her bra to cup her breasts as she gets his pants down past his knees.

A full-body shudder courses through him as she takes his dick in hand, stroking him up and down. He squeezes her breast, moving his other hand down to slip in between her thighs.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” he groans into his mouth, and eases two fingers inside.

She gasps, and the hard hat knocks back against the top edge of the filing cabinet. Her hand flies automatically up to adjust it, another soft, moaning sound working its way out of her.

“Here, I got it.” Frank replaces the hat and palms the back of her head instead, feeling the cool cabinet metal against his skin. “Really liked you in that, though.”

She hums out a laugh. “I could tell,” she says, and her breathing shallows as he rubs at her clit with his other hand, a quick, teasing stroke of his thumb that has her arching back again.

“You good?” he murmurs, kissing her neck and feeling her low, throaty yes in response. He removes his hand to take hold of his dick then, sinking the tip of it just between her folds.

He has to bend at the knees a little, and she stretches onto her toes as he presses in, and out, and in again. He rocks into her inch by inch, until he’s balls-deep inside her and halfway to breathless from the sensation of it. He adjusts his hold, cupping a hand around her bare ass to help brace her leg up before thrusting up inside her again.

The position is a little awkward at first, and it takes another few moments of adjusting their bodies to find a good rhythm. But then it gets—God, more than good—striking the perfect balance of movement between them, and Frank begins pumping into her in earnest, groaning softly against her skin.

She clutches at him with a sigh, pulling his mouth up to hers for a brief, tongue-filled kiss. The air goes thin between them as their lips part, and all they can do is gasp into each other as the pleasure between them mounts and mounts to something exquisite. Something that’s indescribably good.

Her leg starts to give just a little, and she grips at whatever she can for purchase, Frank’s body pinning her there to the filing cabinet with the weight of each thrust into her. The contents of the cabinet give a slight rattle behind them, in parallel with the other, softer sounds of their lovemaking.

Frank buries his face into the slope of her shoulder, feeling that telltale ache of heat spreading up through every nerve of his body. He pounds into her harder, listening for the snags in her own breathing, adjusting his angle until she’s clenching around him, tight, and hot, and close, so close—

“Frank—mm—oh, Frank—”

He braces his hand over her nape as she comes, her body stiffening and rocking back against the cabinet. Frank sucks a shaky kiss to her pulse point, thrumming with the need for his own release. He pushes into her once, twice, three times more before everything is splintering apart, and he’s coming with a goan, spilling into her.

He doesn’t know how long they stand there holding each other, hips still pulsing together as they chase those last few tingling moments of orgasm. Everything seems to stand still with them, including time itself. Frank leans half his weight into the filing cabinet, his arm still cradled around Karen’s head as their breathing finally slows together.

She eventually eases back onto both feet, and he bumps his forehead into hers, mouthing kisses over her skin while she retrieves a tissue from his desk and wipes them both clean. They help each other back into their clothes, Frank grazing a hand up the length of her thigh as he goes, reluctant to fully release her.

After they’re dressed, he reaches for her again, pulling her into his arms. “Hey,” he says.

Karen’s biting back a smile. “Hi,” she says back, touching his face, threading her fingers through his hair.

He lowers his mouth to hers, kissing her hard and slow the way that he does when they’re at home in bed together, when it feels like they have all the time in the world.

They could, he thinks. They do.

She sighs regretfully after a moment, putting a hand over his chest. “I should probably let you get back to doing real work.”

“Thinking about taking a half-day, actually,” says Frank, trailing his knuckles up her arm.

Karen tilts her head at him, unable to contain a full smile now. “Are you,” she says.

“Yeah, why not? Grab a beer, a patch of grass by the water…” He cups the side of her face in his hand. “You can bring your laptop, and uh.” He gives her a crooked smile of his own. “It can be my turn to distract you from your work.”

She looks at him with mock seriousness. “You say that like it would be so easy.”

“All right,” says Frank, stepping away, “well, I got a shit ton of paperwork waiting on me, so I better—”

Karen takes his hand firmly in hers, drawing him back for another kiss.

The paperwork can keep on waiting.

#kastle #kastle ff #kastlenetwork #hard hat karen #i meant for this to fade to black but then i guess they had other ideas #hope you like it!

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alicenttully · 3 years

Text

this bed is poisoned

294 A.C.

The Baratheon king was as fond of feasting as he was of women, and so it was he who commanded the servants prepare a banquet to mark little Robert Arryn’s second name-day.

Petyr said that the court devoured gossip like a dog with scraps from the table, and thus Lysa blamed the nasty scandal of a Northern knight selling poachers and then escaping the sword for why her Robert turning one had passed with little fuss.

But, Lysa supposes as Robert stains his fingers with the sauce from an apple-cake, perhaps Robert turning two was more precious. He is the only one of her sweet babes so far to become a toddler. Three of their little souls were carried off by the Stranger while still in her womb, and another was born cold and still. And her first…

Lysa liked to think that Robert being born during the seventh month of the year was a good omen. A sign that the gods would bless and protect him. Petyr had told her that, when she confessed how she worried for her boy, and she’d kept the thought with her, like she and Edmure carrying one of the lucky stones from the godswood in their pockets when they were children.

Thinking of Edmure however makes her think of Catelyn, and all of the second name-days she had celebrated already with her husband. Lysa scowls, pushing her plate away from her.

Nobody pays her any mind.

Except Petyr.

He is sitting with some lord – Lysa should know the name, but like the smell of warm bread that has since faded, she can’t. The nameless lord is talking earnestly with Petyr about some matter, and Petyr’s head is cocked to one side as he listens. When he turns and finds Lysa looking at them, he smiles and makes a swift hand gesture to the unaware lordling, rolling his green eyes. A giggle burst from Lysa’s lips, like the bubbles that Robert adored popping in his bath.

II.

Lysa is in her bed-chambers within the Tower of the Hand when Jon enters.

“My lady,” her husband greets her. Lysa tenses, instinctively tightening the straps on her bed-robe. She suddenly wishes she had not yet dismissed her maid.

“My lord.” Lysa replies. Jon must read the question on her lips.

“I’d thought we’d share a bed tonight.”

It has been well over two years at this point. They’d not shared a bed since Robert was born, nor did Jon go sniffing after her while she was pregnant with their son.

The thought of again suffering Jon’s weight upon her makes Lysa want to tear her hair out.

“No.”

Jon frowns. “No?”

Lysa clenches her teeth. “I do not want to share your bed tonight, or ever again. Because I know there is only one reason for why you are here, and it is not for sleep. And as far as I’m concerned, that side of our marriage is dead.”

Jon sighs. “Lysa, as long as we are married, we have a duty that we must perform. A duty that your septa and lady mother would have taught you.”

Lysa delivers her response with all the force of a slap. “I have done my duty. I did my duty all those years ago in Riverrun, when Catelyn and I were wed to you and Eddard Stark. I have done my duty a hundred times over, every time you came to me in the night, and saved my tears for when you were gone or had fallen asleep. I have done my duty in giving you an heir.”

Jon just stares at her. "Robert is only two."

“I am aware of how old he is!”

“What I mean by that is- life can be as unpredictable as a battle, Lysa. We cannot ever be certain of the morrow. To let Robert be our only child rather than try for another would be unwise.”

“King Aegon the Second had three children, and yet it was Rhaenyra’s line that continued. Life is unpredictable, as you say. Plenty of lords only have one son, and nothing happens to them.” Lysa retorts. “My mother died giving birth. The babe was lost as well. Is that what you want?”

“No, of course not! Lysa you cannot say that I have been unkind to you. I have tried my best by you, to see to your needs...”

Liar, Lysa thinks. He has never cared for what she needs. Nor Father for that matter.

“Then leave me be.” She hisses. “Or I swear to you my lord- I will starve myself. I will refuse to have my maid wash me, and will let all the courtiers see me in my soiled finery. And-,” Lysa takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I will kill myself the first chance I get, if you do not listen. But not before letting everyone know exactly why I sought the Stranger.” It is a desperate threat, Lysa knows- like trying to find a refuge in a storm. She doubts many would actually care about why she did it, but that is not the point. The point is that it would drag dear, honourable Jon Arryn in a scandal, and she knows Jon well enough to know he would loathe that.

“You would abandon your own son?”

“He’ll have his father. My mother died when I was young. My father loved me well though, and never let harm come to me.”

Lysa’s body is trembling.

If Jon were a different sort of man she knew, he would have hit her. But that would not be honourable, nor would trying to force apart the legs of a screaming wife.

Does he think that it was any different that night in Riverrun, and the nights that followed it?

Jon sighs once again. “Good night, my lady.” He leaves her alone with her victory. He is an old man, Lysa thinks. An old man who has already survived three wars and must now run the seven kingdoms. He is too tired to fight with her on this, not with the king’s behaviour.

Lysa smiles. Petyr will be happy for her, she knows. Along with his kisses, he is always eager to lend a sympathetic ear to Lysa about her marriage to Jon Arryn.

#lysa arryn #anti jon arryn #anti hoster tully #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #got #self indulgent writing #might edit later #suicide tw #rape tw

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hansolmates · 4 years

Text

jjk; angel’s trumpet [06]

summary; one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. pairing; idol!jk x reader (f), alternatively film producer!jk x reader genre/warnings; fluff, angst, supernatural, idol!au, non-idol!au, alternate universes, themes of fate, language, alcohol consumption, in this chapter—partial nudity, dry humping, sad tears w.c; 3.5k a/n; a little steamy in the beginning but soft and gooey in the end! enjoy the softness while it lasts bc we’re getting close to the end!! and to satiate your curiosity yes cheesecake factory was ultimate date night

[05] [06] [07] -> masterpost

Abiding by the dress code, you show up at Jungkook’s doorstep with your rattiest sweatpants, Adidas slides and a plain black t-shirt. You hold your night pack in one hand, and a pint of taro ice cream in your other.

Before you even have a chance to knock the door is flung open, Jungkook ushering you inside with his marigold oven mitts. Aside from the frilly pink apron that you’re half sure is Minghao’s, you and Jungkook are unexpectedly matching in overworn sweatpants and oversized t-shirts.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he’s hot under the stove, sweat beading from his temples as he concentrates on simmering the cream for your pasta. He’s carefully spooning the angel hair pasta from the pot to his saucepan, mixing the sauce vigorously in order to emulsify the contents. You wonder how many Binging with Babish and Joshua Weissman he watched to get to this kind of expertise in the kitchen.

You hug his torso, peeking up from his elbows, “It smells divine.”

“Thanks, baby. It’s almost done. Mind finishing up the table?”

A smile quirks up when you see the coffee table cleared, apart from two wine glasses and a Bath and Body Works candle lit in the middle. Off the table you see a plastic bag with a takeout strawberry cheesecake. You quickly move through his kitchen to grab some plates and cutlery, setting the table that is lined with a simple white table cloth.

“I’m getting the whole Olive Garden treatment today, huh?” you say as you uncork the wine, pouring two hearty glasses.

“Nuh-uh. We’re going full-out Cheesecake Factory tonight.”

You set out the coaster for him to place the pasta pan between you two. The pasta is mixed with a hearty aroma of your favorite aromatics and with plenty of fix-ins to declare a hearty meal. Jungkook also pulls out a basket of bread with a pad of butter in the middle, and your mouth salivates as you pick up a dark brown one. The bread is still hot from the touch, like a little pillow in your hands as you rip it open.

The two of you converse mindlessly over dinner, talking about various things and catching up with the week. Warm, flushed with affection and wine, you bask in the simple but sweet dinner with your favorite person.

Eventually you two got lazy spooning pasta into your plate and cuddled up in the middle of the table, spooning each other twirled pasta until the pan’s licked clean.

Jungkook’s quick to turn on Disney+ once you’re done, hopping on the couch to flip through his holy grail films.

“Quick. Favorite Avenger?”

“Well… I think Antman’s pretty—”

“Antman? Antman? You may be only one of three people in this world that like Marvel over DC,” he wags the remote at you like a child, “I’m sorry but I think we need to re-evaluate your sanity.”

“Hey! It's a cute movie, okay? He’s sacrificed everything out of love for his daughter.”

You sit up on your knees, putting your hands atop your boyfriend’s thighs as you explain your earnest opinion. You’re nestled between his legs, looking up at him with a determined look on your face.

Jungkook on the other hand, can’t help but view this precarious situation as anything but innocent. But seeing the pout on your face and your insistence to defend the superhero has him melting.

“C’mere,” he says, pulling you up.

You immediately let him tug you to his lap, fitting your legs between his torso like a puzzle piece. It’s a perfect fit, and you immediately thread your fingers through his head, feeling like a koala as you cling to the scent of his fabric softener.

“Wanna know a secret?” he faux whispers.

You hum against the collar of his shirt.

“I really, really like you.”

“That’s a terrible secret,” you deadpan, “I already knew that. You gave me the whole Cheesecake Factory treatment, after all. In high school, going on a date there confirmed you were serious.”

“I guess this is me confirming how serious I am about us?” he tugs you away from his neck so he can press his forehead to yours. He lets his eyes flutter shut, and your finger goes to trail down his nose to his lips, “because I am,” he whispers, words moving against your pointer, “very serious about us.”

“I am too,” you reply earnestly, the pads of your thumbs brushing against his soft cheeks. As you stare in his eyes, you feel a shift in your chest, a sign.

Hoseok was right. He’s Jungkook, but not your Jungkook. You try not to let your smile falter as you trace the planes of his skin, noting the clear, stress-free skin and lack of eye bags.

You try to pin your incessant thoughts for now, Jungkook put a lot of effort in this date. He presses his lips to yours, and you immediately let yourself relent under his touch. His hands are warm and needy, trailing from the waistband to the bare skin of your back. His hands fumble to where your bra is supposed to be, and he breaks from your kiss.

He raises an eyebrow, “You really committed to the dress code tonight, eh?”

You reach for his hand, letting him palm your bare breast. “I–oh,” you bite your lip at the way he kneads the tender flesh, his wide doe eyes fixated on your facial expression, “always like to be prepared.”

Squirming in his lap, you let yourself sink against his crotch as you fumble to rip off your t-shirt. Jungkook drinks you in, petal pink lips parting like a kitten starved for milk. One large hand settles on your waist, and his lips latch onto a nipple.

You cry out, instinctively rolling your hips against his as he brings you to a slow, sensual pace.

“My pretty girl,” he praises, marveling at the way you immediately respond to his touches. “You look so, so beautiful like this.”

He snaps his hips up, and through the thin material of your soaked sweats, it’s apparent that he likes this as much as you do. You bite your lip, getting lost in the way Jungkook tends to your body.

“Baby,” he rasps against your neck, dampening the skin, “hold tight.”

And his hands move to cup your cheeks, lifting you up in one swoop and bringing you to his room. You immediately cling to him like your life depends on it, and you both giggle and laugh as your boobs bounce with every step and how he suddenly got a cramp in his calf for getting up too fast.

Jungkook quickly throws you on his twin, and for a second you feel like you’re floating. The sheets smell like floral fabric softener, and you’re encased in an ocean of seashell white blankets and fluffy pillows. Jungkook crawls over to you, looking absolutely smitten as he trails a stream of kisses from your bare belly button all the way to your lips.

“God, I’m so lucky,” he husks against your collarbone, and you can feel the smile on his lips melding into your skin. “I’m so lucky to have met someone like you, and you’re all mine.”

At the second he says that, the whole moment feels like an out of body experience. Not in the way two minutes ago, when you felt like you were on cloud nine as Jungkook ravished your body. This feeling is akin to drowning, making you all choked up as you try your hardest not to let the man above you notice.

“Hey,” he brushes against your cheeks, the pads of his thumbs gathering the moisture welling from your eyes, “baby, are you okay?”

“Oh,” you sit up slightly, roughly scrubbing away the tears from your face. A strong flush overrides any hint of pleasure that you felt, effectively ruining the moment. You feel terrible, angry at yourself for getting so caught up in your emotions. “I—I’m sorry, it’s just…”

“Is it me?” he looks a little hurt, sitting on his heels to give you some space, “did we go too fast? I’m sorry—”

“No, no Jungkook!” you fling up, finding the strength to wrap your small hands around his. “You, you’ve been wonderful. Honestly, I couldn’t ask for more. You’ve done so much for me in a short amount of time,” you squeeze his hands, feeling the warmth of his fingers sink through yours. You wish you could hold onto him, keep this moment tangible for as long as possible. “It’s me, Jungkook. I’m a little messed up in the head.”

“Is it him?”

You can’t tell from Jungkook’s expression if he’s feeling slighted by W1 Jungkook. Despite not knowing the situation fully, he really does have a good grasp on how much this has been affecting you, and how much you’ve been trying to avoid it. You have it good here, you can’t deny that. But you can’t be here forever, it isn’t fair to anyone.

“Some of it, yeah,” you let go of him, hands falling at your lap as you dampen his sheets with your continuous bout of silent sobs. “I’m so sorry, Jungkook. You must think I’m awful and you’re the second choice and fuck—you don’t deserve any of this. I’ve been so selfish wanting to be happy after so long and—”

Patient, loving Jungkook pulls you into his arms, forcing your head between his so he can stroke your head. You’re now full on sobbing on his chest, succumbing to his touch as he soothes you like a baby.

“What’s so wrong about being selfish for a little bit?” he asks, tone light. He rests his chin on your crown. “At the end of the day, this is your life. Do what makes you happy, save yourself.”

You don’t know if you can form coherent words so you nod fervently, nuzzling your nose into his collarbone.

“I’m not going anywhere. Take your time with me, y/n.”

Is there even time left to take?

The two of you stay like that for a while. You don’t know how long, but eventually your tears dry and Jungkook’s body is too furnace-like to be pressed up against. Moving so you can still face each other, you plop yourselves side-by-side on the mattress, facing each other.

Fiddling with the sheets you ask, “Can I still stay here?”

A soft smile resurfaces to Jungkook’s lips, immediately alleviating your hesitancy. “Of course, I wouldn’t want you to sleep alone if you’re still shaken up.”

“Could you tell me something happy? So we can end the night on a positive note.”

He chuckles, propping his arm up on the pillow and tucking his hand to support his head. He’s still shirtless, inadvertently flexing as he adjusts himself. You try not to stare, but Jungkook decides not to tease you just this once.

“So, it’s kinda-sorta a secret. I’m not really confident about it yet but,” he blows on his black bangs, nervous, “I like to sing.”

A small, tender smile worms its way onto your visage. “Yeah? I’m sure you’re a beautiful singer.”

Jungkook snorts, “You’ve never even heard me.”

“Hm, I still know you’re beautiful.”

“Well, there’s this producer that works at the radio station. He’s a friend of a friend, and they hooked me up and I’m gonna collab with him. We’re gonna finally meet up and I’m gonna demo some of his songs. He needs a vocalist.”

“That’s amazing. I can’t wait to hear.”

“Yeah,” and a dreamy smile overtakes his lips, his eyes floating to the gold LEDs decorating his room as if they are stars. “It’s just a hobby, but I wanna give my all in this.”

You hum, tucking your hands between the cool pillow, “Can I hear you sing?”

He frowns, “I’m not even warmed up.”

“C’mon, just a ‘lil sample!”

“What do I get out of it?”

“A happy girlfriend. And if you’re that uncomfortable I’ll sing for you after. I make a pretty mean rendition of Happy Birthday.”

A pause, and he relents, reaching over to squish your cheek. “Only because you look so peaceful right now,” he sits up a little, “any requests?”

“Lost Stars, by Maroon 5.”

“Oh, so she has taste.”

He takes a deep breath, willing himself to be vulnerable around you. You almost tear up again, hearing the sweet sounds of his voice as he starts off with the pre-chorus of a cover near and dear to your heart. He’s right, his voice is rough and untrained, but the potential is there. But it’s the one thing from home that you’ve missed, and just a couple notes is enough to make you feel at home.

Once his sample ends, he throws you a small smile and buries himself in the blankets. His face pops up cutely, embarrassed.

You throw yourself onto the mattress with a flourish, clutching your chest as you make a show of swooning. “That was beautiful,” you say sincerely, “please post a full cover on YouTube. They’re gonna swoon over you.”

He rolls his eyes, “As if. Only K-pop idols get that kind of attention.”

“I suppose,” you shrug.

“But you, however. I remember you saying you were gonna sing for me in return,” he laughs when you groan and flop against the cushions. “C’mon, I wanna see that Happy Birthday remix!”

You playfully sigh, running a hand through your hair. “Alright, but you only get one line.”

“Mhm, hit me with that Happy Birthday.”

No, you are not going to sing Happy Birthday. You take your time, and reach a hand to caress his face. He easily leaned into your touch, placing his hand on top of yours.

“Take my hands now, you are the cause of my Euphoria.”

Whether your singing talents are good or not did not matter, Jungkook is equally enamoured. “That’s a nice song,” he says simply, “I’ve never heard it before.”

You shrug, scooting closer, “Maybe you will one day.”

The length of the day starts to edge you off to sleep, and you feel your eyes fluttering in and out of consciousness. Jungkook seems equally exhausted, but patient as he watches you fight to stay awake. He pulls the blankets over both of you, reaching forward to pull you closer.

He looks at you in consent, hands hovering over you as you nod. He starts with your shoulder, trailing his palms down your smooth skin before it reaches the curve of your waist.

“G’night, Koo,” you mumble, snuggling into his warm chest, “‘M sorry again, we’ll talk about it soon.”

“Don’t be sorry,” how could he possibly be upset, when he feels how much you care for him right here at this very moment? He presses his lips to your forehead, “everything will be fine, pretty girl. The way I see it, the way we met was fate.”

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

W1.

Jungkook jolts awake, as if lightning pierces his system.

Instinctively, his hand reaches for yours. Despite the weather getting warmer, your hand still remains uncomfortably cold. He rubs a hand across his face, sweeping the sleep that so desperately wants to take him.

Things have changed. Your superficial wounds have healed, however you still appear pale and lifeless, twitching occasionally in your sleep.

Your position has been replaced, right off the bat. There’s a new language teacher to guide the rookies, who has big shoes to fill as they take long hours to ensure that they’re worth keeping. He isn’t sure you’ll have a job to come back to when you wake up.

It’s been well over a month since he’s seen you. The first couple of days he refused to leave your side, insistent on cleaning your skin with a warm cloth and putting lavender lotion on because you couldn’t. After that, he had no choice in the matter. Life had to go on without you.

If anyone was in pain from your hit and run, they’ve so far masked it really well. Everyone other than Sehlyung however, whose roots have grown in and her stitching has slowed considerably, as if always interrupted by mere thought. But smiles continue to be exchanged, performances are full of unbridled energy, and he immerses himself completely. Except today when he gets a break, he insists to drive straight to the hospital to keep you company, even if you don’t know it.

At that time Jimin placed a soft hand upon his sunken cheek, pale due to overexertion and lack of sleep. “Jungkook, you can go home with us and rest for a few hours,” he tried to convince him, “she’s not going anywhere.”

“I know,” he felt like a child, fiddling with his hangnails as he’s pressed between Jimin and Hoseok in the back of their van, “just don’t wanna waste any time doing needless things.”

“Like showering, eating, making sure you’re still a human being?” Hoseok tried to lighten the mood, staring out onto the city as they made their way to their apartment complex. “C’mon, I’m sure y/n can still smell how much you stink right now.”

Someone chided Hoseok, and threw a bag of Cheetos in his lap. The conversation on their side started to morph into something else, completely forgetting the conflict Jungkook was going through. Jungkook sunk further into his seat, thighs brushing against Jimin’s as he continued his spiel.

Jimin offered him a tentative smile, “In case she wakes up, y’know? I’m sure she doesn’t want to see you like this.”

Jungkook’s not even sure if you’d want to see him at all.

Nevertheless it’s six against one, and with a quick shower and a granola bar he’s already Ubering to the hospital. Initially he was going to bring his work computer to get some stuff done in your room, but he figured your family would be in your room and he didn’t want to impose.

Thankfully, he could avoid another awkward conversation today (he didn’t want to remember the first one) as the nurses told him that your family already left for today. That much was evident when he spotted a garbage bag by the door, filled with pizza boxes. Courtesy of the company you’ve been moved to a VIP room, large enough for your visiting family to spend their days in.

The desk that he usually occupies to do work is filled with coloring pages from your younger cousins, renditions of you awake and playing dress-up with them. He doesn’t bother pushing them aside, instead plopping his bag in its chair and going over to the sofa chair closest to your bedside.

Fast-forward to now, he doesn’t know when he fell asleep holding your hand. He opens your bedside drawer to search for something to wake him up. You always kept a tin of breath mints in your purse, just in case.

Your purse is splayed out across the drawer, stray items rolling back and forth. Immediately finding the forest green tin Jungkook pops two spearmints in his mouth, slamming the drawer shut.

He hears glass shuffle between the wood. Confused, he opens the drawer again, slowly. In the very back corner, there’s a bottle he’s never seen before. He picks up the tiny container, weighing it between his palms. A wilted, once sunset orange flower is floating sadly between the clear liquid. There’s a little bit of the liquid left, and it almost looks like a novelty item you keep in your purse, like a good luck charm. He pops open the lid and brings it to his nose. Maybe it’s his propensity to get sick more often, but he can’t smell its contents.

With a shrug, he throws it back and takes a swig.

He immediately coughs at the sudden and unexpected tang of floral alcohol. Some of the nurses passing by ask if he’s fine, but he waves them off and reaches for the glass of water on the counter. After downing half the glass he quickly caps the jar and shoves it back in your purse.

Resting his head on the thin mattress, he reaches for your hand again. He whispers your name.

“Can you hear me?” he says, halfheartedly trying to get you riled up like old times, “when you wake up, you owe me an explanation of whatever poison is in your bag.”

When he closes his eyes, he dreams of you. It’s like he’s swimming, present but not. But it’s definitely his gaze, from his point of view. He sees you, naked in an unfamiliar room with warm yellow LEDs, reaching to caress his messy hair. Jungkook’s hands are splayed over your body, and he can almost feel how soft your skin is, slightly damp but comfortable enough to hold you. He can’t make out whatever you’re saying, but you flash him a tired smile and snuggle further into his chest, as warm as can be.

#jungkook fic #jungkook angst #bts fic #goldenclosetnet #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook smut

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