#rice-drying rack

[poptartmochi]

i was jesting earlier, in that one post Abt habits you got from your parents... but your honor my upper back and shoulder blades sound and feel like glow sticks rn 😨

#if i roll my shoulders it's just snap crackle pop.. im an asian w skin problems call me rice krispy 😩 #but on the bright side! i cleaned these racks we had from my childhood home (girl.. they NEEDED a wash that's all i will say.. ww3 w a #sponge i tell u 😨) so now my mom can put them in our lanai + we will have a place to store the fryer! #and then we can organize some of her gardening stuff too 😃‼️ besides that i handwashed most of the final stuff from this round of storage #stuff 🙏🏼 what else.. i realized we have pinesol so i was able to clean most of the wooden picture frames ive been ❓❓ about + now those #can leave the garage :] and i ''cleaned'' these.. jade-accented dragon murals?? my mom has 😁 they were so dusty and i wasn't sure what to #hit them with so i dry dusted them as best as i could and then went over the wood w the pinesol.. they are still dusty in the crevices so #i have to figure out how to get in there bc QTips don't really work :( i might have to spritz them w water or handwash them but idk #progress! the garage is slightly less claustrophobic now #sriracha.txt

[lawsvalentine]

@yuhhvalentine I just thought I another scenario that would be fun when you have the time though. Can I please request NSFW Law x Chef 👩‍🍳 Female reader. With the reader making some sex inducing rice balls as a favor for Ikkaku. But Law steals one without knowing. In the end reader figures it out.

Cee’s note: No way! I was thinking about doing a Law aphrodisiac fic for a minute now, it’s like you read my mind lol. But sure thing love 💓

Tags 🤍: @sanjisblackasswife (🫶🏽 your aphrodisiac series is the best) @3strapstyle @uchihabbynic @pinkcrystal-rose @nympheclipse (my fellow Law girlies and gents ) @roronoaswifey (ily bae) @usopps-devotee (you highkey inspired the mirror sex part)

Consuming an Aphrodisiac Food • Law x Fem!reader • (18+)

CW: Accidental Consumption of Aphrodisiac food, smut (dry humping, fingering, mirror sex, shower sex, praise, overstimulation, dumbification, squirting, multiple creampies), a very horny Law, slight aftercare at the end

*MDNI*

“I’m telling you, the sex is supposed to be MIND BLOWING!”

You chuckled at Ikakku’s words as your hands molded the rice balls into shape. This wasn’t the first time a crew member had requested for you to make them special meals, with you being the ship’s cook and all. However, this was the first time someone requested for you to make sex induced food for them.

But Ikakku was your dear friend. You two were the only women in Law’s crew, so naturally you two became very close. You were more than happy to do this favor for her.

“I still can’t believe you and Penguin are a thing”, you said with a shake of your head. “And please spare me the details about y’alls sex life.”

Ikakku feigned offense with a scoff and a hand to her chest. “Hey! I don’t judge your relationship with our Captain”, she said with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

Your cheeks burned at the mention of your lover. Even though you and Law have been together for a while now, the thought of him still made you feel butterflies in your stomach.

“That’s different! Me and Law are more…private,” you said shyly.

“More like BO-RING!”

“IKKAKU!” You gasped, ready to throw the rice ball at her.

She giggled, holding her hands up in defense, “Look, all I’m saying is maybe you two should spice things up a bit. Wouldn’t hurt for our uptight captain to loosen up.”

With that, Ikakku exited the kitchen, leaving you to your thoughts.

Were we…boring?

Law was a busy man and you a busy woman, with him and his medical studies and you having the responsibility of preparing meals for the entire crew throughout the day. So to balance responsibilities and your relationship, you guys had a schedule for your…alone time.

You weren’t complaining, the routine worked for you too. But now as you were rolling the sticky rice in your hands, you couldn’t shake Ikkaku’s words out of your head.

.

“There! All done”, you wiped your forehead with the back of your arm before reaching behind your back to loosen your apron. There in a metal dish were 6 rice balls sprinkled with the special garnish just as Ikkaku requested. You hung your apron on the rack before heading out the kitchen to fetch your friend to retrieve her “snack”.

After you had exited the kitchen, moments later, your tattooed boyfriend entered in hopes of finding you.

While working, he thought it wouldn’t hurt to take a short break just to fetch something to eat (mostly to see you). He frowned at the empty kitchen, he was sure you would be in here. His disappointment faded once he spotted the rice balls on the kitchen counter.

His lips curled in a smile, cheeks slightly tinted pink as he eyed the dish.

Were these for me?

Rice balls were his favorite snack and you would make it often for him when he would miss out on dinner, too consumed with work. It was one of the things Law most appreciated about you.

Law thought you must’ve known he would come in here for food and left these rice balls for him. He grabbed two of them to take with him back to his office. As he made his way back, he munched on one of them, humming contently at the taste.

It tasted slightly different than the ones you usually made but it was still delicious nonetheless. He made a mental note to “thank you” later for it.

.

After an hour, Law started feeling…strange.

Law’s forehead beaded with sweat droplets. He paused his writing to wipe his forehead with the back of his palm. He then stripped off his hoodie, his tank top sticking to his chest, drenched in sweat.

What the hell?

Law stripped the damp tank from his body leaving his chest bare. He started examining himself, concerned he was starting to catch a fever. After the diagnostic, he came to the conclusion that he wasn’t sick but something was causing him to be all hot and bothered and it was frustrating the hell out of him.

Suddenly a knock sounded at the door, interrupting his thoughts. He yelled a “who is it?” and turned his attention to the door, to find you peeking your head in with a grin. His face softened at the sight of you.

“Hey babe, I have some time to kill before preparing dinner. Mind if I stay here?” You gave him your best puppy dog eyes.

You were so cute, Law wanted to kiss that adorable pout off your face.

Law nodded, beckoning you inside with his hand. You beamed as you entered his office, shutting the door behind you. You went towards the book stand adjacent to Law, back facing him as you scoured the selection for a book to read.

Law couldn’t control his gaze from staring at your ass, admiring how nice it looked in those jeans you were wearing. He could feel his pants get tighter from his growing erection. He pressed a hand to his bulge, scrunching his forehead at his body’s reaction.

He didn’t know why he felt so horny all of a sudden but all he knew is that he needed you and needed you now.

You finally found a book to your liking and was about to sit on his desk but instead you were pulled on top of Law’s lap, straddling his pelvis. Your eyes widened when you felt how hard he was under you.

“L-Law?” A soft moan escaped your lips as Law started littering kisses and bites against the skin above your shirt collar.

“Mmm….wanna thank you for earlier” Law mumbled against your soft skin.

Thank me for earlier?

You had no clue what Law was referring to. You were about to question him more until you felt his lips against yours. His hands snaked around your lower back, squeezing your ass through your jeans. Your lips moved against each other so sensually, soft moans being swallowed by each others mouths.

He pulled away to only latch his mouth back against your neck. Your hands tossed his spotted hat to the side before entangling your fingers in his messy locks . He started bucking his hips up into you, adding pressure from his bulge to your clothed sex.

“You’re so good to me Y/N-ya”, Law said between peppered kisses he was leaving from your neck to your lips, “wanna show you how much I appreciate you”

You didn’t know what had gotten into your usually stoic boyfriend but you were definitely enjoying this side of him.

Your arousal started to build as you two continued grinding against each others fronts, grunts and pants escaping each others lips as you both chased your highs. Your moans became high pitched as you felt your orgasm hit you.

You felt Law groan against your neck as he came right behind you, making a mess inside his pants. Law lifted his head, his darkened eyes meeting your dazed ones.

“Looks like we made a bit of a mess” Law smirked with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Before you knew it, you were being carried out of Law’s study room to the bathroom across. You were surprised by Law’s actions considering he was usually very keen about keeping your relationship private, with little to no PDA. You were loving this sudden spontaneous behavior from your boyfriend, making your core throb even more for him. Once the bathroom door closed between you two, you both couldn’t keep your hands or mouths off each other.

“Law what about dinner? Our schedule?”, you managed to get out between kisses.

“Fuck the schedule” Law prodded and pulled your jeans down your thighs. “Need you so bad right now”

That’s all you needed to hear, completely letting yourself go with him. You both stripped each other’s clothes from your bodies. Law turned you around, your back pressed against his chest as he lifted one of your legs up, your foot resting on the bathroom sink. You both were facing the mirror, your leaking pussy on full display.

Law’s arm wrapped around your front, his tatted “E” and “A” fingers infiltrating your wet hole. You mewl at the stretch of his long digits, as he continued to pump in and out of you.

“You look so hot like this babe, getting fucked by my fingers” he said, eyes strained on the mirror, watching the faces you’re making and the way your arms desperately grasp his arms as his fingers penetrate your cunt.

He swears he can cum alone just from the sight of you falling apart by just his fingers. Suddenly your body starts to writhe as you feel your stomach tightening.

“Law…I can’t it’s too much” You whimper, feeling his fingertips hit your sweet spot over and over again. Law takes his fingers out and starts rubbing your clit violently.

“Yes you can, take it” Law was not letting up, determined to get you to cum.

“Shit..Law…Law..Law”, you chant his name as your legs started to shake as your juices spray all over the mirror like a hose.

Law was mesmerized watching you make a mess all over his fingers and the bathroom sink and mirror.

Your vision was hazy and your chest was heaving as you came down from the most intense orgasm you ever had. You didn’t even realize your limp body was being carried into the shower until you felt the warm water spray down on both of you.

Law lowered you onto his cock, and started bucking his hips up into you. Law usually paced his strokes more thoroughly when you two usually had sex, but at this moment his thrusts were animalistic as he chased his high.

The sound of the shower water barely drowned out your cries and Laws groans alongside the slapping of skin against skin.

The way Law’s cock was hitting your g spot so fast and hard, had tears glossing your eyes. The pain of your overstimulated cunt mixed with pleasure was too much.

Law couldn’t get enough of you. He was drunk off the feeling of your sweet warm walls around him. He emptied his load not once, but twice more. He continued fucking himself into overstimulation. He had one more in him, pushing past his limit. His pace never letting up, determined to fill you up one last time.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes” Was the only word you could say as Law continued abusing your cunt. You had lost count of the amount of orgasms you had, each one more intense than the last.

“Fuck, babe, I love you” Law grunts, before spilling inside you one last time.

.

Your back was pressed against his tattooed chest as he lazily caressed the bar soap over your chest pressing a kiss to your forehead.

After you both calmed down, Law’s sexual drive finally wore off. He drew you two a bath to properly clean yourselves off from the mess you two made.

“That was…” Law paused unable to describe what had just happened.

“Mind blowing”, you finished, and suddenly a switch was flipped in your head and your eyes widened at your revelation.

“Babe, did you happen to eat rice balls that were in the kitchen?” You said, tilting your head back to look at him.

“Yes and they were delicious”, he pressed another kiss to your forehead. “I thought that was clear from my “thank you””, he said with a smirk.

Oh my god

You suddenly burst out laughing, and Law looked at you like you had lost your mind.

“What, Y/N-ya?”

How could you have not seen the signs. Suddenly your boyfriend’s behavior was starting to make s lot more sense.

“See, what had happened was….”

#trafalgar law #trafalger law smut #trafalgardwaterlaw #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar one piece #trafalgar d law x reader #law x reader #law one piece #trafalgar law x y/n #law x y/n #law x you #one piece smut #law smut #trafalgar law smut #op smut #op fanfic #one piece fanfiction

[ms-demeanor]

You seem like a good sort of person to ask; how does one go about building up a good spice rack? Not only just having the spices, but knowing what they are and how to use them, when and in what quantities, and developing a wider spice palette in general? I grew up in white suburbia and my mother has no idea how to use anything other than salt and ground black pepper, and I want to start making my foods more flavorful. I am tired of utterly flavorless dry roast pork! But I have no idea where to begin lol.

I'd say to start by trying a lot of foods that use a lot of different spice profiles and seeing what you like. If you like Thai food, look into Thai spices and try cooking a few recipes. If you like Indian food, try Indian recipes. If you don't know if you like a particular kind of food, go out and try it and see if you do.

I think the best way to build up your spice rack is to do so slowly over time as you familiarize yourself with different flavors. Don't go out and buy a ton of stuff, go out and buy cumin and make a rice recipe that calls for cumin and see if you like it, then next time maybe add another spice like cayenne pepper to the recipe and see if you like it.

Spices can be really expensive, but they can also be really cheap if you're looking in the right places. Try to avoid the shiny organic spice jars, and see if there are packets of spices in the various "ethnic" food sections of your grocery store (in California it's pretty common to have a Mexican food section and an Asian food section in the store and you'll often find stuff like a packet of cumin for 70 cents that's got the same amount of spice as the organic jar that costs five bucks in the spice aisle).

Once you've got some basics down, start branching out and seeing if you've got any good markets nearby that have more unusual spices. Large Bastard and I get most of our bulk spices from a Middle Eastern market around the corner from our house or at an Indian market a few miles away because it's WAY cheaper to get allspice or turmeric or garam masala from those stores than it would be from the grocery store.

And if you're starting at the basic-basics, like how to season a simple pork roast, check recipe blogs. Find different bloggers and test their recipes until you find someone you trust, then follow their recipes. One good place to start is with Chef John and Food Wishes - he has a wide variety of cuisines that use a lot of different spices and has recipes that range from very simple to very complex.

Large Bastard really likes Food Wishes and trying recipes from Chef John - he cooks less than I do and has less of a sense of what to add to a pot to get something to taste the way he wants it to, but he's gotten very good at taking Food Wishes recipes and tweaking them or adjusting them and figuring out how to mix and match flavors.

Just cooking - finding a recipe that looks interesting and following it - is a really good way to get better at this kind of thing.

That's actually one of the reasons that I think meal kit boxes like blue apron can be worth it for people who want to learn how to cook - they give you recipes you wouldn't have thought to look for and provide small amounts of the required ingredients so you can sample them and figure out if you like them. My dad and sister got blue apron for like two years and it has significantly improved their cooking skills and ability to mix and match flavors.

It just takes time and money and trial and error. Easy, right? (It isn't, but there's also no way to make it faster other than doing more experiments. Thankfully there are ways to make it cheaper, and yeah looking at local specialty markets is a good way to save on spices)

[wanderingsimsfinds]

WanderingSims Fave CC - Kitchen Decor List 2

1 - Ameriko Steelie - 4t3 Mechtasims Back To School Mini Fridge

2 - HydrangeaChainsaw - Kitchenware Set Stand Mixer Kitchen Aid V2

3-4 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 Aira Daisy Set Colorful Marbled Plates & Bowl A

5 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 novvvas Holz Kitchen Basket

6 - HydrangeaChainsaw - Keurig Coffee Maker Functional

7, 21 - HydrangeaChainsaw - Kitchenware Set Utensils in a Jar & Vintage Cutting Board

8 - HydrangeaChainsaw - Boba Tea Mini Fridge

9, 17 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 Leosims Free May 2023 Content Coffee Mug Rack & Electric Whisk

10-11 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 Sims-KKB Kitchen Utensils 2 Dish Drying Stand & Rice Cooker

12-15 - breadcrumbss3 - Modern Farmhouse Kitchen (Pot, Smeg Water Heater, Jars, Utensils)

16, 25 - Martassimsbook - 4t3 Destruam Life Is Strange 2 Objects Pack 1 Knife Block & Spice Rack

18 - sim_man123 - Akira Mug Rack (TSR)

19 - Kelly & Co - Kitchen Shelving

20 - HydrangeaChainsaw - Neko Tea Pot Functional

22, 24 - kriselizabethsims - 4t3 Slox Compact Kitchen Pan 1 & 2

23 - SugarSSims - 4t3 ddaengsims Lemon Drop Set Kettle

#ts3cc #s3cc #s3ccfinds #cc list

[najia-cooks]

[ID: First image shows a breaded and fried 'chicken' cutlet on a ciabatta roll; second image is of two cutlets, one of them cut open to show a stringy cross-section. End ID]

Vegan fried chicken

This gluten-free, pakoda-inspired fried 'chicken' recipe uses thinly sliced onion and chickpea flour as its base, and can be flavored to suit any recipe. The batter is breaded and then fried twice to create a crispy cutlet that's perfect for sandwiches, chicken and waffles, chicken nanban, or any other recipe that calls for fried chicken.

Recipe under the cut!

Patreon | Tip jar

Serves 4.

Ingredients:

For the chicken:

2 medium yellow onions (310g total), very thinly sliced

1 Tbsp total dried oregano, parsley, rosemary, and/or thyme

2 tsp smoked paprika

2 tsp garlic powder

2 tsp onion powder

2 tsp yellow mustard powder

2 tsp ground cumin

1 tsp ground black pepper

1 tsp ground white pepper

1/2 tsp cayenne pepper, or to taste

1 vegetarian ‘chicken’ stock cube, crumbled

1/2 tsp salt

About 2 cups besan (chickpea flour), divided

To fry:

1/2 cup all-purpose flour

1/4 cup rice flour

4 tsp potato starch (optional)

Remaining spice mix

2 Tbsp egg replacer (I used Bob's Red Mill) + 1/4 cup water

1 tsp vegetarian 'chicken' stock concentrate (optional)

For a gluten-free version, replace the flour with more rice flour and a tablespoon of cornstarch.

Instructions:

For the chicken:

1. Mix salt and all spices and herbs in a small bowl. Halve onions lengthwise (through the root), lay each half cut-side-down, and slice as thinly as possible (or use a mandolin).

2. In a large bowl, mix onions, 1 cup besan, and most of the spice mixture. Let sit for about 1 hour to allow the onions to release moisture.

3. Stir to work in released moisture. Stir in additional besan (up to 1 1/2 cup) until dough-like in texture.

To fry:

1. Fill a deep fryer or medium-sized pot with several inches of a neutral oil and heat it to 340 °F (171 °C). A chopstick placed in the oil should slowly form small bubbles around its tip.

2. Mix flour, rice flour, potato starch, and remaining spice mix in a shallow bowl or large plate.

3. Mix egg replacer, water, and stock concentrate in a shallow bowl.

4. Form onion mixture into pieces of the desired size and shape. Coat in the dry mixture, then in the wet ('egg') mixture, and then in the dry mixture again.

This will be easier if you use one hand to coat the pieces in the dry mixture, and the other to coat them in the wet mixture.

5. First deep fry. Carefully lower one chicken piece into the oil and fry without disturbing for about 3 minutes, until flour coating is lightly golden brown. Flip over and continue to fry for another 3 minutes. Use chopsticks or a slotted spatula to remove the chicken breast onto a wire cooling rack or paper-towel-lined plate.

6. Use a slotted spoon to remove any bits of batter from the oil and re-check the temperature. Repeat with each chicken piece.

7. Second deep fry. Increase the heat slightly to raise the temperature of the oil to 355 °F (179 °C). Re-fry each piece for about a minute, flipping once halfway through. Set aside.

#recipes #vegan recipes #what vegans eat #vegan cooking #gluten free

[luna-andra]

The Shadows Return | Simon 'Ghost' Riley x OC Retired AU | Chapter 7: Candlelight

Summary: Ghost spends the night

Author's note: Before I do anything more, a special thank you to @onomatobooyah for mentioning my fic to someone else! When I got the notification that I was tagged in a comment I thought "Oh boy another p*rn bot" and cried for a good 5 minutes when I realized what it was 😭

word count: 4.4k

If this is the first time you're seeing this, Chapter 1 is here. You can find the rest on my masterlist!

Content Warning: slow burn, eventual smut, 18+, fluff, mentions of mental health, mild violence

Ghost stood under the stream of lukewarm water coming from the showerhead above his tilted head. Anymore cold and he might as well stand outside beneath the endless rain. He could hear a staccato cadence of footsteps climbing the stairs while he peeled off his rain-drenched clothes that clung to his skin, followed by the thud of a door closing. He felt confined in a house that provided ample distance and space for the both of them and her furry companion. Still, being able to hear her movements on the second floor made him feel like he was still too close.

-----

Andra came out of her own shower shivering. She had read that ice-cold shock baths help regulate the nervous system and, in some cases, improve a person’s anxiety levels. Well, she didn’t have a tub of ice to submerge herself in, so a shower on the coldest setting she could handle would have to do.

Still, the crewneck two sizes too big felt too tight against her skin, her sweatpants stuck to her legs and her toes felt numb from the cold. She sat at the edge of her bed for a few minutes while she warmed up and towel dried her hair. The swipe of Sammy’s tongue against Andra’s hand startled her out of her frazzled thoughts, and she gave Sammy a loving rub to the underside of her maw.

“Crap.” Andra realized Ghost’s jacket was leaving a damp spot on her duvet to the right of her. She got up, abandoning the towel on her chaise lounge and decided to take it downstairs to let it dry on the coat rack by the front door.

The stairs creaked with two different patterns of feet as she walked down in a pair of fuzzy, black socks, just in time to catch Ghost walking out of the bathroom.

There’s no way it went unnoticed with how her eyes practically did a pat down like she was airport security. He had more tattoos on his right leg, a sight only possible due to his basketball shorts. His gray PT shirt with the name ‘RILEY’ across his shoulder blades was just as tight on him as the sopping wet shirt he had on beforehand, all accompanied with his trademark skull balaclava.

Say something, for the love of all gods. “Was the water pressure okay?” Andra was ready for lightning to take her out. If a god exists, it’ll strike me down now.

His eyes squinted from a grin. “Solid.” Ghost reached out for the jacket draped over her arm. “I can take that for you.”

Andra looked down at it before handing it over. “I was going to hang it up so it could dry. Oh, did you happen to put your wet clothes in the wash? It’s behind the sliding door in the bathroom.” She was rambling at this point to diffuse the nerves knotting her stomach.

Ghost looked to the darkened bathroom. “No, I’ll go ahead and do that.”

“I’ll warm up some water on the kettle and grab us some food.” Andra walked past him and headed for the kitchen, Sammy in tow. Ghost’s heavy footsteps made his announcement, joining her in the kitchen. “Do you have any dietary restrictions? I have leftover pot roast from yesterday with some white rice.”

“No, I’ll have what you’re havin’.” Ghost opened the refrigerator door. “Is it this container?” He pointed to the big plastic Tupperware container on the second shelf.

Andra glanced over. “Oh yeah, don’t worry about it, you can sit down and give your feet a rest.”

“Let me do something, doll.” Ghost shut the fridge door and started searching cabinets. There he goes again calling her that; a heat simmered in her lower belly from the way he said it. Andra crouched down to the cabinet in front of her and pulled out a pot. “Here, you can reheat it in here.”

The two of them prepared the leftover meal together, working in tandem as Ghost explores the layout of the kitchen. He opened a cupboard and let out a breathy chuckle. “You have every kind of tea imaginable in here.”

“I like having variety.” Andra reaches for the box labeled with the flavor honey vanilla chamomile. “Take your pick.”

With the kettle boiling, Andra retrieves two mugs, plopping her tea bag in one of them with the string hanging off the side. Ghost reaches for the kettle before she can and pours for both of them.

He was close enough for Andra to detect the scent of his bodywash. The kitchen had never felt smaller before.

“Storm’s bad enough out there to cause a power outage.” Ghost broke the palpable silence as he peered out the window above the kitchen sink. There was still a lightning show going on out there.

Andra started pulling out bowls and utensils for the food. “If it does, I have plenty of candles in the hallway closet.” She brought over the servings of pot roast to the little dinette set in the nook beside the kitchen. They sat down together across from one another, the sound of torrential rain waterfalling on the farmhouse overtaking the silence. It was enough to create its own background noise, like a sleep soundtrack Andra sometimes listens to.

At the same time, the two of them stretched out their legs beneath the table, and upon feeling one another, Ghost jolted back in retreat as if she was a bolt of lightning. They exchanged glances, their eyes communicating a non-verbal apology.

Andra shamefully watched Ghost fist the fabric of his balaclava at his neck and bring it up over his mouth, stopping at the tip of his nose. She had caught a glimpse of his face earlier in the day, but now she was taking in the features that have always been hidden from her.

Wholly chiseled jawline, batman… Andra dipped her head in an attempt to focus on the food in front of her, but her eyes flicked back up while he started to dig in. The parts of his face she could see had a five o-clock shadow of stubble ready to grow, will most likely be there by the morning, his chin was dimpled – gods, save her – and a white scar slashed through the right side of his mouth. There was another scar on the side of his left cheek that disappeared underneath the fabric of his mask.

Andra was no better than a Victorian-age man peeping his first ankle. No one’s facial movements and features have been so interesting before until now. She had to memorize what she could see in fear that it would be the first and last time she’d ever see any part of him again.

“Did you learn how to cook on your own?” Ghost asked, seemingly oblivious to Andra’s ogling eyes.

His timbre voice made Andra drop her spoon in her bowl with a clang as she looked away. The first instinct screamed at her to ask about his scars, but she was thankful for the opportunity to veer her thoughts away from anything other than his marble-carved jawline. “My grandmother when she was still alive, and my dad, and whatever recipes I find online.” Her jittery fingers recovered her fork from the bowl. “Do you cook?”

Ghost wipes his mouth with a napkin, muffling a laugh. “Hardly. I cook simple meals just to meet macros and protein intake, so it’s nice tasting something with flavor for once.”

Andra thought of something else as she swallowed her last bite. “You spent a lot of time in the chow hall, I’m assuming, when you were active duty?”

He sat up straight with a head tilt as his gaze focused elsewhere, recalling years and years of memories. “When I first joined the Royal Air Force, yeah. Then I trained to join the SAS boys, and when I was assigned to task forces, we would take turns cooking meals every evening. Soap - Johnny can’t cook for shit,” Andra smiled like she already knew that, “Gaz was the better one out of all of us.”

Her eyebrow twitched at the name; she heard Johnny talk about Gaz before, but it wasn’t coming to her. “Do you keep in touch with anyone else other than Johnny?”

“Yeah, a few of us catch up a few times outta the year when our schedules align.” His relaxed posture had Andra softly smiling. His legs had stretched out once more, accepting the gentle brush against her foot, then her leg.

She was doing something right today, and it was chasing away her own butterflies and the anxiety the storm had initially created. The thunder wasn’t as frequent, but the rain continued to trickle down the nearest window Andra could see.

Sammy was laying right beside Ghost’s chair, resting her empty head on her paws in a peaceful snooze.

The moment the both of them got up to start cleaning up, she got up as well and wagged her tail in hopes that she would be getting scraps. Ghost looked to Andra, mask concealing him once more, and reached out for her bowl. “I’m cleanin’ up.”

Ghost said it like a declaration that she was not going to change, so she bashfully handed her dish over. “Alright, baby, there’s a little bit left for you.” She scraped the bottom of the pot into Sammy’s dog bowl, her tail smacking Andra’s foot with rapid speed as she sat patiently. “Go ahead.”

Sammy helped herself while Andra brought the last dirty dish to the sink where Ghost was scrubbing at the bowls and tea mugs. The evening was still young; Andra racked her mind for an idea of what they should do with the rest of their time before going to sleep.

After cleaning up, they all relocated to the living room. Ghost paced leisurely around the walkways of the room. He was observing the Halloween decorations adorning the walls, the shelves, and the coffee table. “You’re ready for the holiday, I see.”

“Where people decorate for Christmas right at the beginning of November, I decorate for Halloween on August first.” It was Andra’s tradition, one that she never had the pleasure of showing to others since there weren’t opportunities for hosting at her house. “I hit the costume stores as soon as they open every year, and whatever I find is added to my obscene amount of Halloween decorations I have.”

Ghost picked up the skull-shaped amethyst crystal on one of the shelves, weighing it in his palm. “You could take someone out with this, Christ.” Ghost gently placed it back down and walked back to where he left his bag sitting beside the couch. He picked it up and started rummaging through it. “I threw our books in here before running inside.

Andra’s eyes lit up and accepted the book Ghost chose from his warm hands. “I’m glad you did! I wanted to start reading it tonight.” In truth, she couldn’t think of anything better than buddy reading with Ghost. Yeah, her weekend evenings were a riot.

Ghost sat on one end of the couch, Sammy sat beside him and did two twirls before plopping down. Andra took up the opposite side, curling her legs beneath her and placed a torch light she pulled out of a utility drawer from the kitchen in case the lights did happen to go out. She opened the book up to the author’s note page.

Changes were made to the text in order to protect the work of a unit which continues to play a key role in the fight against terrorism.

“Oh shit.” Andra whispered to herself. Ghost picked an anecdotal story. She looked at the front cover once more to see the author’s name to keep it in the forefront of her thoughts while she reads.

Ghost shifted on the couch cushions, making himself comfortable as he held the book in one hand, his thumb splaying the pages apart. The fabric of his mask made it difficult for Andra to get a peek at his expression, but from what she could tell he was settling into the read as much as she was about to.

They read for what felt like a few hours. Andra shifted every now and then to try and find a new position to get comfortable, as all readers do. Ghost was as still as a statue, the only movement from him was the flip of a page every few minutes. Andra tried peering over to see where he was in the story, only catching a glimpse of the page number if she squinted ever so. A furry German Shepherd was keeping her from getting any closer. Sammy even had the audacity to perch her head on Ghost’s thigh.

Girl, if you only knew how lucky you are.

It’s like her canine companion knew her thoughts; her tail started to tickle Andra’s arm with its little flutters.

With Ghost’s free hand, he rubbed Sammy’s coat along her side before resting his arm on the back of the couch, his hand sitting right behind Andra’s head.

She rolled her lips between her teeth and inhaled through her nose. What were the last three paragraphs about? She retained nothing, even though she swore she read the same sentence three times over.

VRRT-VRRT. Andra’s phone vibrated against the wooden top of the coffee table. Her face immediately heated when she saw who the message was from. On a social media messenger no less since anyone overseas could only communicate with her that way.

Isabella: Andrew made bail, we don’t need your help.

Andra couldn’t roll her eyes hard enough. Her eyes traveled to the time in the upper lefthand corner of the screen. “Hey, it’s already eight.” She turned her head to look at Ghost, and Sammy crawled off the couch with a big stretch. “I usually go to bed in the next thirty minutes, want me to set up the pullout couch for you?”

Ghost was about to dog ear the page he left off on, but Andra quickly handed him one of her bookmarks that sat on her coffee table for instances like these. She knew this would come in handy. He slid the bookmark between the pages and set the book on top of hers. “Sure, I’ll move the table aside.”

Andra got up and shuffled to the hallway closet to retrieve the spare pillow and blanket for her guests. She could hear the scuffing movement of the coffee table being moved across the floor. As she was closing the door, Ghost came to retrieve the items in her hands when the lights began to flicker. Then completely went out.

A flash of lightning lit up the entire house for half a second.

The shatter of breaking glass was loud in her ears.

It had both of them dropping to the floor, a hand muffled the scream Andra let out. Sammy barked in a panic, rushing to Andra and Ghost. She breathed heavily from her nose, her chest rising and falling in rapid succession. The onset of hyperventilation.

Ghost’s soft shushes got through to her, his hand moved from her mouth and brushed her hair. “Stay here.”

Andra could feel an absence in front of her; Ghost wasn’t there anymore, but Sammy was beside her, licking her to calm both of them down.

She could hear the sound of a zipper being pulled, the rustle of Ghost removing something from his bag. A weapon? A gun? It made the most sense in her mind. Another flash of lightning went off, long enough for her to see Ghost crouched in front of the couch, a pistol in one hand and a torch crossed over in the other. A soldier – no, a warrior - taking stance like he’s never forgotten his days and nights in service.

A wave of security washed over her. She was coming down from the fear and anxiety, her mind beginning to rationalize that she was safe from whatever had happened.

Was there something out there? No, it was just the force of lightning that broke the window, wasn’t it? She was in the safety of her farmhouse, where no one could possibly get to them. The road was obstructed by a fallen tree.

The light of Ghost’s torch startled her. His pistol was pointed downwards to the ground, finger away from the trigger. “A rock broke through your kitchen window.”

A rock? Andra got up onto her feet, the closer she got to Ghost the clearer she could see him. His shirt was a darker shade of gray, as if it got wet. He went outside. Shit… she didn’t even hear his movements, or the door opening.

“How big of a rock are we talking about?” Ghost led her to the kitchen. It had to be pretty fucking big for it to have –

Wholly shit.

It was about as big as half of a brick. The kind of rock that people throw into windows with notes attached to them to let them know they were on someone’s list. Her eyes bugged wide.

“The storm picked that up?” Andra was trying to rationalize it in her head. Or maybe a strike of lighting hit the ground and sent it flying into her window…

Ghost shook his head. “There’s no way. It’s got weight to it.” He stepped around the broken glass and kicked it, sending it sliding across the tiled floor. It hit the wall beside the back door a little harder than she expected.

She let out a nervous scoff. “No one would be crazy enough to be out in this storm just to be pulling pranks, especially all the way out here. Even so, the road’s blocked.”

His silence brought her no reassurance. He started to look for something to patch up the window, the torch sitting on the table facing up to light up the room. He pulled out one of her kitchen trash bags and used a pocketknife to cut down its seams. “That won’t stop someone from getting out here.”

Andra wished he had just stayed quiet instead. “What are you trying to say?” Her heart was racing in her chest, and her fingertips tingled.

“Let’s get this covered first.” Ghost avoided her question and held the cut out bag up to the window. “We need to tape this.”

“Okay.” Andra pulled the roll of duct tape out of the utility drawer and started to unravel piece after piece. Once the makeshift cover was secured over the broken window, Andra started sweeping up the broken glass. It was a miracle none of the shards punctured her socks, still, to play it safe she discarded the pair into the bin with the dustpan of broken glass.

Andra lit a few candles in the living room to give them some light. Ghost sat there with his elbows resting on his knees, his eyes reflecting a storm as ravenous as the one outside.

“Why do you think someone threw a rock into my window?” Andra sat on the edge of the coffee table.

He finally looked to her. “That day we went into the woods, I spotted a group’s worth of footprints off the beaten path we were on.”

She waited for him to continue his explanation, but it didn’t stop her from theorizing scenarios.

Ghost’s hands clenched into fists. “And lately, a car with stolen license plates have been driving down the road several times in the past few months.”

Her insides went cold, she was glad she was already sitting down. “Wait, you knew about this for months and now you’ve decided to tell me?”

His eyes softened with guilt. “I had every intention of telling you about the first incident at a later time, I just never got the chance –“

“Because you cut me off.”

The silence was so loud, she could hear her heartbeat in her ears. “Yeah.”

Anger and something like betrayal was churning in her chest. It had her gnawing on the inside of her cheeks. She didn’t want to be angry with him, not after she just got him back. Her tongue swiped her lower lip to get rid of the dryness bothering her. “Do you suspect someone is after me? Or you?” She failed to hold back the implicating tone in her voice.

Andra was afraid to look away from Ghost’s stare, afraid that he was going to detect her fear. He was good, and it didn’t surprise her. Ghost straightened himself and rolled his shoulders, giving him an intimidating appearance. “Are you worried that someone might be after you?”

Fuck. Her mouth opened then closed once more before answering. “There were people who had beef with me, but they wouldn’t go out of their way to track me down.”

Andra felt like throwing up. It wasn’t a lie, she wouldn’t lie to Ghost. But what about him? He wasn’t being very forthcoming with her, either. In fact, he evaded her question and turned it back around on her. “I asked if you think someone was after you, and you didn’t answer.”

Now it was his turn to freeze up on her. His shoulders became tense. “I don’t know.”

Her eyebrows went up. “You don’t know?”

“No.”

Andra flinched. Regret glazed his eyes for how bitter that answer came out. Ghost sighed, bowing his head to avoid her wounded gaze. It wasn’t the first time she’s heard him shut down the conversation before, the first time being about his family. There was a wall between them when it came to his past, but his was far thicker and higher than hers.

She had no right pushing him for answers while she concealed her own secrets as well.

“I’ll be gone first thing in the morning.”

Her heart ached. No, not again. He was distancing himself, but this time it was from pre-conceived notions that the both of them had no clue was true. She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to respond. Her words were stuck in her throat. So, she swallowed with a head nod and went upstairs.

-----

Andra snoozed her alarm twice. Sleep evaded her for majority of the night, and when she thought it finally came, the power came back on around three in the morning. With a disgruntled groan, she turned the lights off and laid in the dark of her room.

Now she was struggling to get out of bed with hardly any rest. She had to get ready; Johnny already sent his usual ‘on the way’ message, so he was going to be met with the obstacle of the fallen tree. She had thrown on a black and white flannel and an unwashed pair of jeans, brushed her teeth and threw her hair up in a tie.

The living room was empty by the time she came downstairs. The foldout couch was put away, the blanket folded neatly with the pillow sitting on top. She checked to see if the makeshift cover on the kitchen window held up through the night, and it did. She made a mental note to herself to call her insurance. Should she make a police report as well? It was probably a good idea to see if there were any signs of a person being out there first.

Ghost stuck to his word and was out of the house first thing.

-----

Something was off with Andra, Johnny could detect it in the way she forced a smile every time she talked to a customer. It faded once no one was around. She was quiet with him and shook her head with an unsatisfied sound coming from her when she checked her phone.

“You’re off today, lass.” Johnny started. “I figured after the evening you had with company, you would be a wee bit chipper.”

  “I guess Ghost didn’t tell you what happened.” She slipped her phone in her back pocket and sat in her foldout chair.

Johnny leaned against the table and crossed his arms. “No.”

She was avoiding his eyes. “The day at Lyme Park was really good. Everything was super nice until a rock went and shattered my window in the kitchen.”

His head tipped up and his eyes shut for a moment. “And he panicked, I’m assuming.”

“Well, we both did.” Andra explained. “It was kind of weird how the power went out and then the rock came through the window. But he texted me just now to let me know he called up someone to go repair it and he foot the bill for me.”

Johnny nodded his head. “Typical Simon.”

Andra rubbed her forehead in frustration. “Now I feel like he’s trying to push me away again because he thinks someone did it rather than some freak accident-“

“Wait, he told you that?” Johnny stood up straight, his hands falling to his sides.

“In so many words, yeah. Then he told me that someone has been through the woods of my property, and there’s been a vehicle with mismatched plates driving down our road.”

Johnny turned away from her and pretended to prep paper bags. “That’s a new one…”

There was a beat of silence before Andra grabbed his arm to turn him back to her. “You knew about the first incident?” Oh shit, she wasn’t happy about that.

He grimaced. “Sorry, lass. He did tell me to keep a lookout when I am there and when I’m with you at the market.”

She threw her hands up in disbelief, this time she gave him her back. “Unbelievable, you men.”

“Simon didn’t want you scared about something that might not be an issue,” Johnny tried to justify. “His PTSD tends to send him into overdrive at things like this.”

“Now there’s been a new incident to add onto the list, though.” Andra started to pack up her stall now that it was noon.

Johnny grabbed the chair in her hand to make her take pause to look at him. “These coincidences aren’t incidents, we have no proof of someone bothering either you or Simon. Don’t let his anxiety get to you, it’s gonna be fine.”

Her sad eyes locked onto him, telling him that she was just as shaken up as Simon probably is. And he wanted to know what has haunted her for her to remain that way.

----------

And that is the end of Act 1! Thank you to everyone that has stuck around with me so far, and thank you to my new readers that took a chance on my fic as well! I'm going to be taking a brief break from writing to avoid burning myself out again, it won't be as long as the last time. I do intend on posting a filler chapter like I was contemplating, but I do want to give myself some time away from the keyboard and enjoy other things.

I'll be seeing y'all again soon <3

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x oc #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #cod mw2 #ghost cod #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #mwii #retired au #simon ghost riley x oc #ghost x oc #simon riley #cod fanfiction #cod fanfiction fluff #cod fanfic #slow burn

[heyiwrotesomethings]

She’s The Housekeeper Prt9: Bond

Yor Briar/ Forger x She/ Her Reader

A/N: Prt8 Alright, here is the last part for the foreseeable future. The first chapter of this story is still my most popular post to date, and it’s so cool to see 800+ notes on something I’ve written. If you managed to stick with me for this long, thank you for your time and support💜! Word Count: ~5,800

Anya ate her breakfast with an extra vigor that morning because today would be the day Loid would take her to the pet shop to find a cute little dog to take home! She inhaled her food so fast, she nearly choked.

“Hey, careful!” (Y/n) cautioned as she pushed Anya’s glass of water closer to her for the little girl to gulp down, “I know you’re excited, but let’s try to avoid having to go to the hospital instead.”

“The dogs aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. You can take your time.” Loid reminded.

“I’m just as excited to look around as you are Miss Anya!” Yor beamed as she put down the burnt omurice she had made, “but please do be careful.”

Anya downed the water and though she was still eating rather quickly, she was pacing herself better than she had a few moments ago.

“Anya is ready to go now!” She declared, sliding off of her chair to fetch her coat.

“Anya, we’re still eating.” Loid called after her, but Anya kept moving, pulling her coat from the rack. Loid sat back in his chair, letting Anya wait by the door. “Are you joining us, (Y/n)? It shouldn’t take terribly long.”

“I wouldn’t mind tagging along.” (Y/n) decided. Maybe she could influence the decision made of what dog they got. Something that was already house trained would be ideal. One that rarely shedded would also be preferable.

“This is going to be so much fun.” Yor hummed, between bite of crispy rice and egg. She offered (Y/n) a bite, and of course (Y/n) had to take it.

“Definitely an improvement over the last one, well done my dear.” (Y/n) praised before downing her water in just a few gulps.

The food really was one of Yor’s better attempts. It was still vile, but (Y/n) didn’t feel like she was in danger of throwing up. (Y/n) wasn’t absolutely insane like Yor’s dear brother Yuri, if Yor’s food made her feel ill, she would simply excuse herself to the bathroom to take care of it, not smile and try to clear the plate faster than she could vomit. (Y/n) shuddered at the memory. The Briar siblings were not normal.

“Woof! Woof! Woof!” Anya chanted from the hallway. She simply couldn’t wait any longer, they were wasting precious daylight!

“Let us do the dishes at least, then we will go, Anya. Be patient.” Loid began gathering plates while (Y/n) and Yor went to the sink to wash and dry.

Anya felt like she could explode from the anticipation, but finally all three adults had put away the dishes and put on their coats and they were heading out the door.

“Woof! Woof! Woof!” She barked again, swinging Yor’s hand in hers. “Papa,” she asked, turning back to look at Loid, “Do doggies like peanuts?”

“You probably shouldn’t give them too many. It might not be good for them.” He replied, making Anya pout.

“That leaves more peanuts for you, Miss Anya.” (Y/n) provided helpfully, making her smile again.

“Oh, is this the shop right there?” Yor asked.

“That’s it.” Loid confirmed, going ahead of them to open the door for everyone.

Inside were the most fucked up looking dogs that (Y/n) had ever seen. Anya looked severely unsettled and (Y/n) couldn’t say she blamed her.

“Is… is that one flexing?” She asked Yor in a concerned whisper.

“What do you think, Anya?” Loid smiled, “Do you like any of these dogs?”

“No.” Anya wasted no time saying.

“R-really?” Loid’s eye twitched.

“Are you really surprised, Loid? I mean, look at them.” (Y/n) shuddered.

She did have a point… Guess they would have to go to the shelter event instead. A person caught his eye from the back room, flashing him a signal. Now really wasn’t a good time, but if Handler was calling, it must be important.

“Augh!” Loid cried out, clutching his stomach.

“Loid? What’s wrong?” (Y/n) asked, startled by the outburst.

“I, I need to use the restroom! You all can go, I’ll meet you at the shelter.”

“Are you sure you’re alright? We can wait.” Yor offered.

“Papa takes a long time when he goes to the shitter to shit, so we should probably go.” Anya bluntly explained.

“I see…” Yor blushed.

“Eugh, Miss Anya, we didn’t need to know that.” (Y/n) shivered in disgust, “Also, watch your language.”

“Yes, watch your mouth young lady.” Loid echoed before running off to deal with his… ‘problem’.

“Well, guess we should get going then.” (Y/n) decided.

“Yes!” Anya skipped to the door with (Y/n) and Yor following close behind.

Before long, the sidewalks became more congested and the unmistakable sounds of animals flooded the air.

“So this is the adoption event. Wow, it’s even bigger than I imagined!” Yor gushed.

“Yeah, it seems like Loid should’ve brought us here first.” (Y/n) observed.

Puppies, kittens and bunnies! They seemed to have every furry household pet under the sun! Anya ran haphazardly to look into every crate and enclosure she could find.

“Don’t run around Miss Anya, you’ll get lost!” Yor warned.

“Promise us you won’t leave this area with the dogs, okay?” (Y/n) asked.

“Okay…” Anya deflated a bit, but that was fine, there were so many cute doggies to look at and she would get to take one of them home!

The trio walked up to an enclosure together and Yor squeaked with excitement, grabbing (Y/n) by the arm and shaking her around.

“Look at that dachshund’s cute little legs!” She cooed, making (Y/n) smile.

Anya was overwhelmed by all the cuteness. She couldn’t possibly choose just one. They were all so sweet! Standing by the window, something large and white caught her eye, and she turned to see it more clearly, feeling a possible connection with whatever that may be.

(Y/n) and Yor were going over their top picks when one of the ladies working the event approached them offering assistance. (Y/n) and Yor took up the conversation, distracting them from Anya’s sudden disappearance.

“Are there any breeds that are easier to clean up after?” (Y/n) asked.

“Poodles rarely shed, so cleaning up after them is a breeze.” The friendly lady shared.

“You don’t say.” (Y/n) perked up, making Yor smile.

“Or there are smaller breeds, Shih Tzus are very friendly.”

While (Y/n) and Yor were engrossed with the woman’s abundant information, they failed to notice Anya slink outside to follow the shady man and the big white dog she had seen through the window. By the time they had stopped talking with the woman and thanked her for her suggestions, Anya appeared to be long gone. (Y/n) looked up to find her in the crowd, but could not see her anywhere within the dog section and her heart began to rise to her throat.

“Yor,” (Y/n) alerted, grabbing her partner’s arm, anxiety already slipping into her tone, “Do you know where Anya is?”

Yor snapped to attention, scanning all around, a familiar sense of dread pooling in her stomach. She did not like the trend that seemed to be forming every time she let Anya out of her sight or reach for but a few minutes every time they went out in public.

“I- I don’t—“ Yor swallowed thickly, her feet traveled on autopilot, “Miss Anya? Where did you go?!” She called out, a static buzzing growing steadily between her ears.

“I’ll look for her in the kitten section!” (Y/n) yelled after her before running off in a different direction, but she was not heard.

Between the two of them, they must have asked everyone in the event hall if they had seen the little girl, each growing more and more desperate with every shake of a head they received.

Upon getting her latest negative sighting, Yor felt unshed tears burning the corners of her eyes. This was the aquarium all over again, but worse! She turned, expecting to see (Y/n) there, ready to give her a hug and to let her know everything would be alright, but of course she wasn’t there.

Yor had already been so tense and her brain had been so focused on looking for Anya, she had somehow lost her dear (Y/n) along the way! Now she began to really freak out, completely overwhelmed by the crowded venue and the noise pitching around and within her.

Something in her that was already tense, snapped and she jumped up, kicked off of a nearby pillar, and expertly braced herself on the ceiling so she could search from above. Her breathing uneven, she drowned out the noise of the crowd below. She didn’t see Anya. Anya wasn’t there, not even a trace, and that terrified her.

What if she had been eaten by a dog?! No, Yor managed to stop that train of thought. That was unlikely. Someone would surely have noticed something like that. But what if she had been kidnapped again like when they had gone to the aquarium, or when they had gone grocery shopping! What if (Y/n) had been taken too!

An awful image of her beloved and her adopted daughter being carted away by despicable men to be married off to even more vile and cruel men consumed her vision, but then she found a small light, a familiar splash of color, she saw (Y/n) in one of the far corners of the venue, a strange man looming over her.

Without another second of delay, she skillfully swung from the pipes above and dove between them from the ceiling, startling the man enough to make him yelp. Yor prepared to uppercut him into the sun next, to see what kind of sound that would make, but instead (Y/n)’s hand quickly shot out to grasp her bicep and pull her back. Confused, Yor allowed her.

“Where the hell did you come from lady?” The man blinked, bug-eyed, mouth agape.

“She’s the mother. As you can see, she’s worried sick. If you see her little girl, please do not hesitate to let us know.” (Y/n) beseeched, pulling Yor back a bit more to try to knock her out of whatever murder-y thoughts were fogging up her mind.

“Yeah… of course.” The man gave them a weird look then began walking briskly away.

(Y/n) turned to hold both of Yor’s biceps, pressing her thumbs into the fabric of her coat’s sleeves to try to put pressure on the tense muscles beneath.

“Hey, try to breathe, okay? What’s the matter? Besides the obvious.” She cooed.

Yor sobbed, slamming her head hard against (Y/n)’s chest, making a deep thunk sound that rattled (Y/n)’s insides.

“Oof!” (Y/n) winced, but held Yor all the same, rubbing her back comfortingly.

“I- I can’t find Miss Anya! A-and I thought you had gotten taken too!”

“Honey,” (Y/n) murmured, giving a, ‘mind your own business’ smile to anyone who dared curiously look their way, “I told you I would look for Anya over here. You must not have heard me.”

“I guess not.” She sniffed.

“I’m okay. Now take some deep breaths. It’s clear that Anya isn’t in here, we need to go find her, but we can’t be snapping the neck of anyone whose just going about their day.”

Yor made a pitiful sound, but cut herself off halfway through, almost knocking heads with (Y/n) from how quickly she brought her head up.

“What…!” (Y/n) began to ask, but she heard it then too, that sounded like Anya outside!

And she was outside! They could see her through the window! She was barreling down the street… on top of a big, fluffy white dog.

Yor took (Y/n)’s hand and began sprinting in the direction the dog had ran off in. It was a brutal pace, one that (Y/n) couldn’t keep up with and when she tried to communicate to Yor that she would catch up. Yor was having none of it and scooped (Y/n) up into her arms, making quite the spectacle as they zoomed around the people walking by. It hardly mattered to Yor. She wasn’t going to risk losing (Y/n) for real by leaving her behind.

“Down that alley!” (Y/n) pointed.

“Right!”

(Y/n) braced herself, this was the side of her career that she was not trained for, but when they saw a strange man reaching for Anya in the alley, she still let Yor take her by the arms and spin her at a dizzying pace before finally being launched towards Anya.

(Y/n) sailed over the shocked kidnapper’s head, took hold of Anya’s hands, and catapulted her into the air. While Anya was airborne, (Y/n) sprung off of her hands when she hit the ground and flipped into an upright standing position just in time to catch Anya and see Yor smash her foot into the kidnapper’s face.

Yor fell into place beside (Y/n) so that Anya was between them, protected on either side. Anya couldn’t have looked more relieved to see them, looking between them with visible awe and joy.

“You won’t get away with this, Mr. Perverted Kidnapper,” Yor spoke in a measured tone, glaring at the remaining man who had his jaw hanging open, “It is much too early for Miss Anya to get married!”

“Married?” (Y/n) cocked her head to the side. Just what kind of scenarios was Yor imagining?

The gravity of the situation seemed to catch up to Anya then, because she began to cry, grasping onto the coats of both women she wailed,

“Mama! I was so scared!”

“Don’t worry, you’re all right now.” Yor comforted.

“We’ve got you.” (Y/n) assured, wiping Anya’s tears.

Kieth clenched his teeth. Which one was the mother? Ah, it didn’t matter. They’d all have to die if he was going to succeed in his plans.

“Dog! Rip their throats out!” He commanded.

The German Shepherd beside him began to approach, snarling, but then Yor gave one of her most terrifying expressions to date and growled right back with startling ferocity. The dog whimpered pathetically and turned tail, running out of the alley as fast as he could.

“Coward!” Kieth yelled after him.

“Bwah! Mama, I’m scared!” Anya bawled, hiding her face in (Y/n)’s coat, keeping Yor out of her sight.

“Hm? But you’re safe now?” Yor frowned, perhaps not realizing just how frightening her face had been jus a moment before.

“Don’t worry Anya, if that man thinks he can take you from us he has another thing coming!” (Y/n) promised, her mind filled with thoughts of fire and acid.

Yeah, Anya was glad to have those two on her side because they were honestly terrifying.

Voices began to be heard near the mouth of the alley and Keith cursed. All that noise had alerted people from the street, and now they were coming to investigate!

“Come on, come on you stupid mutt!” He hissed at the remaining dog, the big and fluffy white one. He tugged and tugged at the dog’s leash, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Damn worthless beast!” He kicked the dog in anger and fled the scene empty handed.

“He’s getting away!” Yor groaned, but she stood firmly at (Y/n)’s side. There was already one kidnapper she needed to properly detain and she didn’t want to leave (Y/n) and Anya for even a second.

Just how long is Loid going to stay in the bathroom? She mourned internally. His stomach was probably revolting from the breakfast she had made!

“Mr. Dog are you okay?” Anya asked, running up the the dog once (Y/n) put her down.

“Ah, careful Miss Anya! You shouldn’t run up to dogs you don’t know.” (Y/n) warned, trying to stop Anya from going any further.

“Mr. Doggie is no stranger. He saved Anya.” Anya put her hands over her heart, looking over to the dog with gratitude.

“Where did this dog come from, Miss Anya?” Yor asked.

Anya took a deep breath, that question required a very big answer.

“Terrorist bomb dogs?!” Yor blanched.

(Y/n) got on her knees and thoroughly searched the fluffy dog for bombs. Thankfully, there weren’t any. She sighed in relief and gave Yor a shaky thumbs up.

“Anya is sorry for running off without permission…” Anya mumbled, grabbing the hem of her coat between her fingers while she kept her eyes firmly on the ground.

“We’re just glad that you are safe.” (Y/n) knelt to the ground to hug Anya.

“We were so worried about you.” Yor chimed, following her partner to the ground.

“But expect a stern talking to when we get home.” (Y/n) warned.

Anya pouted, but nodded in acceptance and the three, plus the dog, walked out of the alley, tied up kidnapper dragging behind Yor.

They called the police on a nearby public phone to explain the situation, during which Anya suddenly grew restless, shaking the dog.

“Anya don’t be rough with the doggie.” Yor scolded lightly before her attention was brought back to the receptionist on the phone.

“Mama, Mama, sorry, Anya just remembered something. Papa forgot to take toilet paper with him to the potty!” The little girl yelled out of the blue.

“Huh?”

“What?”

(Y/n) and Yor stared on, frozen, as Anya leapt onto the dog’s back and urged him into a run.

“He might be in trouble so I have to go get some from home!”

“Anya, wait!” Yor called, reaching out the hand that wasn’t currently cradling the receiver.

“She’s running off again!” (Y/n) yelled in disbelief, finally sprinting after the blob of pink and white as they rounded the corner.

“W-wait! What about the police?” Yor called after her.

“We told them all we could! Just hang up and leave that guy there, he won’t wake up anytime soon! Let’s go before we lose Anya again!”

“Ah, okay!” Yor rose the receiver back to her ear, “I’m leaving the kidnapper by this phone booth! I have to go now, bye!” She hung up the phone and caught up with (Y/n) before she rounded the corner.

They searched every block, every street within half a mile. (Y/n) finally came to a stop, resting heavily on the guardrail of the bridge they had been speed-walking across.

“Darling, are you alright?” Yor’s voice was laced with worry. She could tell that (Y/n) was breathing quite hard.

“I’ll be okay, I just need a minute.” She wheezed. God, cardio sucks.

While (Y/n) tried not to keel over on the bridge, Yor paced back and forth. The only trace that she had been running at all was the light layer of sweat on her rosy face.

“What if she gets found by the terrorists again? I can’t let that happen!” Yor fretted.

“Maybe she went back to the pet shelter?” (Y/n) suggested between breaths. “At the very least, maybe Loid is finally there?”

Before Yor could speak, a loud honk of a horn and a sharp squeal of tires interrupted her. The scent of burnt rubber permeated the air. Looking down from the bridge, the women saw a car speeding recklessly down the road.

The light caught the windshield just right, allowing Yor to see an unwelcomingly familiar face. The other man who tried to kidnap Anya!

“Him again? How dare he try to take Miss Anya and run away! You won’t get away this time!” She declared, then jumped off of the bridge.

“Yor!” (Y/n) yelled. She tried to reach out for her, but she was too slow. Her hands snapped right to her eyes. Covering them from whatever was about to happen. “Pleasebeokaypleasebeokaypleasebeokay—“

An awful crashing noise reverberated within (Y/n)’s ears and she cautiously lifted her face from her hands. Below, she could see that Yor looked unscathed, thank the stars, but the car looked as if it had been t-boned before crashing into a lamppost.

(Y/n) hobbled down the hill to meet Yor on the street and flung her arms around her, a gesture that was always eagerly returned.

“Are you hurt?”

“Nope!” Yor smiled, “Kicking the car did make my leg feel a little tingly though.”

“My indestructible tank, I love you.” (Y/n) sighed, looking back at the crushed car. “We’ll have to call the police… again.”

They quickly relayed the location of the car and hung up before the responder could ask any follow-up questions. Then they were off to continue their search for Anya.

It was near sunset when they saw Loid walking down the sidewalk towards them. They opened their mouths in a rush to tell him that Anya had run off on a dog, but said girl and dog appeared from the alley between them and they instead slumped over each other in relief.

“What are you three doing here?” Loid asked, “I’m surprised to find you so far from the shelter.”

“Anya was coming to give papa toilet paper.”

“Ah.”

“She ran off on us. Twice.” (Y/n) informed, resting most of her weight against Yor. Now that Anya was with them once more, the exhaustion of running around all day was really starting to get to her.

“Did she now…” Loid looked down at Anya disapprovingly, finally truly noticing the dog beside her. “And who is the dog?

“That is actually quite the story.” Yor rubbed at her cheek with a sheepish smile and retold the events of the day. (Y/n) would occasionally chime in, but ultimately she was too tired to try to censor anything Yor was saying. Somewhere in her brain she knew they probably shouldn’t talking about taking down terrorists without much trouble, but again she was too tired to care.

“I’m sorry all that happened while I was in the bathroom.” Loid finally said, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

“Yeah, you were gone all day. Have you considered seeing a doctor, because that is not at all normal.” (Y/n) spoke in a teasing tone, but there was a notable hint of concern in the way her eyebrows scrunched together.

“It was probably because of what I made for breakfast.” Yor bemoaned.

“It has to be something else. The rest of us survived.”

Loid, wanting to put his day long trip to the ‘bathroom’ behind him, began to address Anya and her penchant for running off.

“How many times do I have to tell you to not run off on your own. You could have been seriously hurt!” He yelled, making Anya flinch.

“Anya is sorry!” She sniffled, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

Loid immediately softened, falling to one knee before her, “I’m sorry for yelling. I was just worried. You aren’t hurt at all though, right?”

Anya shook her head, putting a hand on the fluffy dog beside her. The fur nearly swallowed up her hand.

“Mr. Dog protected me.”

Loid smiled at the dog, petting him gently, “Thank you.”

“Excuse us,”

The family turned to see a woman and a man in suits approaching them from across the street,

“We’re investigating an incident near City Center. We understand that this was one of the dogs involved in the incident.” The woman said. “Please hand him over to us. He’ll be in good hands.”

“Of course. Thank you.” Loid tipped his hat, motioning them towards the dog.

“Now we can go back to looking for a puppy!” Yor beamed excitedly.

“Is the shelter even still open?” (Y/n) almost hoped it wasn’t. She wanted to shower and then spend the next several days in bed. She was already dreading how sore she was going to be tomorrow.

“Come on, Anya. Let’s go take a look.” Loid reached for her hand, but Anya pulled away.

“No! Anya wants Mr. Dog!” She said, stepping between the officers and the dog.

Loid shook his head. “He was owned by bad guys.”

“He saved Anya!” The esper refuted.

“You said you wanted a small dog.” Loid crossed his arms, peering down at his fickle adopted daughter.

“But Anya wants Mr. Dog now, it’s okay that he is big!” Anya continued to argue, hugging the dog close.

“Anya please,” Loid pinched the bridge of his nose, “Stop being so difficult.”

“If papa doesn’t let me have Mr. Dog, Anya will go bad and stop going to school!” Anya’s lip wobbled and then she began to cry.

“Wh— what are you saying?!” Loid sputtered.

“It’s okay, Miss Anya! Please don’t cry!” Yor beseeched.

“There are a lot of nice dogs in the world! I’m sure you’ll find another who is just as sweet…” (Y/n) attempted to console, but she knew that trying to get Anya to change her mind would be impossible at this point. She did just spend the whole day with this dog after all.

“Very well.” The woman conceded, leaving Loid particularly surprised.

“What?!”

The woman chuckled, then couched in front of Anya, a bittersweet smile on her lips.

“The dog itself didn’t cause any harm. If you promise to take good care of him, he’s yours, but we will need to keep him for the night to check his health first.” She explained softly.

“Are you protecting the other doggies too?”

“They are sleeping in the softest of beds and eating warm, yummy food.” She nodded.

“Thank you very much, important lady.”

The woman’s smile tugged a little further, “You’re welcome.” She stood back to her full height, turning to Loid. “We shall make contact with you tomorrow.“

“Thank you. Sorry for the trouble.” Loid bowed his head.

“No trouble at all. Have a good night.”

And so they began their trek home. Anya and Yor were particularly pleased with themselves because of the parts they played in saving the city from terrorists. (Y/n) and Loid on the other hand were exhausted.

“Why do you look like that?” (Y/n) had asked him pointedly. “I know it isn’t easy being… ill, all day, but I’ve been running around the city for hours and I still look better than you.”

“Do you really want to know?” Loid asked with a wry smile, his eye twitching in aggravation. If only they knew what he had really been up to all day!

“No.” (Y/n) shook her head quickly, “No, I really don’t want to know. Forget I said anything.”

After a night of the deepest sleep that any of them had ever experienced, morning soon came, and with it, a large and fluffy white dog.

“So curious!” Yor giggled, watching the dog sniff around the living room.

“Anya wants to stay home to play with Mr. dog today.” Anya said hugging the dog tightly.

“I believe the deal was that you wouldn’t stop going to school if you got this dog.” Loid said after spitting his toothpaste in the sink. “Get ready for school.”

“Does Anya at least get a Stella for helping stop the bad guys?” She asked. That would help put her in a better mood about going to school.

“I’m afraid not, Anya. No one is supposed to know about what was going to happen because it would just cause fear and panic. You have to keep it to yourself or the police might need to come and take you away.”

“Shock!” Anya flinched. She couldn’t let that happen, but it certainly was a disappointment that she couldn’t tell anyone.

“Loid!” (Y/n) gasped from the other room, “Don’t phrase it like that, you’ll scare her!”

Loid rolled his eyes at his reflection in the mirror and Anya began getting ready to go to school, pouting all the while.

“Have a good day at school Miss Anya!” Yor waved. “(Y/n) and I will take good care of Mr. Doggie while you’re away.”

“I’ll do my best.” (Y/n) called from the couch. Even raising her hand to wave goodbye to Anya hurt. Her whole body felt stiff and sore from the whole ordeal yesterday while it appeared to be just another normal day for Yor.

Anya and Loid said their goodbyes and then it was just (Y/n), Yor and the curious new addition to the family.

“Yor, darling, would you make me some ice packs.” (Y/n) groaned while she moved to lay flat on the couch.

“Of course! My poor, sore heart!” Yor cooed. She cupped (Y/n)’s cheek and leaned down to kiss her forehead before heading to the kitchen.

While (Y/n) waited for Yor’s return, the dog took notice of her and began to lumber up to her.

“Hello, getting used to your new home?” (Y/n) asked him.

The dog sniffed her hand, then slowly hoisted himself up onto his hind legs by placing his front paws on the edge of the couch.

“Ah, wait. No, don’t come up here— dog! No! Down! Oof!”

(Y/n) couldn’t stop the dog from laying flat across her sore body. It was a warm, and an almost comforting weight, but in the state (Y/n) was in currently, she didn’t find it entirely enjoyable, but it was kind of cute.

“Honey, did you say something…?” Yor walked back into the room, her arms filled with industrial bags of ice that she got from who-knows-where. Her eyes fell on the dog and she pouted, “That was going to be my spot, Mr. Doggie.”

“Yor, help me get him off. He’s too heavy.”

Yor did as she was asked, dragging the dog back to the floor.

“I apologize, Mr. Doggie, but (Y/n) is sore from running around yesterday. Surely you understand.” Yor then promptly dropped the giant bags of ice onto (Y/n)’s body.

“Not quite what I had in mind, but thah, thank you.” (Y/n) shivered.

The dog was undeterred by the upheaval and soon climbed his way back onto the couch, sinking between the bags of ice.

“My, perhaps he is sore too!” Yor observed. “Poor thing.”

(Y/n) sighed. She couldn’t find it within herself to make Yor push the dog away a second time. Perhaps she should feel special because the dog seemed to like her already, but her body was not appreciative of the extra pressure at this time.

“Would it help for me to massage your calves?” Yor asked thoughtfully. “Mr. Dog isn’t covering those up.”

(Y/n) mulled it over. Typically, a massage from Yor would be nice as long as she didn’t push too hard.

“I think that sounds nice, just be gentle please.”

“I will, I promise!”

And she really was. Yor did a great job, so wonderful in fact, that the combination of the frigid melting ice, the warm, weighted blanket of a dog, and the soothing massage knocked (Y/n) right out.

She was rudely awakened hours later when the dog clumsily leapt off of her to jump into Anya’s arms when she got home from school.

“Welcome home!” Yor smiled, clasping her hands to rest them against her cheek, “Oh my, such good friends already! He must have missed you!”

“Save me! He’s eating me!” Anya gasped while the dog slobbered all over her.

“He seems to have a lot of pent up energy. We should take him for a walk.” Loid suggested. He looked over to (Y/n) laid limply across the couch and smirked, “Care to join us, (Y/n)?”

“Not today.” (Y/n) deadpanned, ever so slowly lifting herself into a sitting position. “You all go on ahead. I’ll start getting dinner ready.”

“Are you sure? I could stay an help.” Yor volunteered.

“I’ll be fine,” (Y/n) assured, “Go have fun at the dog park.”

(Y/n) shuffled through the kitchen like an old woman, slowly preparing dinner. Though she could be prideful at times, she was actually surprised that she had dinner mostly completed before the Forger’s returned home.

“I hope they haven’t ran into anymore trouble.” She murmured to herself as she finished setting the table. She walked to the armchair this time around when she finished her self imposed task. She hissed through clenched teeth as she lowered herself into the plush chair.

She then decided she would never run again, maybe never even walk. She didn’t care if it would look strange, she was going to have Yor carry her everywhere from now on and if she knew anything about her love, she would be happy to do it too.

Finally, the front door opened and the Forger’s piled inside.

Anya ran up to (Y/n) all excited, “Mama, I know what to name Mr. Dog!”

“Do you? What is it?” (Y/n) thought Mr. Dog was the name already, but she was curious to hear what else Anya had come up with.

“Wait just a minute!” Anya asked.

She bounced excitedly when Loid came back from the short trip to his room, a black ribbon of fabric in hand. He deftly tied the fabric around the dog’s neck and once he stepped away, (Y/n) saw he had looped it into a bow tie.

“Behold!” Anya flung her arms out in the direction of the dog happily thumping his tail against the floor. “Bond!”

“Oh, like Bondman.” Loid understood. “That should work just fine.”

“Boof!” Bond leapt at Anya, sending her to the floor in a flurry of licks and wiggly wags that made Anya laugh.

“He seems to like it.” (Y/n) smiled fondly.

“They’re so cute!” Yor cooed.

“Come, Bond! Let me show you around the hideout!”

“Anya, it’s dinner time. And don’t forget you need to study. afterwards.” Loid warned.

“Anya will study later, promise.”

Loid’s eye twitched, but he relented.

After dinner, Anya fed Bond. She filled his bowl to the brim and watched him begin to chow down.

“Try not to give him too much.” Loid cautioned as he walked by, a towel under his arm. “I’m going to take my bath now, but I expect you to be studying by the time I’m done.”

Anya pouted and Loid walked to the bathroom. Curious, Anya took a kibble from Bond’s bowl and nearly popped it into her mouth before (Y/n) called out her name.

“Miss Anya, please don’t eat anything meant for a dog.” (Y/n) shivered in disgust as she scrubbed the dishes nearby.

“I know it must look tempting, but take it from me, it is not as good as it looks.” Yor helpfully added.

“I don’t want to know if that is coming from a place of experience or not.” (Y/n) said, but the shy laugh Yor gave was damning.

Soon after he finished his meal, Bond began to wiggle uncomfortably and Anya took notice.

“Need to go potty? Here, I’ll show you where to go.” Anya led him to a wide tub lined with newspaper. “When nobody can take you outside, you go in here. If you go anywhere else, mama will get mad cause she like things tidy.”

After business was taken care of, Anya and Bond played all over the apartment. (Y/n) wanted to remind Anya about her studies, but she couldn’t bear to break up the fun. It was Bond’s first day home, and Anya hardly got to see him before she had to go to school. A little more playtime couldn’t hurt.

(Y/n) and Yor watched them play, losing track of time. And when Loid returned from his bath, they showed him the cute little girl and her dog curled up together and fast asleep.

The studying could wait until tomorrow, Loid supposed.

#spy family x reader #spy x family x reader #yor briar x reader #yor forger x reader #yor x reader

[octal-alchemist]

i hate capitalism i hate shopping. i promote nothing. that said, there are a few things ive bought myself in the last few years that dramatically improved my quality of life.

bidet. so clean and nice and soothing. one lasted 4 years before breaking.

bathtub lid. traps the heat, and i can set stuff on top of it. so fucking nice.

rice cooker. never burns or dries out the rice ever and also does great w noodles.

electric kettle. so much easier than microwave or stove. had to find one that was fully steel inside though

nasal dilators. i have a collapsed nostril n these save my fucking ass. i can jog w my mouth closed now. i sleep so quietly and comfortably. i can breaaaathe

humidifier. oh my god i love my humidifier so much and it keeps my plants happy

air purifier. i worried i would regret this purchase but the difference is immediate n noticeable. when the light shines in my window, it used to light up floating hair and things in the air, and dust gathered quickly on my desk. now the sunrise n sunset shine straight in, no floaties visible. just the mistiness caused by humidifier. in the last month, no dust settling that i can see.

over-the-sink dish drying rack. since it drips into the sink there's no flooding it or having to clean the bottom. and it's never in my way. and its CUTE

laundry drying rack. i save money not using the dryer machines, protect my clothes, feel like a real (old-fashioned?) adult for hanging stuff up, and when there's no clothes on it i use it as a standing desk bc it's the perfect height. the space between bars keeps my laptop cool while gaming. beloved

#quality of life really needs money tbh. #or time #which i dont have :/ #adulting

[colormepurplex2]

The Stars In His Eyes...The Hate In Your Heart | It's Like Dancing On Moonbeams

↳Hoseok x f.Reader ⤜ Non-Idol, Brother's Best Friend, Enemies to Lovers ⤜ Rating: MA ⤜ WC: 10,595 ⚠️ Crass language, hurt feelings, BIG misunderstandings, mild childhood misogyny, childhood abuse, shared trauma, mentions of alcoholism/drinking leading to the arrest of a parent, kissing, safe word/consent, mild dom!Reader sub!Hoseok, clit grinding/cock rubbing, penetration denial, nipple tweaking, biting, unprotected v. sex, cum eating/worship, oral f. receiving

⇽ Previous Chapter ◅ Back to series masterlist

Branches claw at your face and snag in your hair as you mindlessly stumble through the trees—your vision blurs, hot tears thundering down your cheeks in a torrent you can’t control. The echo of Namjoon’s words clangs around in your head, making you feel disoriented.

The toe of one of your shoes catches a humping tree root, and you go down hard. Blood fills your mouth as your teeth chomp your tongue with the jarring fall. Quiet sobs shake your chest as you push yourself up and stumble forward again, absently brushing the dirt and debris from your abraded palms.

Thankfully, your father is still gone when you swing open the backdoor and shuffle inside. You kick off your shoes in the small mudroom, quickly disappearing into your shared room. The beds are small, with just a few feet of creaking floorboards separating them and a small window between the headboards.

The closet has a small chest of drawers shoved under the few dozen hanging items of clothing, half the drawers yours and half Namjoon’s. You pull open your top drawer, grabbing a clean pair of long pajama pants. They’re threadbare but comfortable and will cover the welts.

Namjoon comes in through the back door long after you make a small pot of rice for dinner. There’s dirt covering the knees of his khakis, and sweat makes the strands of his hair stick together on his forehead.

“Father went to town?” he asks, his voice pitched low as he comes in behind where you’re washing up the few dishes you used for dinner.

You set the dishes on the drying rack on the counter, grabbing a towel to dry your hands before turning to face him. “He left this morning after breakfast.”

Relief is evident on Namjoon’s face. “Any idea when he’ll be back?”

“He had an appointment to discuss the harvest. I imagine he’ll be home late or early tomorrow, same as always.” You know your voice has a coldness, and you know Namjoon is picking up on it.

“Everything okay?”

Anger burns in your belly, upsetting the meager meal you just finished. “Everything’s fine,” you say, stepping around him to go to your room. “I’m going to bed early. Try to be quiet.”

“Whoa, Kitty!” Namjoon grabs your arm as you try to pass him. “Why are you limping?”

Jerking your arm from his grip, you bare your teeth at him. “It’s nothing.”

“That’s not nothing. I can clearly see you’re in pain. What did he do to you?” Namjoon’s eyes bore into yours, panic lacing his question. He’s as familiar with your father’s belt as you are.

“I said it’s nothing, so it’s nothing. Just leave it, okay?” You shove away from him, wincing against the ache in your thighs as you try not to limp as noticeably. “Not like you care what I have to say anyway.” They’re whispered words, but you’re sure you said them loud enough that Namjoon would hear. In part, you want him to ask again. You want to know he cares about your opinion, regardless of what Hoseok said by the lake. But he doesn’t say anything more or ask again…

You curl up in your bed, facing the wall, with your back to Namjoon when he finally slides into his bed. You can hear him tossing and turning for a while before the noise is replaced with his soft, even breathing.

The first tear slides into your hair as you realize you’ve lost him. Namjoon no longer needs you the way he once did. That reality can only be placed at one person's feet—Jung Hoseok.

_____________

You startle awake, heart in your throat. Your pillow is wet, soaked with tears still sliding down your cheeks. Scrubbing at your cheeks angrily, you throw back the blanket and swing your legs over the side of your bed.

“Fuck,” you lament, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes. “Fuck!” The frustration quivers through your limbs, followed by emotional fatigue. You tap the screen of your phone sitting on your bedside table. It’s only 5 AM.

The argument with Hoseok yesterday and the consequential retelling of the day when you were thirteen stayed with you seemingly all night. It’s been years since you’ve dreamed of that day, the nightmare usually only brought on by an intense argument with Namjoon.

An uncomfortable heat lingers on the backs of your thighs as if your body still remembers what the snap of your father’s belt felt like. You haven’t seen your father since you and Namjoon moved out at eighteen. The last you heard, he’d ended up in prison because of a drunken brawl that landed a man permanently in a wheelchair.

Namjoon visited him briefly once, just to ensure legal matters were covered with the then-vacant farmhouse. You both agreed to sell it once the paperwork was finalized and you received rights to it. It’s a place you both never wanted to see again.

Pressing a hand against your chest, over your fluttering heart, you take a slow and deep breath to help calm yourself. Grabbing your phone, you click into your text thread with Namjoon and send him a message to call you when he’s available. You put your phone aside, and the day slips by in a blur of mundane things. A few times, you catch yourself staring at Hoseok’s contact—rightfully saved as Jung He-really-sucks—in your phone, but never more than that.

The only response you get from Namjoon is a quick text saying he and Jin are super busy, but if it’s crucial, he can swing by the apartment sometime between meetings. You let it slide without wanting to add more stress to your brother’s plate. Hoseok might be right in that you need to have a conversation with Namjoon, but at this point, there are far more important matters than your fifteen years of hurt feelings right now.

You manage to get through the next two weeks without having another falling out with Hoseok. From the outside looking in, people would assume you’re at least cordial with one another. Though, that couldn’t be further from the truth. In fact, you haven’t even communicated directly with him since the day you had your argument. Instead, you’ve been childishly only communicating with him through Yoongi.

Yoongi doesn’t mind being the middleman. He knows you well enough to understand what you need regarding Hoseok. In the short time you were with Yoongi, you may have divulged some of the darker secrets about how you feel. So, he takes it in stride when you use him as a conduit and has been a saving grace in keeping Hoseok at least six degrees removed from your bubble.

That is, until the day of Namjoon’s wedding. Nothing in the world can keep you away from Hoseok, then. The thought of wrapping your arm around his as you walk down the aisle to stand at Namjoon’s side has sweat slicking down your spine. You blot a tissue along your temples. Taking a fortifying breath, you knock softly on the door before you.

“If you’re Jin, go away!” Your brother’s voice is muffled through the door but no less humor-filled.

“Not Jin,” you call.

There’s distinct shuffling on the other side. “Oh, thank fuck,” Namjoon gushes, shoving the door open just enough to let you slip into the room. “He’s been trying to trick me into letting him see me for the last hour!”

“Do you really believe in those can’t-see-the-bride-before-the-wedding superstitions?” you question, looking around the small space he’s getting ready in.

The room is a mess—flowers and discarded articles of clothing cover nearly every surface. Namjoon is half-dressed in nothing but boxers, long black socks, and a white tank top with his periwinkle-colored dress shirt open over it.

“It’s not that.” His cheeks pink as he turns away from you.

You purse your lips in curiosity. “Then what is it?”

His eyes flick to yours over his shoulder. Namjoon noisily clears his throat. “You don’t want to know.”

“Jin wants to fuck you, doesn’t he? ‘Ravage the bride and steal her innocence’ kind of thing.” You laugh as Namjoon swings around and gawks at you. “Chill out. You tried to scratch out that in your notebook, but I could still read what he wrote. It’s cute, in a dark romance novel kind of way.”

Namjoon groans, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “I would indulge him, but I’m worried he’ll ruin my clothes or make me lose focus.”

“Don’t worry, brother dearest. I’m sure Jin would put you back together after breaking your back.”

The scandalized look he gives you makes you laugh again. A sudden knock at the door accompanies it. “Namjoon?” Seokjin’s voice sounds from the other side.

“Sorry, Jin, I’m taking over to get your prince charming ready for the ball,” you call, stepping closer to the door.

The door thumps, rattling on its hinges as if Jin jerked against it. “Oh, uh, umm…sorry, Kitty, I didn’t know you were in there. Ahem, er, well—“

“Don’t worry, lover boy. You can lay claim to my brother’s backside as soon as you say ‘I do’”.

There is a stammered reply from Jin, but it’s too muffled for you to hear it clearly, covered up by the fast retreat of his footsteps. “Fucking hell,” Namjoon sighs dreamily. “I really love that man.”

You can’t help but smile as you look back at your brother, his eyes unfocused as he stares at the door, cheeks still sporting a soft blush. “Let’s get you ready so you can show him just how much you do love him.”

Namjoon hums, moving over to sit in the only chair without something sitting on it. “I don’t want anything too over the top, just a nice style.” He gestures to his unruly hair, the strands flopping haphazardly.

“Don’t worry. I know exactly what Jin will love,” you assure him, offloading the small bag of hair supplies you brought with you. “You know, this reminds me of when we moved out, and you finally let me play with your hair. The platinum blond fauxhawk was really a look, huh?”

“My hair was so dry and fried from all the bleach. You had no idea what you were doing,” he chuckles, ruffling a hand through his thick, inky hair. “Oh, hey, I’m sorry I didn’t call you last week. I know today isn’t exactly a day we’ll have much time for chitchat, but we have a few hours now while we finish getting ready to talk if you want.” He catches your eyes in the vanity mirror on the wall in front of the chair as you step behind him and set your bag on top of a few boxes.

“I don’t know that today is the day for that conversation, Namjoon.”

He shifts in his seat, his back straightening. “What’s going on, Kitty? Talk to me. Now’s probably the best day to take my focus off the stress of something going wrong. Come on. It’ll be like old times.”

You open your mouth, intent on insisting it’s unimportant, but Hoseok’s words echo through your mind. You do need to have a serious conversation with Namjoon, and after today, there’s no telling when you’ll get another chance like this.

“Do you remember, umm…well, I don’t know how to describe that day, at least from my perspective,” you lick your lips, trying to search for the words. Something else Hoseok said catches in your mind. “Can you tell me about the day you told Hoseok about how you really feel about men and women?”

Namjoon stills under your hands, his lips thinning into a stoic line. “Why?”

“He and I had a conversation—an argument, actually, about a certain day, and he says it’s the same day you told him about that. I just, that day, it’s something else for me…and I just want to make sure we both know what day I’m talking about before I actually start talking about it,” the words rush out of you as you wince with the awkwardness of the conversation.

“Is this argument why you haven’t seen nor spoken to him in almost two weeks?” Namjoon raises an eyebrow, staring at you through the mirror.

You tear your eyes from his, busying yourself by grabbing some hair wax and styling pomade from your bag. “It is. He told me I needed to have a serious conversation with you about that day, and well, that’s what it was all about.”

“Let’s talk about it.”

“Can you tell me about that day from your perspective?” you tentatively ask, unscrewing the lid to the pomade.

“I remember climbing out the window, even though you had asked me not to…”

_____________

The sun is still below the horizon, but the heat is already threatening to choke Namjoon. Summers in the countryside are brutal, sticky, and uncomfortable. He wonders if you’ll be okay with sleeping with the window open tonight in hopes of a breeze to cool down the stifling inner atmosphere of your shared room.

Namjoon skirts around the toolshed in the back, heading straight for the line of trees on the edge of the property. He doesn’t dare look back, fearing if he sees the disappointed look in your eyes, he’ll immediately climb back in through the window.

If he’s lucky, Hoseok will already be waiting for him at the lake, and they can get a quick dip in before Namjoon spills his guts. It’s been on his mind for weeks now to come clean with his new friend. He might have only met Hoseok at the start of last school year, but in that time, they’ve grown increasingly closer.

As much as Namjoon loves you, it's refreshing having another guy's perspective, especially as Namjoon grows into his teenage years. Things are changing, his body is changing, and there is just some stuff he’d rather not talk to you about. Private things, awkward and weird things—things that make his heart beat a little harder to think about.

“Namjoon!” His name echoes from his right. He slows his steps, peering between the towering trees until he catches a flash of white in the dim light breaching the overhead canopy. As he approaches the voice, the sun slides over the horizon, but the rays are thready and weak through the thick tree cover.

Hoseok comes into view a few moments later, carrying a covered basket in one arm and two folded towels in the other. “Hey, man,” Namjoon greets his smiling friend, feeling lighter already.

Green onion pancakes and boiled eggs sit in the pit of Namjoon’s stomach as he watches his friend skip rocks across the shimmering surface of the small lake. The cleared ground between two fallen trees makes the perfect picnic spot. The pancakes, eggs, and thermos of water Hoseok brought were easy to eat as they sat on the rocky shore by the placid water.

“Don’t think I haven’t seen the new bruises on your arm,” Hoseok says, casually skipping another rock out over the lake. “What happened this time?”

Hoseok doesn’t know everything that goes on in your house. Namjoon has only told him vague details, mostly leaving out what your father does to you. He’s sure if someone else found out his father raised a hand to you, they’d confront him, and that would only make matters worse—your words, not his when he first broached the subject right after your mom left. Everyone else in the community paid no heed to the Kim children and the map of discoloration that occasionally dots their skin. That’s just how it is living out here.

Namjoon tugs down the cuff of his short sleeve, trying to cover the distinct fingertip bruises on his upper arm. “Father has a short temper regarding chores around the farm. It’s nothing new. I knew I would get in trouble when I didn’t finish my chores before sundown yesterday.”

A grunt comes from Hoseok as he launches another stone. The rest of the rocks in his hand clatter around his feet as he turns to face Namjoon. “That’s my fault, isn’t it? If I hadn’t asked you to hang out yesterday afternoon, you would have finished on time.”

Shrugging, Namjoon dismisses the subject, setting his focus on the reason he wanted to meet Hoseok this morning. He wets his lips, eyes flicking over Hoseok’s features. “There’s something I want to tell you.”

Hoseok quirks a slight smile. “You know I’ll always listen to you. What’s up?” he asks, crouching down beside Namjoon, his weight resting on his heels.

Squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath, Namjoon opens his heart to his new friend, hoping the confidence isn’t wasted. “For a long time now, I’ve known that…well, I-I like…not girls.”

“You like knot girls? What’s that? Is that a new comic or something? It sounds kinky.”

Namjoon puffs out his flaming cheeks and shakes his head. “No, it’s uh, not a comic. Not knot girls…but not girls, as in I don’t like girls. As in, I like not girls, but guys.” The words are soft, spoken with trepidation. He watches as emotions flicker over Hoseok’s features before they settle on a soft smile of acceptance.

“Is this how you confess your feelings for me, Joonie?”

Shoving Hoseok’s shoulder playfully, Namjoon snorts a laugh and can’t help but smile. “You wish.”

Hoseok shuffles his feet to keep his balance. “I mean, that’s cool, man. Are you—do other people know, or is this like a secret?”

That’s the hard part. “No one else knows. I’m not sure my dad…” he trails off, rubbing a hand absently over the bruises on his arm.

That sobers the smile on Hoseok’s face instantly. “Right. Okay, that makes sense. Is it hard, you know, to hide that?”

“Hiding is all I can do at the moment. Telling other people—if the wrong people found out…” he trails off. “As much as it sucks, I can’t do that, man. It would mean hell to pay.”

“Would it be as bad as how you feel right now? What’s temporary pain compared to life-long?”

Namjoon knows Hoseok is just probing, curious; making sure Namjoon is thinking about everything. He stands, shoving his hands in his pockets and toeing some loose rocks. “I don’t know. The fallout might not just impact me.”

Hoseok scoffs. “Kitty? What’s she got to do with this? She doesn’t understand as I do. She’s just a stupid girl.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right…” he pauses as he hears a rustle in the leaves behind him before continuing, “but only about her not understanding. She’s not stupid, and she’s not just a girl.” Namjoon narrows his eyebrows, for once irritated at Hoseok. He bites the bullet, breaking your trust, but in a way that he hopes will help Hoseok see beyond the fact that you’re a girl. “If you think these bruises,”—he gestures to the marks on his arm—“are bad, know that they’re nothing compared to what Kitty experiences at the hands of our father.”

Hoseok launches to his feet. “What!?”

Namjoon shakes his head, holding up a hand to stop Hoseok from combusting further. “That’s not the point. All I’m saying is if anyone can understand me, it’s her. I know you just see her as a girl and my annoying sister…but, she’s more than that. I would have told her first, but my main focus right now is understanding what it’s like from a guy's perspective. I need another guy to talk me through it, help me reason out my feelings—a guy I trust.”

There is a distinct change in Hoseok’s body language as he absorbs Namjoon’s words. “Okay, man, I’ll listen. No more bashing on Kitty, I promise.”

_____________

“You told him about Father?” you ask in the quiet following Namjoon’s recollection of that day.

Namjoon turns in his seat to look back at you. Your hands slide from his hair, fingers slicked in pomade, temporarily forgotten. “He’s my best friend, Kitty. I didn’t tell him everything, but enough for him to understand.”

“Okay,” you mumble, chewing on your lip as you mentally go back through Namjoon’s telling.

“Now that I’ve told you everything, what’s so important about that day? What am I missing?”

You can feel heat creeping up your neck and spreading over your cheeks. It wasn’t so bad telling Hoseok about overhearing him and Namjoon that day, but now that you’re faced with telling your brother, it has your heart lurching behind your ribcage.

“That morning, Father asked me where you were after breakfast, and I lied, saying I didn’t know. He strapped me, of course, knowing I was lying. I was so mad at you for sneaking out and putting me in that position.” You shake your head, stopping the interjection you see forming on your brother’s lips. “I went to find you, to tell you off about it. I came upon you and Hoseok by the lake and overheard your conversation.”

“Kitty,” Namjoon says, his brows pinching and his lips turning down. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Well, I only overheard a little bit of the conversation,” you admit. The breath you pull into your lungs does little to soothe you as you continue. “I only overheard a small part…where Hoseok was calling me stupid and telling you I wouldn’t understand because I was just a girl. Then…you said maybe he was right, and well, I left before I heard anything else because I was so pissed off and hurt.”

Namjoon’s eyes go wide in understanding. “You really believed that’s how I felt all these years? Is that why you hate Hoseok so much? Oh fucking hell.”

“Can you blame me?” you ask, shoving your hands back into Namjoon’s hair to continue fixing it. You use your grip on his hair to turn him back to face the mirror. “It’s not like anyone ever listened to me anyway. Not Father, not Mom, and certainly not you.”

“I listened to you,” Namjoon insists. “I’ve always valued what you had to say. You’re the one that shut me out that day. Don’t you remember? I came home, and I could tell you’d been whipped, but instead of talking to me, you pretty much told me to get fucked. You changed that day, Kitty, and I had no idea I did something to cause it. I just assumed you were being a hormonal teenage girl.” You scoff at that. He glares at you in the mirror. “We were kids. What else was I supposed to think?”

That sucks the bite out of the tart reply poised on your tongue. “Yeah, you’re right,” you choose to say instead. Because, as much as it hurts, he is right. It seems you’re just as much to blame as he is, maybe even more so. “Now I really feel like an asshole.”

“Well, yeah,” he lightly laughs. “Fuck, Kitty. Have you really been holding on to this for the last fifteen years?”

“I guess I have. I’m sorry.” You mean it, too. You meet Namjoon’s soft graze through the mirror, finishing the final touch on his hair. “Truly, I am.”

“I’m sorry, too.” He reaches up and catches one of your hands, squeezing it in his. “You’ll always be my sister, but most of all, you’ll always be my best friend. You're still number one, regardless of who else I call my best friend. Don’t ever forget that. I know this doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of addressing the last fifteen years of pent-up feelings, but as soon as Jin and I get back from the honeymoon, we’re going to have a sibling weekend, okay? Just the two of us and an industrial-sized box of tissues.”

You reflect the smile on your brother’s face. “I think I’d like that.”

His eyebrows smooth out before they raise slightly as he continues to look at you. “Now, to circle back, speaking of other best friends, I think you and Hoseok need to have a conversation as well. A civilized conversation, as from what you said, you already argued about it.”

You sigh. “You’re probably right. But, right now, there is something far more important to do. You’re getting married in approximately fifty-two minutes, and you’re still not wearing any pants.” You and Namjoon laugh at that, and it feels good. You’re already breathing easier, and the healing has only just begun. “Come on, get up. Let’s finish this.”

🌙🌙🌙

Hoseok

It’s unfair how stunning you are standing across the small foyer from Hoseok. The lilac-colored off-the-shoulder silk dress you’re wearing has small white flowers embroidered along the swooping neckline and along the bottom hem. It accentuates your beautiful body and complements the style of your hair and faint makeup feathered around your eyes.

He watches your toes flex in your open-toe sandals, the nails painted with a small white tip. Everything about you makes his chest feel tight and his breathing erratic. It’s been weeks since he’s been able to look upon you, something he never thought he’d miss as much as he did.

Namjoon stands a few feet away, his hands brushing nervously over his light grey suit jacket. Hoseok’s suit is the same lilac as your dress and matches Namjoon’s in style and cut. His undershirt is a soft white to compliment the white accents in your dress.

The ceremony is taking place in an expansive botanical garden on the backside of the estate venue Namjoon and Seokjin rented for the day. Seokjin waits at the other end of a long garden path that runs right through the blooming roses, all white and purple petals to compliment the silver and periwinkle colors of the wedding party.

Hoseok tries to catch your eye, but you’re focused on Namjoon, waiting for him to cue you to move. He almost misses the flick of Namjoon’s hand and his broad smile. If it weren’t for you taking a step toward Hoseok, he’d be none the wiser.

“Your arm,” you murmur softly, holding out your hand. He stares at it, eyes tracing over the delicate bones beneath what he knows is soft skin. You clear your throat, an urgent but quiet plea to snap out of it.

He offers you his elbow and luxuriates in the faint warmth of your hand sliding into the crook of it. “You look beautiful,” he whispers as he steps with you into the open doorway that leads to the flower garden.

Your eyes meet his from under your lashes, and suddenly, he feels like he can’t breathe. “Quite handsome yourself.” You barely move your lips, but he can hear the soft words. They expand his chest, letting precious air fill his lungs.

Music begins to drift from the garden, beckoning you both forward. He takes small, measured steps, just like he did during rehearsal. You didn’t attend the rehearsal at the same time as he did, so he ended up practicing with Yoongi, who laughed and teased him. According to the snickered comments from Yoongi, he’d also been your stand-in when you practiced earlier that day.

Your fingers clench against his arm, and he can hear the clear labor of your breathing—you’re mildly panicking. “Breathe, slow and calm. It’s a good day, Kitty.”

The sun hangs low in the sky, the garden lit with hanging globes of twinkling lights: a sunset wedding, the perfect union of light and dark, according to Seokjin and Namjoon. Hoseok ushers you down the steps into the garden, the gravel underfoot crunching softly.

It’s a short walk down one of the paths and then a right turn before the pergola with its rose and lily-covered arch comes into view—just enough time for Hoseok to admire you without an audience watching.

His eyes slide over your bare shoulder, taking in the delicate silver chain with the cat charm sitting in the hollow of your throat. Namjoon told him the necklace once belonged to your maternal grandmother, who gifted it to you—along with your nickname—on one of her rare visits to the farm.

You adjust your grip on the small bundle of light purple roses and creamy lilies clutched in your free hand, held just below your breasts. Hoseok can smell your distinct coconut and pineapple scent over the fragrance of the garden. You’ve always reminded him of a tropical paradise, an exotic place of wonder and intrigue.

The sound of you clearing your throat snaps Hoseok out of his mental daydream of you stretched out on a beach, his lips kissing the salt from your skin as the sun—you clear your throat again and give him a pinched look. “Why did you stop?”

He takes a quick step forward, hauling you with him. “Sorry,” he mumbles, not having realized he’d stopped just before the turn.

Plastering a tight smile on his face, he guides you around the turn, and the tension in his lips evaporates, letting his smile mold into a more genuine expression of his excitement. Seokjin—wearing just as fine a suit as Namjoon—waits at the end of the garden path, wreathed in greenery and blossoming petals. A few white chairs with pale purple cushions line the walkway, friendly faces and smiles greet you both as you make your way down the aisle.

By the time you and Hoseok take your place to the side of Yoongi, who’s officiating the wedding, Namjoon appears around the bend in the garden. Hoseok’s best friend is resplendent, made even more so by the faint glisten in his deep, mahogany eyes as he draws closer.

The exchanging of vows is a blur in Hoseok’s mind. He knows he should be paying attention to the sweet words spoken by Namjoon and Seokjin, but his focus keeps drifting to you. Tears slip down your cheeks, and Hoseok has to restrain himself to keep from reaching out and thumbing them away. Instead, he twines his fingers between yours and offers you support and solidarity with occasional, gentle squeezes.

“…I now pronounce you partners for life!”

Hoseok tightens his grip on your hand as he watches Seokjin lead Namjoon down the aisle in a shower of tossed fresh flower petals and heart-shaped punch-out leaf confetti. They pause at the curve leading back to the estate, and Seokjin twirls Namjoon before pulling him into his arms and dipping him for a picturesque kiss. A soft, titillating laugh bubbles from you at the display. It warms Hoseok’s heart to hear you laugh and sound so at peace.

Namjoon and Seokjin disappear around the corner. Jin’s brother and one of his best friends, whom you’ve only met briefly, follow from Jin’s place of honor. Hoseok offers you his arm again to lead you in front of the small crowd that begins to disperse toward the estate, where there will be a small, cozy dinner and social hour before they leave to catch a flight for their honeymoon.

Reluctantly, Hoseok lets you slip away into the crowd once he’s escorted you back through the garden. You haven’t said anything to him since before walking out for the ceremony, and he’s unsure if that’s a good thing. In a way, he misses your clawing remarks and biting attitude. As he idly sips a glass of champagne, he wonders if you found time over the last two weeks to have that conversation with Namjoon.

🌙🌙🌙

It’s not fair. Even after your conversation with Namjoon and your new-found non-hatred for Hoseok, he shouldn’t be able to elicit such a response from you. From the moment you saw him in the foyer, your heart has been doing funny things inside your chest. When he ushered you out the door, he mistakenly thought your erratic breathing was nervousness over the day, when in reality, it was being so near to him and coming to terms with embracing the new way you see him.

You’ve become quite good at masking your feelings for Hoseok under the guise of your hatred for him over the last fifteen years. Initially, it was easier because the disappointment and betrayal were still fresh in your heart. You didn’t realize you had underlying feelings for Hoseok until he moved away a few years ago, and this feeling of emptiness settled into the void his move had created.

Sure, it’s not like he was gone completely. As you’ve lamented many times before, his move made it seem like he spent even more time around you than before. But, it was more so just the fact that life was swiftly moving around you, and after all these years, you’d grown attached to him—in your own twisted, messed up way. Though, to be fair, it’s not your fault he’s devilishly handsome and has the personality of a saint. It’s hard not to like him, even when you hate him.

The wedding speeches and toasts blur by in a mix of emotions. You find yourself listening attentively to Hoseok’s words as he speaks to both Seokjin and Namjoon, reminiscing and wishing them the best. Your own speech, the one you rehearsed for weeks, tumbles from between numb lips and doesn’t have nearly as much unction as it probably should. Everyone applauds nonetheless, and Namjoon and Seokjin capture you between the two of them in a hug.

Once free of the festivity commitments, you find yourself meandering outside and back into the garden. With the sun down, the pleasant coolness of the air helps soothe the warmth that’s seemingly latched itself into your skin.

“You okay?” That voice, the one you’ve been unconsciously seeking out all night, elicits a quickening of your heartbeat. Your pulse batters away in your neck, fluttering so intensely you can feel every throb.

You turn slowly, eyes sliding across the expanse of flowering roses before landing on Hoseok standing a few feet behind you. His hands are in his pockets, the front of his suit jacket open to reveal his dress shirt underneath. The tilt of his chin increases as he patiently waits for you to respond.

You don’t answer him with a lashing tongue for the first time in fifteen years. Instead, you choose the honest, albeit vulnerable, answer. “No. I’m not.”

Your honest response must catch him by surprise because his brow furrows, pinching over his quizzical eyes. “Wait, really? W-what’s going on?” He jerks into action, closing the distance between you and cradling your face, angling your head so he can fully see it. His eyes flick back and forth between yours. “Are you not feeling well?”

You sigh, pressing one of your hands over his and leaning into the touch. “Physically, I’m fine—maybe a little uncomfortable from where the sandals are rubbing my heels, but that’s fairly insignificant to how I feel emotionally.”

“Emotionally?” His forehead smoothes out before he quirks a curious eyebrow.

“Mhm,” you hum softly. You take a step back, pulling away from the hands still framing your face. With your hand still covering his, you twist your fingers so they slide into the clasp of his. “Walk with me for a bit?”

A muscle along his jaw flexes as he searches your face again, looking for what, you’re unsure. “Of course I will.”

Hoseok allows you to lead, guiding him with your hand snuggly fitted into his. His skin is softer than you’d thought it would be. As a hip-hop dancer, you know he uses his hands to perform certain moves and works out extensively. So, the idea that his hands would be at least mildly calloused from the beating they take isn’t outlandish. Though you have seen the plethora of body butters and hemp oil lotions he carries in his bag, so perhaps it shouldn’t be that big of a surprise.

“I talked with Namjoon,” you finally tell him after several minutes of silence. The path in the garden that you’re on empties out beside a sprawling stretch of dark water. How fitting, you think, that your confession should happen beside the placid waters of a lake when that’s precisely where your hatred began fifteen years ago. “I’m sorry for how I’ve treated you the last fifteen years. You didn’t deserve my ire. If I had just talked to Namjoon about it…maybe the years would have panned out a bit differently.” The last part is said quietly as you stop and turn to look up into Hoseok’s eyes, which look even more star-filled than usual.

“Kitty, you have nothing to apologize for. Not when it’s just a misunderstanding. I mean, sure, it might have been nice to spend the last fifteen years differently…but, for what it’s worth, I wouldn’t mind spending at least the next fifteen not being enemies.”

Much like your conversation with Namjoon, that assurance doesn’t fix the last fifteen years, but it does lessen the weight on your chest. It gives you hope for the future and what comes next. “Not being enemies sounds like a good idea.”

“You know, I meant what I said that day in your apartment. I have always liked you—like, liked you.” He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, hiding a smirk. “You’ve always been beautiful. But, your passion and drive is something that I’ve always admired, even if it was directed toward making my life hell.”

You laugh. The sound is a bit strained as you work up the courage for your next confession. “Since we’re on another train of honesty…In a weird way, I’ve always liked you, too. I didn’t want to because...how messed up is that, right? But, it’s like no matter how much I hated you on the surface, deep down, I couldn’t fully commit to that feeling. You’ve always been such a light in my life, in Namjoon’s life. Despite how I felt, I knew you would always be there like a beacon shining in a desolate sea.”

Hoseok clears his throat, his eyes briefly flicking away from yours before settling back with an intensity you can’t place. “Um, is it—would it be okay…can I kiss you? Is that weird?”

The lengths of your fingers on the hand not still holding his, tangle into his hair in response. You simultaneously use your grip on his hair and the movement of leaning up onto your toes to bring his mouth to yours.

His tongue teases along the seam of your lips, and you open for him. He tastes like hope. A soft, sweet, and dizzying flavor that has a soft moan sliding up your throat as his tongue meets yours.

Chills fueled by the ecstasy of the moment blanket your skin. Hoseok’s hands land on your hips, securing you firmly against his front. The warmth from his body contrasts with the light bite in the air; it’s comforting and has you pressing even closer to him.

“Hoseok.” Your lips brush over his as you whisper his name. It comes out breathy, like a soft plea.

“I’ve wanted to do that for years,” he admits, another confession shared between you. “I thought about kissing you to shut you up so many times.” You both laugh, airy and light, as you try to catch your breath. “Would you have slapped me?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I would have worked out my aggressions sooner…or maybe a bit differently. Hate sex is therapeutic, right?” The words are out before you can stuff them down.

Hoseok's eyes go wide, twinkling with mirth. “Who said anything about sex?”

Heat crawls up your neck and over your chest. “I mean, I was just—it’s not that, well…kissing tends to lead to—“

He cuts you off with another kiss. This one is searing, fast and full of passion. When he finally pulls away, you’re swaying slightly in his arms. “What’s that about kissing?”

“Kissing. Sex.” You pause to try to wrangle your breathing. “Apology sex?”

Hoseok chuckles, the sound dark and wicked in a toe-curling way. “Kitty, are you proposing that I sleep with you?”

Licking your lips, you clear your throat and focus your attention back on his eyes. “Hoseok, are you saying you haven’t thought about that at least once over the years?”

“Avoidance.” He kisses you. “Deflection.” Another kiss. “So what if I have?” He swallows your response, tongue delving into your mouth in a swirl of breathlessness that has you moaning again.

“Stay with me tonight,” you whisper, finally breaking from his lips again. “We have many years to make up for, and it would be a shame to waste any more time.”

The sound Hoseok makes lingers somewhere between a growl and a moan. “We probably should get back before your brother begins to worry about us.” His forehead presses against yours, and his eyes slide shut as he takes a deep breath. “I’ll come home with you if that’s truly what you want. Don’t feel obligated or like you have something to make up for because I would never hold something like that against you or for my own selfish gain like that. Just know that, please.”

The ice around your heart had already begun to melt, but now it’s a surreal phenomenon of the cold cage instantly turning into water vapor. You soften in his arms, letting your body speak as well as your words. “This is a choice made of my own volition. It is what I truly want.”

He kisses your forehead softly before pulling away until he’s only holding one of your hands. “Then I’m all in.”

The walk back to the venue is quiet but comfortable. You’re spinning the last several minutes in your head, reliving each kiss. A tingle still lingers on your lips as Hoseok leads you up the stairs and back inside.

“Kitty! Hobi!” Namjoon disrupts your thoughts. He stops in front of you and Hoseok, having just come from what looks like a bathroom down the hall. “Where have you guys been?” he asks, his eyes flicking down to where your hand is still tucked into Hoseok’s. You try to snatch it away, but Hoseok holds firm.

“We went for a walk,” Hoseok says casually as if that’s something normal you and he would do.

Namjoon’s eyes meet yours, and his eyebrow lifts slightly in question. “Just a walk,” you confirm with an awkward laugh. “Everything’s good, Joonie.” You mean that in more ways than one, and can see the understanding shining bright in your brother’s eyes.

“Glad to hear it,” Namjoon says, his lips tugging into a smirk. “So, should I start calling you brother-in-law now?” Those mirth-filled eyes swing to Hoseok.

Now it’s Hoseok’s turn to try and pull his hand from yours. You squeeze his hand, holding tight. “Whoa, man, that’s—Namjoon, I mean—“

“I’m just messing,” Namjoon teases. “I’m just happy to hear it.”

Hoseok relaxes beside you. “You really don’t mind?”

Namjoon claps Hoseok on the shoulder, a large smile taking over his face. “If I can accept Yoongi being with Kitty, I think I can accept you, too. In that, I think you’re the lesser of two evils.”

“Wow,” you grumble. “Don’t you have a husband to attend to or something?” You give Namjoon a pointed look. “A honeymoon to get to?”

“Mmm,” Namjoon hums, absently bringing his hands together in front of him and twirling his silver wedding band. “I believe you’re right. Getting through security at the airport always makes Jin nervous about making it to the gate on time. We could do with a bit of extra time.”

“You mean extra time for him to fuck you in the backseat of the limo,” you quip. Your brother stifles a laugh, his cheeks burning with a deep blush.

“Yes, well, anyway. You’ll be okay staying here? Have you located your cabin?” The venue they booked also has rooms available for the remaining wedding party, small quaint one-room cottages on the other side of the lake.

You wave a dismissive hand. “All’s well, brother, don’t worry. If I get lost, I’m sure I know someone who will help guide the way.”

Namjoon coughs, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “Right, okay. On that note, I’m going to go find Jin.”

There are a few other guests staying in the venue accommodations, Hoseok being one of them. After Namjoon and Seokjin are showered with more well wishes and hugs, they leave for the airport. You stand in front of the main venue building, watching the taillights of Seokjin’s car disappear in the distance.

“Can I walk you to your room?”

You turn toward the voice. Hoseok is standing at the top of the stairs, his hands casually tucked into his pants pockets. The sight of him, standing there with the flickering gas flame lanterns framing the doorway and casting a halo around him, reminds you of the day he left your apartment after the last argument you had. Except, instead of sadness etched into his features, he’s sporting a soft smile and twinkling eyes.

“Sure,” you agree, making your way up the stairs to him.

Again the walk is silent but comfortable as he walks you along the same path you took earlier in the evening toward the lake. The small cottages are dotted along the backside of the water, their individual walkways and doors softly illuminated with solar garden lights.

“You’re in number seven, right?” Hoseok asks as you approach that particular cottage. “I’m in three.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder back the way you came.

You glance at him, taking in the way the light breeze coming off the lake ruffles his hair across his forehead. His eyes are locked on the ground, his bottom lip firmly trapped between his teeth. “Seven, yeah, that’s me.”

He looks up, noting number seven is coming up next. “Well, thanks for everything tonight. I’m glad we were able to work through some of it and at least have a better perspective for what tomorrow brings.” Hoseok stops at the beginning of the path that leads to your cottage. There is a moment of pause before his eyes come up and lock on yours. “You really are something special, Kitty.”

That makes you shake your head and laugh softly. “We both know I don’t deserve to hear that just yet. Not for a while at least, not until I make up for at least some of the last fifteen years of treating you like undesirable number one.”

“So, how about we start by getting breakfast together in the morning as act number one in our what’s sure to be an epic love story?” He waggles an eyebrow at you, smiling wide.

Getting breakfast with Hoseok sounds like a beautiful start to putting things on the mend, but there’s another part of you that doesn’t want to wait until the morning. It’s a frantic pulse that bleats deep in your chest, urging you to…”Will you stay with me tonight? Or—is that too much? I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking clearly. Of course you don’t want to—it’s too fast, and—”

Your stuttery backpedaling is firmly cut off with a dizzying kiss. Hoseok gathers you into his arms, hands sliding along the silk covering your back and over your hips. He tastes faintly of the whiskey he took a shot of with the other guys before Namjoon and Seokjin left. The oaky, nutty flavor compliments the deep groan that vibrates from his chest as your tongue seeks further entry into his mouth. He opens for you, readily welcoming the press of your tongue against his.

“I would love that,” he murmurs between light presses of his lips and soft sweeps of his tongue.

It’s probably a spectacle to be seen, the way you and Hoseok stumble toward the door of your cottage. You fumble between your bodies, searching for the small slip pocket along the side seam of your dress where the keycard is. Hoseok grabs it from your shaking fingers once you have it out and slaps it against the electronic reader.

The reader buzzes, the lock clicking as Hoseok pushes on the handle and swings the door open. He tosses the card aimlessly toward a table by the door and kicks the door shut behind you. “Are you sure about this?” you ask, voice airy and thin as you lean back to get your bearings and breath.

“I’ve never been more certain about something. As long as you are?” Hoseok’s coffee-colored eyes flick between yours, clearly looking for any doubts.

Your top teeth bite into your bottom lip as you meet his gaze. “Help me,” you say, turning slowly to give him your back. “The zipper is hidden in the seam.”

Hoseok takes a deep, shuddering breath. His exhale ghosts over your bare shoulder as he leans in. You feel his fingers trail along the back of your dress, searching for the zipper. He makes an appreciative noise as his fingers pinch around the small metal zip and begin to slide it down, exposing the column of your spine.

The dress falls slack, the fabric drooping and catching on your arms as you raise them to hold the front up over your chest. “You’re so beautiful, Kitty,” he whispers, trailing a finger up to between your shoulder blades.

“Take your clothes off and lay down,” you tell him, turning back around and emphasizing the command with a flick of your hand toward the large four-poster bed.

Hoseok’s throat contracts, and you can hear his audible swallow. His tongue pokes out and moves slowly over his lips before he gives you a subtle nod and begins to shrug out of his jacket.

The lilac fabric puddles on top of his shoes as he toes them off. He leaves a trail of clothing in his wake. Discarded socks, dress shirt, and trousers leave him standing at the foot of the bed in nothing but a pair of tight black briefs.

Even with the dark fabric, you can clearly see the distinct outline of his bulging erection. His eyes drop from yours, angling down as his thumbs hook into the band of his underwear. “There’s no going back after you see my dick, you know that, right?” he asks teasingly, pulling the waistband down to expose an inch of his pelvis and the dark shadow underneath.

You scoff playfully. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

With slow, deliberate movements, Hoseok pushes down his briefs and exposes himself to your curious gaze. Your breath catches in your throat, and you try to cover your gasp with a cough. His eyes snap up to yours as his underwear drops loose around his ankles.

A smirk curls his lips. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He should. His cock is as beautiful as he is. You can tell it’ll be velvety smooth without even having touched it yet. It curves slightly upward where it bobs in front of him, a clear glistening bead already forming at the tip.

“Get your ass on the bed,” you snap, more teasing than commanding this time.

“Yes, ma’am,” he snarks lightly as he slides backward onto the bed, arms angled back to keep him sitting upright once he’s in the middle.

You step over his discarded clothes, picking your way across the room, kicking off your sandals in the process. Once you reach the end of the bed, you focus your eyes on Hoseok, let out a slow breath, and loosen your arms from across your chest to let your dress fall. The silk settles around your ankles, the fabric feeling both cool and too hot against your skin.

“See something you like?” you ask Hoseok, luxuriating in the smug feelings that come from how gobsmacked he looks. His mouth hangs open, eyes slightly wider than usual.

Your skin pricks under his sweeping gaze, flushing with heat as his eyes trail your naked body—naked because you couldn’t wear anything under the silk dress without unflattering lines and fabric bunching.

“Yes,” Hoseok admits with a shuddering exhale. He boldly licks his lips, eyes following the swell of your breasts and the curve of your hips with appreciation. “Fucking hell.”

“I’m going to ask you some essential questions and set some very important rules. Do you understand?” You roll your shoulders back and straighten your spine, giving Hoseok a look that demands he respond.

His chin jerks in a frantic nod. A slight shine is already covering his forehead, his chest rising and falling rapidly. As you slowly ease your knees onto the bed, on either side of Hoseok’s outstretched legs, you take time to devour the sight of his body entirely.

You’re sure you could spend an entire night tracing the muscled lines of his body, memorizing them with your hands and tongue. He has a dancer's body, chest broad and hips narrow, thighs that you’re certain could support you for hours as you bounce on—fuck—him.

“Nmph,” Hoseok grunts, an unintelligible sound catching in his throat as you spread your legs wider and finally settle against his thighs. You can feel the way his muscles flex under your ass as he swipes his tongue over his lips again. His rigid cock jerks where it rests on his stomach as if trying to rise and seek you out.

You know he can feel the heat of your pussy on his thighs, the sticky wetness of your arousal smearing as you shift from side to side and settle closer. The warmth from his balls settles against your mound, and you sigh in satisfaction.

“Do you know what a safeword is?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever used one?”

“No.”

“We’re going to use one tonight, just to be safe. Do you understand?”

He doesn’t hesitate, the hunger in his eyes saying it before the word falls from his lips. “Yes.”

“You won’t touch without my permission, and you certainly won’t cum unless I say so. Do you understand?”

“I do,” he says, mirroring the words spoken earlier between your brother and his own lover.

“What is your safeword?”

“Purple,” he breathes the word quickly. “Your favorite color.”

You can’t help the quirk of your lips. “You know safewords are supposed to be something personal to you, something that holds meaning in a way that elicits protection in a moment of vulnerability and trust.”

“Purple is personal. It does mean so much to me,” he confesses, eyes fervent with his admission. “It reminds me of you, the person I know no matter how much pain I endure for, you’ll never truly hurt me.”

That has your heart fluttering in your chest will renewed vigor.

“Purple it is, then. If at any time you wish for things to stop, you simply say ‘purple’, and I’ll immediately stop, okay?” you tell him plainly, simply, with intent.

“I understand.” The acknowledgement rings through the room, settling between your thighs with an earnest ache. He slides his arms forward, no longer holding himself up, and lays down.

You lean forward, planting your hands on Hoseok’s chest for leverage as you shimmy your hips. His hands fist into the comforter on either side of where your knees spread around his waist.

“Remember, no touching,” you smirk, catching the way his fingers flex against the bed.

Lifting your ass just enough to slide your slick core over his balls, you settle on his throbbing shaft. You can feel your lower lips spreading, splitting around his cock in a wet, warm kiss. The underside of the head presses against your clit as you rock your hips slightly.

A strangled moan breaks past his lips as they pop open, his lashes fluttering, his eyes roll back, and his back arches slightly. “Fuck,” he pants as his back hits the bed again.

You set a slow, teasing rhythm, grinding yourself back and forth over his shaft. With every backward slide, your clit catches on the head of his cock, and you both begin to whimper from the sensation. “You feel so good.” You peer down at him through your lashes, eyes half-mast as you undulate your hips repeatedly.

Wetness covers his lower stomach, a combined mix of both of your arousals. You can feel how you drip on his cock with each new sweep of your lower lips over it, the teasing pleasure sending fluttery aches along your inner walls.

“Need to be inside you,” he whines. “Please!”

His hips tilt, and the head of his cock catches on your opening, almost sinking in before you pull back and give him a sharp look. “Not until I say so,” you tell him hotly. His chest heaves under your hands, pupils so wide they’ve nearly devoured the coffee color of his eyes. You don’t start moving again until he nods his understanding; precious moments that test your own resolve.

Pleasure ripples down your spine as you begin to move a little faster, seeking that precipice of ecstasy that’s so tantalizingly close. Hoseok flexes his hips under you, adding extra pressure to your clit. You consider admonishing him for it, but it feels too damn good.

To distract yourself, you brush your fingers over his well-defined chest, fingers flicking over his taut nipples. His chest shudders with each pass of your nimble fingers. You pinch one between your fingers, appreciating how his eyes flutter and his teeth gnaw at his bottom lip when you do.

“Fuck. Harder,” he moans. You indulge him, twisting and pinching at his pert nipple until he’s letting out harsh grunts and mewls. “That feels so—ungh—good!”

Leaning down, you lave your tongue over the hot peak of flesh, then blow a cooling puff of air over it. Hoseok jerks under you, and you catch the way his hands almost come up to touch you, but they snap back to the bedspread as he huffs in frustration.

“Good boy,” you murmur, licking at his nipple again before taking it between your teeth and gently tugging.

“If you—ungh—keep doing that—npmh—I’m going to c-cum.” Hoseok tips his chin back, moaning loudly.

“As much as I’d love to test that statement…” you trail off, slowing your hips to a leisurely roll and giving his nipple one final, tiny bite. “A bit of a pain slut, hmm? Maybe next time,” you finally murmur, more to yourself than Hoseok, eyes locked on his now swollen, dark nipple as your thumb soothes it with small circles.

Hoseok cries out a strangled mix of relief and disappointment as you brace up on your knees and lift your wet lips from where they are, hugging his girth. “Please,” he begs softly. “I need you.”

“Wrap your hand around your cock. Hold it up for me.”

He’s quick to obey, sliding a hand under you and wrapping his fingers tightly around his flushed, sticky length. “You have such a pretty pussy,” he says, his eyes drifting from where his hand is holding the base of his cock to your dripping core that is now lowering back down.

You wish you could see what he’s seeing. You’re sure it would be a sight to behold—how your pussy swallows him inch by inch. It has to look as good as it feels. You’re so worked up; it’s an easy slide but still snug enough to make you both exhale shaky breaths as you bottom out, and your walls pulse around him as they adjust.

“Is this why you couldn’t find it in yourself to hate me back?” you whisper, eyes blazing with fire and mischief. “You liked it when I was mean to you. Got off on it, didn’t you?” You tweak his nipple again and slowly begin to fuck yourself on his thick length. “Did it get your dick hard whenever I’d yell or sneer at you?”

His hips roll to meet yours with a satisfying thrust. “You have no idea how often I’ve cum all over myself thinking about you taking a riding crop to my ass or shoving a ball gag in my mouth.” His words are brazen, ragged, and full of honesty. “Is that what you want to hear? You want me to tell you all about my twisted, fucked up fantasies?”

“Yes!” you mewl, increasing your rhythm and intensity. “Touch me.” It’s a low command, but Hoseok hears you as if you’d screamed it.

Resounding twin smacks echo through the room as his hands land on your ass. “Fuck, yeah,” he moans, using the grip on your ass to encourage your movement until you’re bouncing up and down so hard you can feel his cock kissing the deepest part of you.

“Hoseok!” His name tumbles out like a curse, your eyes rolling back and your nails digging into his chest as your orgasm slams through you, taking you by surprise.

“That’s right, baby, oh fuck!” Hoseok slides his arms up and wraps them around you, dragging you down to his chest. His hips continue to work under you, forcing his cock in and out of your pussy’s tight, pulsing clasp. “I’m going to cum inside you,” he mumbles half-coherently.

Warmth floods between your thighs as he jerks and shudders against you. You can feel every throbbing jet of his cum as he releases. “Mmm,” you can’t help the pleasured moan as your body continues to flutter around him, greedily accepting his offering.

“Need to make you cum again,” Hoseok pants.

“Mm, Hos—“ What was going to be a half-hearted protest turns into a soft puff of air as he flips you both, your back hitting the mattress.

“Please, Kitty, please let me worship you just a little longer.” His bright eyes bore into yours, pleading. He looks so strung out, in a dizzying, sexy way, the way he’s slumped over you, as if in supplication for his need to please you.

“Be gentle,” you whisper.

He slowly leans back, chest expanding and hollowing with stilted breaths. His eyes trace a path along your body, followed by his hands. Hoseok molds his hands around the curve of your breasts, down the planes of your stomach and sides, until they’re firmly planted on your inner thighs. With the slightest amount of pressure, he pushes your legs open, exposing where he’s still nestled tightly inside you.

“Oh,” Hoseok breathes. His cock slides out of you slowly. You can feel the thick dribble of cum that follows slide down your ass. A moan works out of him as he catches the drip with two fingers and gently pushes it back into you. “I didn’t think your pussy could get any prettier, but I have to say…it’s a fucking masterpiece full of and dripping in my cum.”

The filthy words go straight to your core, making your walls squeeze and another gush of cum to drip out. He tuts softly, a wicked grin on his face as he repeats the process of pushing it back in. “Mmnh.” It’s your turn to moan as he slowly strokes his fingers in, out, then over your clit. “Hoseok. Please, make me feel good again.”

He growls his approval before burying his face above where his fingers still stroke inside you. The way his tongue dances over and around your clit has that edge barreling toward you almost instantly. You’re still quite sensitive, your body poised for more pleasure. Hoseok licks and sucks at your clit, setting your body alight with tingling bursts of indulgence.

“Cum for me,” Hoseok encourages, renewing his efforts with his fingers and tongue.

It’s a lingering moment, teetering on the edge. But the plunge is swift and all-consuming. Flashes of white spark behind your closed lids as you slam your eyes shut, and your head kicks back, mouth opening in a silent scream. It’s like dancing on moonbeams, floating in a galaxy of hedonistic pleasure, and wrapping yourself in the warmth from the sun that you know as Hoseok.

Hoseok places a last, lingering kiss on your clit, making you shudder, before leaning up and catching your gaze. The bottom half of his face is glistening, a combination of your cum and his. He licks at his lips, giving you a roguish smile. The sound of his fingers pulling out of your still-quivering body is obscene but makes you sigh happily regardless. A pleasant ache throbbing between your thighs is a sure sign that you just experienced far more pleasure than you have in a really, really long time.

“That was…I’m not even sure how to describe it,” you admit, opening your arms in silent command. Hoseok immediately slides into the open space, turning on his side and pulling you with him so you’re chest to chest.

He brushes his lips over yours, peppering you with soft, languid pecks. “I would say it was the perfect fresh start.” He leans back slightly, his eyes finding yours. You can see a sobering moment in them. “I mean that, Kitty. I don’t want this to just be for tonight. I want to make this work…I want to be with you, figure this out together. As long as you’ll have me.”

“I want that, too.”

And, the longer you stare into his eyes, the more you realize that there is no hate left in your heart…all there is, are the stars shining back at you.

⇽ Previous Chapter ◅ Back to series masterlist

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#bts hoseok #hoseok smut #hoseok x you #hoseok x reader #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #hoseok fluff #hoseok angst #jung hoseok #sub! Hoseok #bts brothers best friend #bts imagines #bts non idol au #bangtanwhq

[thewritingisconsumingme]

cooking together

summary: shang tsung takes some time to cook with quan chi

warnings: none :)

Shang Tsung hummed as he foraged through the woods. Although he now had everything he ever needed working at Empress Sindel’s palace, he still enjoyed the activity of finding one’s own food. Besides, it provided a good way for Shang Tsung to determine the quality of the ingredients and that there was no poison within the food. The court may be enamored with his abilities and his practiced tongue, but he would be a fool to think that everyone liked him and wouldn’t try to rid the court of him. After all, he did come from humble roots, and some more than others did not appreciate peasant blood.

Picking the last of the mushrooms from the forest, Shang Tsung motioned for Quan Chi to follow him back to the palace. The man followed behind and watched over him. Shang Tsung was more than capable of protecting himself, but Quan Chi always insisted on accompanying the sorcerer on his trips to the wild just in case. And well, it bought them time alone with each other.

The sorcerer entered his laboratory and made his way to the kitchen. Washing off the dirt and grime from the various vegetables he collected from the forest, Shang Tsung passed them over to Quan Chi for him to cut into pieces. They worked together silently, a practiced routine of cutting and boiling and frying, and moved together in the kitchen as one unit. Soon enough, Shang Tsung put the lid onto the pan to wait for the vegetables to steam a little bit, and Quan Chi finished washing the cutting board and knives and set them up onto the drying rack.

Shang Tsung hummed when felt the other man place his head into the crook of his neck and wrap his arms around the yellow robes that the sorcerer usually sported.

“Be a dear and go check on the rice, won’t you?” Shang Tsung murmured as he leaned forward to open up the lid to check on the vegetables. Quan Chi obeyed, pressing a quick kiss to the shell of Shang Tsung’s ear, and went to check on the small pot of rice steaming in the corner. Shang Tsung focused on the pan in front of him, stirring the food around and spooning in an appropriate amount of salt to flavor the dish. Pouring in a small amount of water, Shang Tsung put the lid back on the pot and opened the cabinet above to rummage through the different seasonings. Unfortunately, the sauce he used to flavor just about everything was sitting just a little too deep in the cabinet, and Shang Tsung got up onto his toes, reaching to try and get the container.

A tanned arm reached behind him and pulled the jar off the cabinet, and Shang Tsung turned around to find Quan Chi smirking down at him. The sorcerer scoffed but took the jar from Quan Chi and turned around to hide the blush on his face. Quan Chi loved to flaunt his height over Shang Tsung as he was quite a bit taller than Shang Tsung, and the sorcerer would never admit it, but he loved how his partner could tower over him.

Adding in a rather large spoonful of the sauce, Shang Tsung stirred the vegetables around in the pot and smothered the fire underneath the pot and plated the food. Quan Chi took the jar of sauce and put it away into the cabinet a little higher than necessary and brought over two plates full of steaming rice to eat with the vegetables. They took the food to a small table in the far end of the laboratory and sat down across from each other. They ate in silence but kept their hands intertwined together.

Shang Tsung didn’t have to cook with Quan Chi, but the small moments like these made it all worth the effort.

#fluffuary2024 #fluff #noodle’s writings #mortal kombat #mk #mortal kombat 1 #mk1 #mk1 2023 #shang tsung #mk1 shang tsung #quan chi #mk1 quan chi #shang tsung x quan chi #quanshang

[luveline]

a special friend, part nine | fred weasley x reader

summary you buy Fred too many biscuits, tell him some uncomfortable truths, and try to make sense of how much you love him [8k]

warmings fluff, hurt/comfort, mental health issues, implied/referenced self-harm, self-harm is talked about in depth but there is no graphic description of the act itself, body image, talk of sex but nothing graphic, she/her pronouns used for reader, fem reader

chapter list here

"You don't have to do those," Fred says from the table, a biro in hand. 

You take the washing up liquid into your hands and pour it onto the rough green scrub of a sponge, stomach pressing into the lip of the countertop. "It's okay." 

"I'll do them after I finish this," he says anyway. 

"Please let me do them." 

Fred bites the end of his pen – which you've warned him against doing, lest it explode in his mouth – and raises his eyebrows without looking up. You take that for a go ahead. 

The water is blisteringly hot. You pull down the shutter on the boiler next to the sink and set the heat lower though it won't make much difference now. 

Your hands start to sting, but it's a sting you like. It's familiar. It hurts. 

Fred hums under his breath at the table. He's a diligent book keeper. You're too stupid for it, and he'd never let you anyways. You're surprised he's let you do the dishes, hadn't said, Ghost, no. Go watch your show.

He goes through phases. Sometimes, it's as though he doesn't want you to do anything at all. It gets to the point where every time you shower he's offering to wash your hair. 

When you'd asked George about it, he'd only said, "He loves you." 

"I know that." 

"I don't know what you want me to tell you." 

What did you want George to tell you? Maybe that it's something every boy does.  

But no, you don't think so. You're just lucky. 

Eventually Fred seems to realise what he's doing and gives it a rest. Like now, a few days ago he might've taken the sponge from your hand, kissed your head and bumped your hip to get you to go sit down. But you're very much in the after of his over-caring, so he doesn't protest. 

Plus, when you say please, Fred's always been a total goner. That hasn't changed. 

"Are you-" You cringe as a plate clinks against another cruelly. "Are you getting on okay with the pens?" you ask, looking over your shoulder. 

Fred grins at you. "What do you think it says about wizards that we have to refill our quill nibs every ten seconds? All that mess and time wasted when muggles were using these ten years ago."

"I think…" You set the last dish on the drying rack. "It says we're misguided. Like a self-inking quill," you say slowly. 

Your thoughts have felt thick as molasses all day, and you turn back to the sink to try and finish the dishes and feel abruptly weird. Not upset, but a sinking feeling.

"Like a self-inking quill," you repeat, hoping to catch the thread. 

"We invented a charm before we even thought about something as simple and convenient as a pen," Fred says, saving you. 

"Yeah, exactly." He always knows what you're trying to say. 

You shut off the tap and watch the water drain down the sink. Your hands are wet and very warm against the countertops edge. 

"Come and sit with me," Fred says lightly. 

You blink hard, wipe your face with your wet hands and exhale. 

"Are you-" 

"I think I want something else to eat," you say. 

Fred is quiet. You turn to him and he's smiling at you, pen flat on the table. "Yeah? Dessert?" 

"Yes, please." 

"Alright." He sounds legitimately excited. 

Fred gathers his papers and slides them between the leaves of his fancy leather planner before standing and meeting you in the middle of the kitchen. His hand reaches for you unconsciously, squeezing your shoulder and encouraging you toward the cupboard. 

"What do you fancy?" he asks, opening the cupboard. It's not bare but certainly not full. 

Your options are pretty lackluster. He has tins of sweetened fruit, condensed milk, rice pudding. He even has a tin of tapioca, but none of it looks very exciting.

"Do you even like tapioca?" you ask. 

"No, I don't." He hums unhappily. "I'm embarrassed." 

"We could go to the shop." 

"At this time? Would anything be open?" 

"Tesco's." 

He looks down at you with obvious fondness. "Tesco. What is that, a type of dog?" 

You leave to search his bedroom for something to wear that isn't your pajama bottoms. "Freddie," you murmur, picking through the clothes you keep at the bottom of his cupboard, "have you seen my skirt? The paisley one?" 

"Is it the purple one?" 

"Yeah. Like a red-purple." 

He disappears and returns with an armful of clothes from the radiator, dumping it unceremoniously on the end of the and pulling out your skirt with a triumphant smile. "Here. I like this one. I remember the first time you wore it." 

"You do?" 

"Yeah, of course I do. You don't?" 

You nibble the inside of your lip and sit down on the bed to pull on a pair of tights. Fred's gaze wanders to your thigh. You watch his expression change from happy to nothing to happy again. 

You stand up to put on your skirt. "No, I can't remember," you say apologetically. 

"The first time we kissed, you were wearing that skirt." 

That seems as appropriate a time you're going to get to ask for a kiss. You sidle up to him and he looks down at you knowingly, reaching out for your shoulders. Long, kind hands fit over the slopes of them. 

"You know you… you really confused me," you tell him. 

He throws his arms completely over your shoulders and pulls your chest to his. "When?" 

"That day. Our first day." 

His lips quirk up into a cheeky smile. "Right." He leans down for a short kiss, perfectly chaste. "How did I confuse you? I promise I didn't mean to," he says softly. 

"You- you said our relationship wouldn't be-" 

"Appropriate," he says, again so softly. His smile is sympathetic. "Yeah, I remember. I remember. God, I'm sorry. It was a bad attempt at flirting." 

"It worked." 

"I wanted to follow you as soon as I said it, but you didn't seem like you cared. When I did follow you I was worried I got all the signs wrong, I could barely speak." 

He's relaxed despite the anxiety of the situation he recalls – it had been the most heart-racing half-hour of your life. You would love to think he'd felt the same. But now there's the vast proof of your affection for each other. All that hesitation is funny to look back on. 

"Why were you worried, Freddie? I mean," you giggle self-consciously, "I was obvious, wasn't I?" 

"No you were not."

You wait for him to expand, confused. 

"You were especially hard to read. You're still hard to read now, only I've gotten better at it. Or that's what I'd like to think." 

"Oh." 

Fred cups your cheek. "You think you're obvious?" 

"I thought so. I thought you could tell that I liked you." 

He holds your head in place and kisses the opposite cheek, a perfect press of his lips. 

He rubs your cheek and then moves away to pull on one of his mum-made jumpers, offering you your cardigan. 

"I couldn't tell. I mean, we'd been friends for so long at that point I assumed all your affection was just friendly, and you kept surprising me." He smiles like this is the best thing in the world, that being surprised might mean the same thing as winning the lottery. "You looked lovely. You knew you looked lovely." 

You try not to feel embarrassed. Taking pride in your appearance is still new, and it feels like something you shouldn't do. Like you're not allowed.

"You're pretty," he says simply. "And when you know it, you get this glow." 

"I do not." 

"You do!" 

"Like a pregnant woman?" 

He laughs. You push your slippery feet into your shoes. "No, dummy. Not like a pregnant woman. Are you ready?" 

"Do you know where the Tesco's is?" you ask curiously, taking his outstretched hand. He squeezes your fingers. His touch keeps the creeping anxious nausea of side-along disapparation at bay. 

"I was just gonna go to the town centre, by the charity shop. Where you bought that nice dress." 

"You bought the dress. I only wore it." 

He smiles. "You okay?" 

You nod and squeeze his fingers in turn. 

Suddenly you're slammed between places, knees buckling as your feet slide from the worn light wood of the Weasley flat and onto the uneven tar of an alleyway. It's bitingly cold and the alley is dark, streetlight leeching toward you both but not quite reaching. 

Fred checks you over silently. 

"It's cold," he complains immediately afterward, pulling you down the alley and onto the main street. 

It's as blinding as it always is. You let him steer you down the pavement, through couples and commuters. You almost bump head on with a girl wearing big huge headphones that you've never seen in person before, and you can't help following her with your eyes. 

"Tesco is the blue one?" Fred asks. 

"It's a small one here. By the pharmacy." 

"Where was that?" 

It takes you an abundance of long cold minutes to locate the shop you're looking for, and when you do Fred marches you inside. You stand just past the automatic doors and he steals your hands to rub between his own, fretting about how chilly it is today and how neither of you had worn a coat, and maybe he can buy you one. 

"I don't need a new coat. Can we go look at the fruit?"

It's impossible to find. You walk down skinny aisles of tinned foods, cold drinks, crisps. 

Fred grabs the end of your cardigan and anchors you to him. "Hey, biscuits." 

There's a lot of biscuits. 

"What ones should we get?" 

You move next to him until your thighs are touching, to his evident delight. He throws an arm over your shoulder and gives you another nice kiss on your cheek. "How about we get all of them?" 

"We can't get all of them." 

"How about just all the ones we like?" he asks hopefully.

You think about your purse in your pocket, how you never spend money on yourself. If Fred wants biscuits, he should have as many as he wants. 

You lift your head toward his and grin. "Yeah, okay." 

"Really?" 

"Yeah," you laugh, "go get a basket, loverboy." 

His turn to laugh. His hand drags over your shoulders as he pulls away, and you stand alone in the aisle and wait for him to come back. There's so many biscuits. Cookies with white chocolate chips and dried raspberries, hobnobs with caramel centres, jammy dodgers, jaffa cakes, Welsh shortbreads. There's classic digestives, rich teas and even the fancier Border's biscuits, the ones you only see at Christmas time. 

"Hey gorgeous," Fred calls as he returns. 

"Hey," you say gently. 

"Did you choose any?" 

You only hesitate for a moment before picking up the Border's and placing them delicately in the basket. Fred beams but doesn't comment. You refuse to think about anything as you pick up the shortbread, plain and chocolate chip.  

"Nice," he says. Fred picks up the jaffa cakes with an assessing eye. 

"You've never seen them before?" 

"Don't think so. Do you like them?" 

You shrug. No matter your answer, you don't want to discourage him from trying them. "They have orange jam in the middle. You'll like them." 

He nods and puts them in the basket. He goes to keep you moving and you plant yourself. 

"Fred, you gotta pick some more."

"I like what we have." 

"Fred-" 

"I'm gonna buy you your weight in chocolate, ghost. We have enough biscuits." 

You don't let him buy as much chocolate as he'd promised. He picks out a tray of truffles. You kneel down and search through the children's sweeties and find a bag of white chocolate buttons covered in sprinkles.

"Freddie," you say, thrilled, "have you had these before?" 

He bends down to meet you. You must look strange, two grown adults crouched in the middle of the shop, but neither of you has the wherewithal to care. It's often like this with him. You exist in your own world. 

"Don't think so," he says, taking them with his usual gentleness and dropping them onto your growing pile of treats. 

"I used to love them." 

"I bet they're amazing," he says earnestly. "These sweets are all literally covered in sugar. Sugar's supposed to go inside them, not on them." 

You select some of the aforementioned sugar covered sweets and drop them in. "They're sour." 

"Me and George gave Ron an Hour Sour once that we'd charmed to last three days." 

You gawp at him. 

"Don't look at me like that." 

"Did he-"

"Cry? For most of the second day." 

You're suddenly seeing him in a new light. "That's awful." 

"We felt really bad. Genuinely." 

He helps you back up to your feet. 

"Did you lay off him for a while?"

"A whole week." 

"Awful! That's awful. You're such bullies." 

There's not a trace of genuineness in what you're saying. Fred is the nicest person you've ever met in your entire life, and George is the second. 

"I know," he murmurs, eyes on the label of a whistle lolly. "How's it a whistle?" 

"It just is." 

He's stricken. "But how?" 

"You'll have to find out." You chuck two in the basket. 

"We need to find your fruit. And a real dessert." 

Fruits are found. Desserts contemplated. You end up with a tub of neapolitan ice cream and a cake to heat up in the oven. 

You slide the basket off of Fred's arm and pretend to look very cold. There's no way a shop this small will have clothes, but Fred has no way of knowing that. 

"Do you…" You put on your best act. If you just all out asked for something Fred would never believe you. "Do you think they have coats here?" 

"Let's go look," he says quickly, nodding his head to the side. 

You part your lips as if thinking about it and then shake your head. "My legs are tired. We should go home." 

Conflicted, he calculates his options and then picks the one you'd known he would, the chivalrous, much too thoughtful one.  

"I'll find you something. You can wait here, alright?" 

He leaves, his smile charged with promise. As soon as he's disappeared in the direction of the cleaning and bathroom supplies you turn to the tills and pay for all your stuff. There's so many things that you need two bags. 

Fred appears a little while later, at first apologetic and then unhappy. 

"Did you just pay for that?" 

"I didn't steal it," you say wryly. 

He wrangles the bags out of your unwilling hands and sighs. "They didn't have any jackets, sweetheart, I'm sorry. You can have my jumper." 

"I'm not really cold. Sorry." 

He squints. You squint back. 

"You sneak," he says finally. 

You spin on your heel so you're walking backwards and he follows you out of the shop. "Good trick, right?" 

"Good trick," he agrees. 

You laugh. It feels good in the cold air, with him, to let your head dip back just a touch and look up at the sky. There's too much light pollution to see any stars, but the sky is pitch black. You could fall into it. 

-

George Weasley bursts into his brother's bedroom and launches himself on top of him. 

Fred seizes up and forces his face further into his pillow. "Ow, ghost." 

"In what world would Y/N ever do anything like this?" 

Fred frowns with his eyes closed, grows incredibly still and then turns his body onto the side. George slides off of the bed and onto the floor with a terrible thump. 

"You fucking prick." 

"Shut up." 

George pouts on the ground for a moment before rising into a sitting position. Directly in his eyeline is a photograph of said ghost, smiling and posing with more life than George has ever seen you display in front of a camera. 

"Where is ghostie?" 

"She's went home." 

"She lives here." 

"She does not live here," Fred grumbles unhappily. 

"Oh, sorry. I just thought, from the state she left the living room in last night that she was paying rent." 

"Fuck off," Fred says with no heat. "Be nice. It was mostly me." 

"Where was my invite?" 

"I was hoping something would transpire that you'd rather not be involved in." Fred doesn't sound bitter. He sounds strangely upset. 

George tilts his head to the side. "Disgusting. Still should've invited me." 

"There's cake left." 

George stands and leaves for the kitchen. He eats the leftover cake cold, a winner's breakfast if he does say so himself, and pops the kettle on. His twin soon emerges, unhappy and still obviously tired. 

"Your hair's too long," George says.

"She likes it like this." 

George licks his fingers clean of icing and opens the cupboard for two mugs. "Ghost would like you bald, I think. Love makes you blind. And plain stupid." 

"Angelina wouldn't like you bald." 

"Angelina has self-preservation. Is tea okay or are you dying?" 

Fred waves his hand. "Anything. Whatever you're having." 

Quite right. George makes two identical cups of tea and plants them on the kitchen table. He offers Fred a small spoon to fish out the tea bag and retrieves the milk from the fridge. 

"Why did she go home?" 

"She can't always stay here. It's not healthy." 

"Sure it is. Married people sleep together every single day." 

Fred drinks his tea, winces at how hot it is and then sets it down. "There's loads of biscuits in the cupboard." 

George raises his eyebrows and goes to look. "Oh, yes. This is more like it. More obscene spoiling?"

"Y/N spoiling me." 

"No way! She never buys me anything." 

George tips enough biscuits for a family five onto a plate and places them grandly at the table. He must've eaten half in the time it takes Fred to wake up, and when he does he doesn't seem happy. 

"Listen," George says slowly, "if there's something you wanna talk about, I'll try not to laugh. Swears." 

"How generous of you." 

George knows what's wrong, he just doesn't want to say it out loud. 

"Does it happen with you and Angelina? Um. Dry spells?" Fred asks eventually. 

"All the time. Girls are different, mate. They're not always on."  

"What if she thinks I'm ugly?" 

"I've always been the more handsome of us." 

They both laugh at their joking. 

Fred eats a biscuit forlornly. "I read this thing," he says slowly. 

"Now why would you do that?" George asks. He means it. He's told Fred a hundred times to ignore all the magazine's and muggle health journals. 

"About low moods. Affecting your sex drive." 

George wrinkles his nose. 

"She's never… we've never not been on the same page about it. And I know if she's upset about something she won't tell me, so I thought maybe she's upset and not telling me and that's why she doesn't want to-" He shrugs rather than say it. George is grateful. He doesn't ever want to hear about his brothers sex life. 

"You were having your honeymoon phase," he says simply. It makes sense. Eventually, the newness wears away, though the fondness remains. 

Fred drops his face into his hand. "I was worried you'd say that." 

"Don't make me spell it out for you, Forge. I really don't want to. It feels like talking about Ginny's sex life with Harry." 

"You talk about-" 

"No." 

"I think maybe I'm being very narcissistic." 

"You definitely are." 

Fred rubs his eyes with both hands. "She's getting into her head again." 

This catches George's attention. Perhaps he doesn't always know what Fred's thinking. He puts his tea down heavily and asks, "What?" 

"I'm worried she'll start all the picking and things." Things is a very nice way to say that you'd been hurting yourself. George doesn't blame him for avoiding the specifics. It's never a nice thing to say out loud. 

He breaks a biscuit in half, dropping half in his mug and half in Fred's to soften. "Are you alright?" 

Fred scrunches up his face. "What?" 

"Are you okay?" 

"What?" 

"Fred." 

They stare at each other. Fred looks very stressed. George hates it. 

"Ghost isn't going to start hurting herself again. I don't know why you're thinking about it, but that's not happening," George says, sympathetic but firm. "It's been a while since she did. It's been almost as long since she wanted to. She told you last time, yeah?" 

And you had. It had been a bit of a shock to George when he'd heard it, though it was his own fault for eavesdropping. Fred had been stationed at the front of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes peddling the last of the Peruvian darkness powder and George had been a ways away feeding the pygmy puffs. 

You'd been taking it easy behind the counter top at the back. Quiet for a few days, nothing they hadn't been through with you before, your mood wavering. Your footsteps had been close to silent as you'd made your way to the front and stopped at Fred's side. There had been silence for a while, and then he'd seemingly noticed you and said, "Hey. What's the matter?" 

George had glanced up. You'd looked impassive in the face but frenetic in the hands, your fingers curling and unfurling around nothing. 

"Freddie," you'd said, very softly. 

George had wanted to wrap you up in a hug then and there but Fred's more of a problem solver, though he'd softened to match you considerably quickly. 

"What?" he'd asked. 

You'd thrust your hands towards him and he'd taken them delicately. 

After a while, you'd said, "I don't feel very well." 

"Yeah? What's the matter?" 

"I think I want to-" You'd looked down at the floor. "I think I might do something stupid." 

"Okay," Fred had said. "Okay. Why don't we go upstairs and I'll make you some tea? We'll talk about it." 

"Right," Fred says now. "It's been a while, but that doesn't mean she'll never do it again." 

"If she does or she doesn't, it's okay. We can deal with it. I know it fucking sucks, Freddie, but she'll be fine. She always is."

They must have had a hundred conversations about you by now. Not always serious, and never in anything but a loving light. George thinks back to your time at school together when conversations about you had been often, and then your time at school without them, where Fred had talked about you more than anything else. 

"Are you okay?" 

Fred bites his lip. "Or course I am." 

"It's a lot to worry about." 

"This is really awkward." 

"Since when? We talk about everything." 

"Not my feelings." 

"Shut up," George says, standing up to ruffle Fred's awfully long hair. "Seriously. I would do anything for Y/N, but I would do double for you. You have to tell me if you can't handle it." 

That pisses Fred off to no end. He's defensive instantly. "She's not something to be handled." 

George glares at him. "Did I say her? It. If you can't handle it." He hadn't meant you. You're not a problem to be handled. You're a person, and the things that hurt you tend to hurt his brother too. George just wants to support him, and you, through the worst of it when he's needed. 

Fred stands up to join him at the sink. "Why did you put a biscuit in my tea?" he mutters crossly. 

"Hardly the worst I could've done." 

"Pathetic excuse for a prank. We need to get back into practice." 

"It wasn't a prank, Fred," George says, chuckling. "I thought you were going to eat it." 

"I didn't notice you put it in to eat it." 

George shrugs. "Shows how perceptive you are. Ghost is fine. You're fine?" When Fred nods, he continues, "You're fine. I'm great, I'm moving out." 

Fred takes a long time to catch on. "You're what?" 

-

You sleep in on Monday and have a heart attack when you wake. 

It's already nine in the morning. You should've been at the shop hours ago, and Fred's gonna have to open by himself because George- 

George is at Angelina's, because it's a national holiday.

You relax and drop back into the sheets. Your bed has never been as comfortable as Fred's, though maybe that's the lack of him rather than any mattress differences. You turn onto your side and smile at the picture of him on your nightstand. He moves, a darling smile stretching over his face and his hand twitching out toward you. He looks about as in love with you as you are with him. 

You kiss your fingertip and press it to his face.  

You miss him. It's only been two days. It feels like two weeks. 

Lately, you've been rejecting Fred's advances. Kisses end at kisses, cuddles stay cuddles. He hasn't said anything about it and neither have you. It's hard to explain. You've felt very heavy on the inside, and so you feel disgusting on the outside. Your sense of self is precarious at best and troublesome at worst: it can't withstand how you feel.

But. You love him. He's very handsome, and he's very nice in bed. 

You miss being close to him like that. 

With a plan, you shower and scrub down every inch of your body, cover yourself in nice smelling moisturisers and oils until your skin is soft to touch, and dab some concealer over the slight bags under your eyes and the worst of your scars.

You know Fred looks at them, sometimes. 

You wear a sweet blue dress that you know he likes and pull on a thick pair of wool tights, and then you apparate into the flat. 

There's no point bothering with shoes. You won't need them. 

"Freddie?" you say. 

Nothing. There's no washing machine whirring, no TV humming sound. Not even the faint gurgling of the boiler. The flat is appropriately cold. 

You stop at the thermostat on the way to his bedroom and turn it all the way up. Your feet slide over the chilled slats of the wooden floor and you almost slip outside of his room, giggling to yourself as you push open his bedroom door. 

He's asleep on his stomach. 

Selfishly, you'd like to wake him up. You crave his compliments, his affection worse, but he looks really lovely like this. You do as you'd done what feels like a hundred years ago now and climb over his hips, cautious not to rouse him, and settle in the space between his sleeping body and the wall on knees. 

You drop your hand onto his back. The quilt has fallen to below his shoulders. He's shirtless, the pale stretch of his upper back adorned in dark freckles and fine blonde hairs. 

He's warm. You steal as much of his warmth as you can, leaning down to kiss his freckles, the scarcest brush of your lips across his shoulders, and stroke the hair away from his neck as you do. You follow a path up and around to just under his ear. 

He comes to life like a flower blooming at day break. His limbs loosen and stretch outward. You massage his shoulder where it rises under your hand. 

"Y/N?" he murmurs. 

"Yeah, it's me." 

Impossibly, this puts him further at ease. 

You rub your nose against his neck. His breath catches and you laugh at the sound. "I missed you," you confess.

This garners his attention properly. 

He pushes himself up. "Baby," he says, blinking at you. "You look pretty." 

It's exactly what you'd wanted him to say and you'd been hoping he'd say it, but his praise still shocks you into silence. He says it so genuinely. 

You're about to thank him when he continues, "You're lovely. Look at you," he says. Even tired –  rough and croaky with sleep – his voice drips affection. 

You place your hands in your lap and bite back what's likely the most lovesick smile any girl has ever smiled. "Thank you." 

He leans over to take your hands. "You're beautiful. I promise I'm gonna kiss you like I mean it, just let me brush my teeth." 

You nod excitedly. 

He stands, wobbles, laughs at himself and carries on out of the bedroom and away to the bathroom.

You call after him, "What happened?"

"Got up too quickly. Sweetheart, it's not our anniversary, is it?" 

You laugh and lay down in the warm space he'd left behind. "What do you mean?" you ask, heartbroken. "You forgot?" 

"Funny." 

He laughs. You consider taking off your tights and then decide that's definitely too forward. There's no real signs that he actually wants to mess around just yet, and it is rather early. 

He appears suddenly and smelling of mint, face shining with dampness. "Yeah, that's exactly where I want you. Stay there." 

You stay. 

Fred shrugs into a new t-shirt (slightly disappointing, but you're sure you can persuade him out of it in time) and then makes his way to you, pressing his knee between your legs. He's less careful than he could be as he lowers his weight onto you completely.

You huff and giggle at the newfound pressure. 

He takes the time to get comfortable, legs between your legs. You're conscious of every contiguity you share as his elbow digs into the space between your upper arm and your chest and his hand drops to your face. He looks much more awake now, brown eyes wide and trained down on you, unflinching.

His hand falls to your cheek. He has really nice hands, sharp-boned knuckles and trimmed neat nails. The bottom of his palm and the tips of his fingers warm your skin. 

"I can't believe how pretty you are." He ducks down and kisses you. You aren't expecting it and you don't have time to respond as he pulls back and says, "I love you." 

Your chest feels fit to burst. "I love you too." 

"I know," he says, almost whispers. He takes another unsuspecting kiss. "But I love you more." 

"Stop moving when I try to kiss back," you complain. 

He steals another kiss to spite you. 

You look up at him and he looks down at you. His fingers ghost down the side of your face lightly.

"I love you more," you argue quietly. 

"That could never be true." 

"You wouldn't think so." 

He marks a line of three quick kisses from the corner of your mouth to the space under your jaw where he stays, arms needling under your neck in a sudden, sweet hug.

He drops his face beside yours and holds you. 

"I missed you. Was everything okay?" 

"Yeah. It was fine. We just watched movies and stuff." 

He hums. "Did you have a good time?" 

"I missed you, but I did." 

"And you're feeling good today?" 

You don't want him to worry that much about you. "Yeah. Feeling great, handsome. Just missed you." You turn your face to his. "Missed you," you murmur. 

You breathe one another in for a stretch of time, eyes shuttered closed. 

"I'm gonna fall asleep on you, you're so comfortable," Fred says. 

You tighten your arms where you've wrapped them around his waist. "That's okay." 

Another gap of loving quietude. 

"Ghost, can I ask you something?" 

Your heart stutters. "Yeah, ask me anything." 

He nods and his nose whispers against your cheek. 

The distinct smell of toothpaste lingers between you. You open your eyes and find it, the tiniest hint of white at the corner of his mouth. It's a struggle but you manage to pull your arm between your two bodies and wipe it away. 

"Toothpaste," you explain. 

"Thank you… Baby, are you happy?" 

"Of course I'm happy. You're the best thing that ever happened to me." 

His smile squints his eyes. "But are you happy? Are you having a bad time again?" 

"No, Fred, I'm-" 

"It's okay if you are. It's okay. I just need to know. I need you to tell me." 

"I'm fine, baby," you say, pleading. You clear your throat. "I'm fine." 

He rolls his weight off of you. You worry he's annoyed, that he's seen straight through you and knows you're a liar. 

Fred doesn't look mad. There's only patience. 

"I want to know how you're feeling," he says, each word as careful and tedious as a string of silk. "Because I want to be with you while you're feeling it. I think about you being sad by yourself and it kills me. You know?" 

"Yeah, I do," you murmur. 

He casts his eyes away from the ceiling and back to your worried face. 

"I haven't been feeling very well," you admit. If it's this important to him to know, then you'll try to be as honest as you can be. 

You turn onto your side and he mirrors you, two halves of the same heart, a mess of rumpled sheets between you, and reach out to stroke down the length of his cheek. He doesn't seem surprised by your admission.

"I've wanted to hurt myself a lot lately," you continue. You can barely force the words out, your mouth suddenly dry as a cotton ball. 

"Why won't you tell me?" he asks. There's a real heartbreak there, laid underneath his dulcet, comforting tenor. "I don't want you to think about that by yourself." 

"If I was really going to do something, I would tell you. I swear, Freddie. But I'm not." You think about the kind of honesty he's asking you for. "I don't think I will," you add, uncertain. 

His eyes flit to your chest. He's not really looking at you so much as looking through you, thinking. 

He smooths down the skirt of your dress absent-mindedly. "I'd like to know if you're thinking about it." 

"Do you get why that would be hard for me?" 

Fred looks at you properly. 

"I feel like- like such an attention seeker as it is," you say with an edge of bitterness.

"You're not." 

"But that's what it does. It forces you to watch me, and look after me, and worry about me." 

"It doesn't, ghost. I've never been forced to do any of those things. I love you." He takes your hand with purpose. 

"I know. Do you know what I mean?" You're begging him internally to understand. 

Your whole life you've found ways to hurt yourself. Your whole life you've been looked down on for it. You hate that people think they know why you do it, that they could understand it from just one look, and that they think their attention of all things would make a difference. 

"You're not an attention seeker." A crease appears between his brows. 

"What if I am?" you ask, and hide your face in his pillow. What if you've gotten so good at rationalising it that you're lying to yourself? 

"I don't believe that for a second," Fred says. He tugs your body towards his, arms curling around you in a steadying hug.

He peppers kisses across your forehead and then dips his nose against the skin by your hairline, murmuring, "Ghost, why'd you have to punish yourself for everything? Even the things you haven't done? Hurting yourself– I don't understand it. I don't, and I'm not sure I will, but I understand you." He kisses your head again. "I would never hold it against you. I would never think it was for attention, and if it was I wouldn't care.

"I'm asking you to tell me because I want to hold your hand through it, that's all." 

"What if it's too much?" You're starting to feel a little bit numb. 

"It won't be. You've never been too much." 

You flatten your hand over his chest and breathe until your heart has stopped pounding. It takes a while. Fred hugs you all the way through it. 

"I came here trying to seduce you," you say finally, laughing in hopes to soften the serious mood. 

"It's insulting to me that you think I don't know that," Fred says, smirking. "I know your charms, lovely girl. Give me another kiss." 

You lift your chin, lips tickled by his hot breath. He kisses you slowly, so slowly, hand spreading over your shoulder and pulling you tighter against him. Your lips are burning by the time he encourages them apart. 

You sigh into him. Everything feels better, even if it isn't fixed. He's a surefire balm over all your aching. 

"Are you okay?" he asks gently. 

"I'll tell you," you say, too shy to look at him. If I'm feeling awful. 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." 

He tries to kiss you some more but the guilt fizzes and you dodge him, pressing your lips to his cupid's bow.

"I'm sorry." 

"Stop it," he says with a quiet fierceness. "I don't need that." 

He kisses you. You love to be kissed. You let him touch you and steady you, let the unyielding wave of his fondness for you wash over your worrying. Hurting yourself – and the want to hurt yourself – can take up a lot of your life, and it can feel all encompassing, but it isn't. 

It can be really, really small. The life you've made, and the person you share it with, has made it smaller. Made it a detail. Like a crop of freckles, like a smattering of heavy-handed but undoubtedly healed scars across your outer thigh. They're there forever, but they're hardly the most important thing about you. 

It hits you like a freight train. 

You push Fred back very gently and sit over him. It's probably not your best angle but you don't care, taking his face into both of your hands. His cheeks are warm to the touch. His brown edging of lashes flutter as his eyes flick between your mouth and your own eyes, indecisive, curious. 

"I wish I could tell you," you say, thumbs brushing under the soft semi-circles of his under eye, "how I felt about you." 

He smiles in confusion. "Sweetheart, you tell me all the time." 

"'I love you' doesn't really cover it." 

He brings his own hands up to cradle your face. You laugh at him and squeeze his cheeks, the mess of your arms tangled and too close as he pulls you down, down. 

"I get it. Sometimes I look at you and I can't speak." 

"You've mentioned that," you say. You're trying for casual and sounding much too happy, not nearly as wry as you'd wanted. 

"It happens all the time." 

You want to pinch him and crawl away from him, scold him for teasing you, but you have the horrifying feeling that he's being honest, and if he is you're literally gonna have to kiss him until you die. 

"Fred," you whisper. 

He laughs softly and pulls you closer still. "I'm not kidding. I try to talk to you but I can't. It was worse when we were younger," he confides. 

"Really?" 

"I was hopeless. It was awful." 

"I couldn't really talk," you say. 

He stares at you open-mouthed and then bursts into laughter. "That's not funny," he says urgently.

You worm your hands behind his ears. "You're laughing." 

"You surprised me." 

"I mean, it was a little funny. I just never spoke-" 

"I'm glad you want to joke about it, but really, it's not funny," he says lightly, still laughing, "it was- well." Fred encourages your face to the side so he can kiss your cheek. "You've heard it all before. I love you. When you don't want to talk and when you do." He pouts at you. "Especially when you do," he adds, like it's a secret.

"Wait a minute. You've hijacked me." 

"Have I?" 

"Yes, you have! I was trying to love on you, and you-" 

"Love on me-" 

"-steamrolled over me, Fred." 

"Oh no." 

"Fred." 

"Alright, sorry," he says, dropping his head flat into the pillows and his hands to his chest. "Tell me how great I am." 

"You're amazing," you say earnestly, brushing all the hair back from his face. "So sweet and… so kind. Handsome." 

He laughs infectiously, the sound all sticky and low like he's been eating honey by the spoonful. 

"'Nd you're funny, sometimes," you add.

He curls his hands around your hip before abandoning that pursuit and pressing his hand flush into your abdomen and then upward. He stops a few inches from your chest and rubs a small, soothing back and forth. 

"People say that about me," he agrees. His delivery is lackluster, any bravado lost to what sounds like distraction. He looks up. "You're okay." 

"Yeah, I'm okay." 

Fred goes quiet. His eyes track over your face and you can't find it in you to break the silence. You think he might be having a moment, and it makes you wonder about all the stuff he thinks about when you're too busy in your own head. 

-

Although Fred has missed sex with you, you don't end up messing around. The opposite, your much-needed heart to heart has left the both of you similarly weak-limbed, and for hours you don't do anything but lie down together and talk. Most of the serious stuff out of the way, Fred picks your brain for the little things he's missed. 

You've been sad lately, you haven't talked as often, and though he'd never ever tell you, he has ached for the sound of your voice. To hear you mumbling about the shape of his nose, incensed over the rising price of milk, or even giggling giddily over his hands tickling the length of your arm, these are all things he would give anything for. 

You do remember eventually what you'd set out to do, and you say, "I really was trying to seduce you. I'm sorry we haven't, you know. Sorry I've-" 

"Hey," he says, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter."  

"I've missed it," you say, and then cover your face. "Oh."

"Have you?" he asks smugly, leaning down to rub his nose against the naked slip of skin below your ear. 

You move your hands and grin at him. "Freddie." 

It's imbued with a lot of meaning. He understands what you're saying. Not to be full of himself, but it's evident how much you like sleeping with him, he's not stupid. He likes it in equal amounts. 

"It's not because I don't want you, I just don't feel pretty," you say, and then wince. 

"You don't?" Fred doesn't give you time to answer. "How could you not think you're pretty? You're the prettiest girl on the planet. " His light-hearted tone hides his worry. 

Thankfully, you're in good spirits today and your mood doesn't drop. 

"I don't know. I think it's just how I've been feeling. 'Low moods affect your sex-drive,'" you quote, smiling sheepishly.

He laughs abruptly enough to startle you, thinking of what he'd said to George, those exact words. He loves you so much maybe your brains have started to merge. 

"Here I was worried you'd gone off me," he says. 

"What?" you ask shortly. "No! I just- it's only-" 

"You don't have to explain," he says, kissing your shoulder. "It really doesn't matter. I know you know how much I like it-" the effort it takes not to blush here is incredible, "but I'd also hope you know that it's never going to matter to me as much as how you're feeling does. Never." 

You groan and hide your face in the curve of his neck. Your answer vibrates against his skin, "Stop it. I don't want to have serious talks anymore. I feel like I'm on fire." 

"You are pretty hot," he says agreeably. 

"You're hotter." 

Then, in the straw that breaks the camel's back, you lick the tip of your finger, press it to his chest and make a hiss like boiling water.

"Oh my god," he says, hand cupping the back of your head. "Oh my god. I love you. I love you more than anything. Stop hiding, we need to kiss now." 

"I can't kiss you, you'll burn me."

"If it were the other way around, I'd kiss you. Just saying." 

"Hm," you hum sarcastically. 

He wraps his arm around you and pats your back. "We could never fuck again and it wouldn't matter," he continues his earlier point. 

"Enough," you groan. "Please, Fred." 

"I just want to make sure you know." 

"Consider it known." 

"Consider it known," he grumbles to himself. "Consider this known, doll, I'm gonna force you into serious, uncomfortable, excruciating talks about our feelings for the rest of our lives." 

He can feel your smile stretch over his neck. "The horror," you murmur. 

He thinks about asking you to move in. Fred had known as soon as George said he was moving out that he wanted to ask you to move in with him. It would be the next chapter of your lives. 

You say something too quiet to hear to hear into his skin. Fred would bet every bit of wealth he has that he knows what you said. He decides the conversation can wait for another day. 

He has some words of his own he wants to press into your skin. 

He mouths the first round against your forehead. "Love you too." 

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley x fem!reader #fem!reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x y/n

[just-horrible-things]

‘Verse: Box Boy Universe Story: A Girl Called Spider Timeline: Spider has been free for a few years

Spice [ First | Prev | Next ]

Sam’s kitchen is always well stocked. The cupboards are full of rice and beans, lentils and pasta, dozens of spreads and sauces, flour and dried fruit and nuts, canned soups and tomatoes and more beans. 

The fridge is organised – pickles and jars at the top, then tofus and tubs like margarine and his homemade mushroom pâté. Tupperwares in the middle for easy access. Apples and potatoes and squash below that, then salad and delicate veg in the box at the bottom.

Most exciting of all, on the countertop sits a spice rack, overflowing with little glass jars full of herbs and spices in every possible shade of green and brown and autumnal orange. It spins and folds out to reveal yet more spices, which he calls a silly indulgence as he shows it off to Spider with a slightly embarrassed grin.

She sits on one of his slightly-alarmingly-unsteady kitchen chairs with her knees tucked up to her chest and her arms loosely looped around them – well aware that like this she looks innocently casual but her short shorts show off scandalous amounts of thigh and perhaps even a hint of panties – and watches with fascination as he hums over a soup pan, adding this spice and that according to some unwritten schema that she can only begin to guess at.

He only tastes it once, right at the end, to make sure it’s good before he serves it.

And it’s good, possibly the best thing Spider has ever tasted – or at least, that she remembers ever tasting.

“Why did you take me out to those expensive places,” she jokes, “when you make better food at home?”

Sam blushes. It’s cute. 

She’s never met anyone as harmless as Sam. She’s never felt safe in someone else’s space any of the times she’s let them take her home. But even here in his kitchen in his flat she can’t be afraid of Sam. The man shoos flies out of windows rather than let them dry up in the indoor air.

A week later he has her at the stove beside him, picking out herbs for a pasta bake. He flips each lid back and holds the jars out, and Spider takes deep sniffs of each, giggling at the indelicacy of it. 

She likes tarragon, and lemongrass. Sam puts both in in generous helpings, then picks out half a dozen others to “complement” them. 

When Spider asks how he decides he says “you just sniff them and imagine what would go well together.” “You didn’t sniff anything just now,” she points out. “I’ve been cooking since I was a little kid. Eventually I guess you just know what works.” “Well, I think you’re very talented.”

Later, weeks later, she stands in his kitchen on her own and contemplates the spice rack.

It’s still crazy to her that he doesn’t mind her just exploring his flat, unsupervised. She could take half the things he owns and she isn’t sure if he’d notice, let alone blame her.

And she has thought about it. Sam’s not rich, but he’s better off than most of the people Spider spends time with. Certainly better off than Spider, who on an average week has approximately nothing to her name. 

If she took his electronics, and the watch his dad gave him that he doesn’t usually wear because it’s “too fancy” for him, and maybe the nicest clothes out of his closet, Walker would take them off her hands for enough to keep Spider going for months. 

And that’s not counting the cash under Sam’s mattress, or however much she might be able to get off his card before he cancelled…

But if she did that, she’d lose a safe place to sleep. She’d lose access to the best food in town, and Sam’s service as a chauffeur, and all the other gifts and favours she gets in exchange for her charming company and her skills between the sheets.

Sam’s a good thing in her life. She’s not ready to cut and run.

She picks up a spice jar at random, flicks the lid back, and smells it. Cumin. It smells a little like Indian food.

A herb. Coriander. Sam cooks with this often. He put it in the pasta bake with the tarragon and the lemongrass.

Another herb. Bright orange turmeric. Indian again. The first time she had Indian food with Avon it brought up aberrant memories, but she couldn’t catch them before they slipped away. He decided that Indian food was her favourite because she begged to get it again and again hoping to set off the same memories, but it never worked.

Lemongrass, the one she liked. It really is quite a lot like lemon. She distracts herself for a minute searching the kitchen to see if Sam has any real lemons so that she can compare the two, but she can’t find any.

Dill. She’s ambivalent. It’s not as strong a smell as some of the others, but she isn’t sure if that’s the nature of the herb or just because there’s less left in the jar.

Cardamom is not a powder, but a whole load of little greenish pods. Spider inhales the scent, and the headache hits her like a truck.

She knows better than to double over with it. But she’s glad Sam’s asleep because she can’t fully hide it. Her face twitches against her will, her breath catches, and her mouth opens a little with the last vestiges of the primitive instinct to make noise about it. They didn’t quite train that out of her. She is still an animal, under everything else.

She sinks to the tiles and takes deep breaths, trying to force all the little muscles of her face and scalp to relax. She imagines Handler Rayce’s warm, rough hands smoothing the pain away from her temples, his voice telling her to be a good girl and let it go.

She doesn’t let it go. She closes her eyes against the pain, and takes another deep sniff of the cardamom. 

It smells like… chai. Like warmth, like tea in the morning. A dozen memories float just out of reach, like words on the tip of the tongue. She wants chai suddenly, wants it so badly it aches in her chest. She wants someone to make it for her and put it into her hands and she almost, almost knows who that someone should be but – but she doesn’t. She doesn’t know.

She sits there on the floor, huddled against the cabinets with the cardamom under her nose and breathes the headache in like a drug. Time doesn’t pass, like it never used to pass in training when the pain was so bad there was only one moment and that moment was hell.

Her skin is cold with sweat and prickly all over. Cold like the white rooms. The bright white light finds her even behind her eyelids, but she pushes it away. She wants to remember hot tea and the smell of spices and – and something about mornings –

She’s not sure if the headache eventually starts to ebb, or if she just adjusts to it. She used to be used to pain. 

She doesn’t remember what the clock read when she sat down on the cold tiles, but she knows time has passed because her nose has adjusted to the cardamom and she barely smells it any more.

She wants chai.

She can’t hold onto anything else from the aberrant memories, but she knows she wants chai.

Moving slowly so as not to jolt her throbbing head, she gets up. She puts the kettle on. 

Cardamom goes into the pot. She rips tea bags open for their leaves. Cardamom and ginger, and… cinnamon, and a little nutmeg, and… cloves, and star anise, and black pepper. He has no malai or condensed milk or even regular milk, but maybe almond milk will be okay. Better than just water.

There’s a tune somewhere in the back of her head as she stirs, but she can’t remember enough of it to hum it. Just a vague sense of the mood of it, and the stabbing, throbbing pain behind her eyes.

“Casey?” Sam is bleary-eyed in the doorway, still wearing his stupid striped pajamas. “I’m making chai,” Spider says, extra careful to keep her tone light and airy. “It’s 4AM,” says Sam. “So?”

He pulls up a chair.

“... Is there enough for me?” Spider looks down at the pan. She’s made enough for… several people, actually. “Yes,” she says. “Mm. That’s nice.”

He’s quiet while she turns off the gas and ladles the tea into mugs. But she moves too fast and makes herself wince, and Sam notices despite seeming barely aware of anything else around him.

“Are you okay, babe?” “Just a headache.” Her heart pounds, but it doesn’t mean anything. Normal people get headaches too.

Sam stands up, and he’s clumsy and his chair makes an alarming cracking creak. Both wince. “Have you taken anything for it?” he asks. “Hm?” “Painkillers.” “No.” Sweat prickles across the back of her neck. Should she have? Would that be the normal thing to do? But Sam just nods. “I don’t know why it’s so hard to remember painkillers when you have a headache,” he says. “I’ll get you some.”

By the time he gets back with the white tablets, Spider has the mugs on the table. Her hands wrap around hers, soaking up the heat to drive back the chill of the memories from training.

“Here you go.”

From anyone else, she’d think twice about swallowing mystery tablets. From Sam, they’re definitely what he says they are. He’s far too straight-laced for anything else.

“Mmm!” he exclaims as he takes his first sip. “This is really good.” He’s definitely had chai before. He’s playing it up for her sake, but that’s kinda cute too. “Chai masala,” she says. “Just like my mum used to make. Except the almond milk. We didn’t use almond milk.” “It’s delicious.”

Just like my mum used to make. 

Those words will haunt her for months. Did she make that up, like she makes up everything else about her past? Or did she remember it, before the memories slipped away? 

She doesn’t know. There’s no way to know.

[Next]

#my writing #bbu #a girl called spider #654261: spider #not that kind of spice

[kinetic-elaboration]

March 3: Bellarke, Adoration

Bellamy/Clarke, from the same verse as Make a Lot of Money and Feel Dead Inside

For the prompt "adoration" from my July Break Bingo 2023 bingo card

~1360 words, written in about 40 minutes

*

In the early pre-dawn hours, Clarke stalks through Bellamy's apartment, stealing her fingers across his possessions like a burglar. This is how she will come to learn him again. The small, square rooms are shadowed in soft grays, only the hints of sunbeams filtering through the curtains, dust motes in the widest and strongest of them. The fake-wood floors are smooth and cool beneath her bare feet. She examines the cracks in the spine of the paperback on his coffee table, something science fiction from a library book sale, the call number crossed out on the bottom; she smells the coffee mug left sitting next to it, completely empty, stained on the inside from repeated use. She looks for dust on the flat, shiny leaves of the only plant. She picks up the sweater lying over the back of the sofa, scrunches up the heavy, cabled fabric in her hands, presses it against her face and holds it there.

In the silence all around her, she can hear the tiniest disruptive sounds. The traffic on the street below. The sound of a door closing somewhere in the hall, the click of a lock. If she listens hard enough and holds her breath, she can hear her own heart beating at all of her pulse points. Last night, he kissed them one by one. Her wrists, her neck. He counted each of her ribs. She'd come back to him for this alone, because no one else has ever been so thorough and so patient with her. No one else has ever catalogued every detail of her like Bellamy has, like he's memorizing her, like he's obsessed with her.

She slips on quiet feet into the kitchen. The tile makes her shiver. She's in one of Bellamy's t-shirts and her own underwear from last night that she picked up off the floor, and goosebumps pinch and form down the bare skin of her arms like small pebbles. In the drawer, she counts the knives and the forks and the spoons. Extra plasticware from take-out arranged neatly to the side. Only two mugs and a plate and a fork in the sink, a few more dishes left out drying on the rack. He's become neat. Not that he was ever the worst—but she remembers sneaking into his room in eighth grade, finding piles of laundry on the dull brown carpet and a tower of CDs leaning so precariously, she'd thought she might breathe wrong and send them toppling. A notebook sitting on his desk that might have been math homework or a diary. She'd imagined it was the latter, and if she'd had another moment in the room, she would have opened it. By the time she graduated high school, he was letting her read all his stuff. Those were the days they'd had no secrets from each other.

She leans back against his refrigerator. She's already counted every item inside it. She's imagined him eating strawberries and leftover fried rice and putting creamer in his coffee and she's tried to taste those same tastes on her tongue—what if she could become him? Last night at dinner he'd been quiet and polite, steady like it was a first date and she was someone he wanted to impress. His hair was cut short so, if she didn't know him so well, she wouldn't know that it curled when it grew. He talked about going back to school, asked her questions about the things she'd already told him in their emails back and forth, said on three separate occasions how good it was to see her again. I missed you, I missed you, I missed you.

So polite and formal. The soap in his shower smells like pine, his hand soap like nothing at all. His toothbrush looks new, the bristles on it stiff and barely faded. In his medicine cabinet, ibuprofen and floss. He's responsible. Last night he asked her if she wanted to spend the night before he made any assumptions at all. In high school, he had her hand up her shirt the very first time they kissed.

She'd had a crush on him since the sixth grade. Since she was eleven years old, and he was thirteen. Octavia knew—Clarke told her or she'd guessed, doesn't matter anymore which—maybe it was so obvious that only Bellamy himself could never have figured it out. That was one of the periods where he hung out with them less. Octavia said he was dating a girl in his grade and that had seemed somehow inevitable and impossible both. Bellamy, with a life outside of their friendship; Bellamy falling for someone who wasn't her, when he was supposed to fall for her and be forever with her.

The summer after graduation, he'd driven them all the way out to the next town over, like they were running away, rented a hotel room and told her, You're going to find someone so much better than me. Sounded angry when he said it. He'd been angry often then. Not picking fights but letting her pick them, while he moped around feeling so sorry for himself, and always on a hair trigger—jumpy when she touched him. She asked him if he wanted his jacket back and he said not a fucking chance. He said you're going to be better than all of us and then that he didn't want to talk anymore and then he spent what must have been an hour with his head between her legs.

That's how she remembers it now. Jump cuts and haze and how terrified she had been.

Now he's so upstanding. She's a burnout. And she can't tell him for the same reason he didn't tell her about all of his ancillary jobs back then, cause he had some sort of idea that there existed anything in the world she'd judge him for. Maybe the secrets are where the anger was coming from. By her own logic, she should tell him everything. But he looks at her like she's a goddess.

She catalogues the books on his shelf, the neat stack of notebooks on the bottom one, the photographs in rectangular brown frames on his desk.

If she takes in enough details she'll know him again, she'll know him, she'll take in everything there is to know and she'll have him and he'll always be hers—she'll own him as in blackmail and as in possession and as in true love. What can she do to prove it? Where can she worship? What could she destroy so that he understands her true devotion?

The thoughts, in their circular patterns, drive her mad.

In the small, square bedroom, with its single window and its bed right in the center, and their clothes still scattered on the floor, she pauses for a moment, feeling the way her breath hitches in her throat. Bellamy is sleeping on his back, one of his arms flailed across the mattress, one of his legs bent at the knee. She wets her lips. She stalks closer on her bare feet.

She climbs up over the foot of the bed.

She climbs over him and hovers above his chest.

His freckles are just the same. The ridge of his eyebrows, the shape of his nose and mouth. The delicacy of his eyelids, closed in sleep. No one else has ever understood him like this, and no one else ever could, all the way down to the worst of him—not like her, because she was there. And even if someone could, or if he wanted to trade understanding for calm placidity, for ease—even then, no one else could ever adore him like this. She adores him. She is bound to worship and adoration. She loves all the parts of him he fears and abhors in himself—and she believes of him what he once said of her: you'll be the best of all of us. He already is.

He'd never believe her. Those are the best kept secrets: the ones that would never be believed.

She leans down and kisses the soft spaces beneath his eyes, and waits for him to stir.

#the 100 #bellarke #bellarke fanfiction #bellamy blake #clarke griffin #mine #my writing #the year 2024 #2024: free write #july break bingo #make a lot of money #i'm not completely sure i got what i wanted to from this... like the use of the prompt..but i also dont care #writing's not going well rn so this is what i've got

[tunastime]

Cream of Turkey and Wild Rice, by VintageBeef

this is a gift for our lovely 🍂 anon, of whom i learned was their birthday today! i learned this yesterday. from laurie. thanks laurie. anyway—i hope you enjoy!

(1886 words)

(read it on ao3!)

Etho huffs out a warm breath and he can see it in the air in front of him. There’s a blanket of frost covering nearly every surface of the spruce forest he’s found himself in. The snow in the banks below is knee deep, and it covers the top half of the trees above him. Wedging the last of the brown mushrooms free from the coarse, gravely dirt below him, Etho stands. He brushes falling snow from his shoulders, pulls his hood a little further over his head. Luckily, his face is covered by a patchwork-colored scarf, tucked around his head and ears, a warm barrier between the cold and him. Bdubs insisted on it—it still smells like the pine tar soap he used to wash it.

Trekking out of the treeline, Etho makes his way back through the packed snow, careful not to punch his boots through anything loose. The bag on his hip is full of brown mushrooms and wild onion, the few bits of wild garlic he was able to find, chicken of the woods, bundles of pine straw for kindling. He marches back through the snow, reaching a ridge where he slides down, onto frost and dirt, rather than more snow. In the distance, over the patchy field and hills, he can see the monolith. The sun’s still 3/4ths of the way through the sky, with a bleak, white cast through the clouds.

The monolith is a warm shape against the horizon, despite it being stone. Maybe it’s the off-white shade of aged and weathered diorite, the flecks of other minerals intermixed. It fills his chest with something just as warm as the idea of stepping into the foyer of the house. He crests another hill and tries not to crush viola or primrose under his boots. The field along the edge of the birch forest usually hosts lily of the valley and tulip and daisy, but the snow’s all but snuffled them for now. In the spring, Bdubs’ll want to plant more. But for now, he points out the purple flowers every time he passes, and Etho stops to look.

Finally rounding the backside of the monolith, Etho stops at the threshold of the front door. He knocks the snow from the bottom of his boots, shakes it from the hood of his jacket, and pushes open the door.

He was right. The warmth floods him almost immediately, sinking into his bones.He unwinds his scarf, feeling the warm, dry air hit his face. No mask–the scarf had been enough as is. Plus it’s only Bdubs here, right now. He shrugs off his jacket, hanging it on the rack. His bag stays on the floor until he’s unlaced his boots enough to toe them off. As he does, he calls up to Bdubs.

“Bdubs?” he says.

“Etho?” Bdubs’ voice carries down the stairs. “I’m in the kitchen!”

“The kitchen?” Etho repeats. He cocks his head to the side, as if Bdubs can see it.

“Yeah!”

Etho snorts.

“Why?”

Bdubs sounds a bit defensive when he replies. Etho starts up the winding stairs, tracing the banister with his hand that isn’t supporting the bag.

“What’s it to you?” Bdubs says.

“What’cha makin’?” Etho asks as he pauses at a threshold. “Smells good.”

“Well come up and see!” Bdubs taunts. Etho rolls his eyes.

“Okay!” he calls up. Then, quieter, to himself, laughing a little. “Okay…”

He winds his way up the stairs, following the curve, until he meets the shrouded kitchen. He pushes past a particularly friendly vine and into the kitchen. Bdubs is standing at the stove, brow furrowed over a large pot on the burner. It smells fantastic. Onion. Chicken. Some other spice he can’t place. He sets his bag on the counter, rubbing his hands together to warm them.

“Hey, stranger,” he says. Bdubs turns. His face lights up all at once, softening as he sees Etho. Etho pretends like a pang of longing doesn’t stab through his chest. He laughs it away. Bdubs sets the spoon in the soup.

“Hey, you,” he says, smiling as he wanders over. Etho’s smiling, too, eyes crinkled at the corners.

“‘S cold out there,” he jokes. Bdubs snorts.

“Don’t I know it, sweetheart. C’mere—”

Etho draws himself closer to Bdubs. Bdubs’ hands come up to cradle his face, slotting around his jaw. Etho’s hand falls to Bdubs’ hip, the other gracing the back of his head. Etho leans down to kiss him. Just once, rather quickly. But he stays when they pull back and smiles at him and scrunches up his nose.

“Hiya, B.”

Bdubs laughs. He pulls away, patting Etho’s cheek.

“Hey,” he laughs, drifting back to the stove, but not without his hand around Etho’s wrist, pulling him with him.

“So,” Etho says, peering over his shoulder at the pot. He swears his stomach grumbles. “What’re you makin’?”

“Hm? Oh, it’s Beef’s recipe—” he gestures to an open cookbook next to the stove. The pages have all been handwritten, handbound by Etho and Bdubs themselves. Some of the older pages are starting to come unsewn, and they’re clipped in with pins and paperclips. Etho glances over.

“It’s not his pumpkin soup he stole from me, is it?” He reads it over, just a cursory glance. Carrots, onion, oil, celery–it’s not, not that he knows of, unless it’s changed that dramatically.

“No, no,” Bdubs shakes his head. “It’s chicken and manoomin.”

“Oh—” Etho blinks. He has a memory of sitting in a clear patch of snow, canvas tarp pulled taut next to a tree. Pause is sitting next to him by the fire. Beef is asleep under the tarp, burrowed in his bedroll. Pause is writing on the back of a scrap of paper, spoon in one hand. He waves it a little.

“What’s in it?” He asks. “Chicken, milk, that wild rice we found…”

Etho hums. “Broth.”

“Well duh, Etho—”

“Onion and parsley,” says Beef, voice heavy with sleep.

Etho snorts. He leans his head on Bdubs’ shoulder.

“I remember this one.”

Bdubs shrugs. Etho’s head moves with him. Bdubs turns his head and his nose bump’s Etho’s cheek. He laughs a little, especially when Etho leans into him and buries his face in his shoulder. His arms coil around his ribs. Bdubs leans back into him reflexively.

“I knew you would,” he says, patting Etho’s hands around his sternum. “That’s why I made it.”

Etho laughs against his shoulder.

“Ah, you caught me,” he says. Bdubs laughs, too.

“Get the kettle down before you get comfy, okay?” He gestures to the cabinet with his spoon. “I want a cup of hot chocolate ready before I go anywhere with you while the soup finishes.”

“With me?” Etho says, lifting his head. He unclasps his hands as Bdubs beckons him forward to try the soup. Let me know what it needs, it says. It’s good—more flavor than Beef ever put into it. He wonders if it’s sauteing the onion that helps? More salt and pepper than Beef would use? He hums, frowning.

“Yeah,” Bdubs says, not about the soup, but to answer Etho. “I always figure you have some idea in your head.”

Etho snorts. “It needs more parsley. It’s missing the base flavor.”

Bdubs nods, eyebrows raising. 

“Snowball fight?” Etho says, after a beat. He’s moved to fetch the kettle, filling it in the sink. He sets it on the stove-top and makes sure the burner isn’t on. He’ll put it on when they come back, himself triumphant, and Bdubs covered in snow.

“Of course you would–” Bdubs snorts. “Yeah, yeah, alright.”

Etho watches him untie his apron and set the ladle next to the soup. When he meets Etho’s eye, he grins, then shoos him off down the stairs. Etho bolts—he can’t help the excitement that’s just decided to chug through his veins. He skips a few steps, but he makes sure Bdubs is following him as he trails down. 

He’s halfway to putting his coat on when Bdubs finally gets down. Bdubs moves around him, pulling on his coat, lacing his boots. He steals Etho’s colored scarf, twisting it around his neck, before he finds another, and motions to Etho to lean down to wrap it. He tucks it around his nose and mouth. Effectively masked.

Etho smiles at him from under it. Bdubs takes his hand. And now he’s pulling them out the door and into the backyard of the Monolith, where the snow cover is a bit thicker. He leaves him for a moment to trail a few steps away, so that his vantage point is better. He’s making sure not to step on any flowers peeking through the snow when—smack.

Snow falls down his open collar. He yelps.

Bdubs is laughing.

“Bdubs!” he gasps in mock offense. Bdubs snorts.

“Gotcha!”

Etho gapes at him. Then he leans over, packs a snowball, and chucks it. It whizzes by Bdubs head. Damn it!

Bdubs yelps in glee.

He’s packing another one. So is Bdubs. Bdubs throws and misses him by a long-shot. Etho throws and just barely clips his shoulder. He sprints side to side, trying to get him to miss. Bdubs is giggling like nothing in the world could be better.

They keep missing. Nothing’s really colliding aside from the one Bdubs managed to smack into the back of his head. They keep ducking at the opportune time. Etho’s fingers are pink with cold, starting to stiffen as he rolls another snowball in his hands. He peers with his good eye, tongue caught between his teeth, aims, and throws. 

It hits Bdubs smack in the chest, enough to catch him off-guard at the least, before Etho dissolves into laughter. Bdubs falls over backward, dramatically, as the snowball hits him, falling into the half packed snow with an oof.

“Etho!” he drawls, his complaint full in his voice. Etho giggles. 

Bdubs pulls him down. He flails, swinging his arms and legs out before he collapses next to him, nearly face first into the snow bank. Bdubs cackles, swatting at him as Etho’s arm and leg pin him in place. He sounds like he can barely breathe. 

“Etho!”

“Bdubs!” Etho says, incredulous and out of breath. He’s laughing, too, unable to unstick himself from his wedged place next to him. Bdubs thwaps the back of his head.

“Ow!”

“That’s what you get,” Bdubs says, but his expression softens as Etho weasels his way up to kiss his cheek.

“Sorry, B,” he says, apology dripping with triumph.

Bdubs snorts. Then he kisses him, still covered in snow. His lips are cold.

He lies there for a moment, still pinning Bdubs into the snow, when Bdubs shivers, and Etho feels the snow in the back of his hood start to melt down his neck. Ick.

“Can we go eat soup, now?” he asks, mostly into Bdubs’ cheek.

“Only if you help me up,” Bdubs complains, whacking his shoulder. Etho giggles.

He does. And he helps him knock the snow off his shoes, and he helps stick paper into them so they dry, and he helps finish the soup (and definitely doesn’t taste it again), and he sits across from Bdubs at the table, his heart full to bursting.

There’s still snow in his hair. He decides he doesn’t care.

#ethubs #ethoslab #bdoubleo100 #hermitshipping #hermitcraft fic #hermitcraft #fics #text #mcyt #mcyt fic #its christmas ok #well its winter but still #i get to have dreams of winter < lives where it doesn't snow #i just think that soup and snowball fights have a very special place in my heart #bc i have done them just not in a long time #also if you guys want the soup recipe.. lmk.. #ANYWAY HAPPY BIRTHDAY LEAF #ILYSM!! #🍂 anon

[deliciously-vegan]

Ginger Turmeric Mochi Cookies

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2 tbsp egg replacer 1/3 cup coconut milk

2 1/2 cups mochiko flour (aka; sweet rice flour) 2 tsp ground ginger  1 tsp ground turmeric 2 1/2 tsp baking powder

1 cup salted vegan butter, softened 1 1/2 cup cane sugar 1 tsp pure vanilla extract

1 cup coconut flakes 1/2 cup toasted black sesame seeds

In a small bowl, whisk together the egg replacer and coconut milk. Set aside.

In a large glass mixing bowl, sift together the; mochiko flour, ginger, turmeric, and baking powder.

In a medium-sized mixing bowl cream together the vegan butter and cane sugar. Add the vanilla extract along with the “egg” mixture. Mix well.

Combine the wet ingredients with the dry ingredients. Fold in the coconut flakes and sesame seeds. Use hands to ensure everything is fully incorporated. Place batter in fridge for about 30 minutes.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Grease or line a large cookie sheet. Roll cold batter into walnut-sized balls. Place balls on prepared cookie sheet and press down gently with the back of a fork.

Bake in preheated oven for 12 minutes. Allow to cool on cookie sheet for several minutes before transferring to a cooling rack.

Store in air-tight container. (Freezes nicely.)

Yields; about 3 dozen cookies

#mochi cookies #turmeric ginger mochi cookies #cookies #vegan cookies #vegan mochi cookies #vegan turmeric ginger mochi cookies

[eipisims]

Selection Kitchen

This kitchen set consists of 56 objects, details under the cut:

Baking tray (decor)  - 1654 polys

Blender (decor) - 225 polys

Wall Cabinet (not modular) - 164 polys

Tall Cabinet (without glass doors) - 302 polys

Tall Cabinet (with glass doors) - 426 polys

Cloth Towel (decor, slots into wall rack) - 226 polys

Containers of ingredients (beans, rice, coffee, and flour) - 142 polys

Counters (modular, available in wood and marble or colors and marble combination) - around 150 polys each model

Counter islands (modular, available in wood and marble or colors and marble combination) - around 150-200 polys each model

Cutting board (decor, with slots) - 266 polys

Pair of standing cutting boards (decor)  - 330 polys

Dish drying rack (decor) - 4513 polys

Fruit peeler (decor, slots into wall rack) - 1084 polys

Frying pan (decor, stackable) - 1146 polys

Electric Kettle (three options: decor, teapot, and coffee maker) - 1395 polys

Measuring cups/spoons (decor, slots into wall rack) - 637 polys

Electric mixer (two options, decor, or cupcake maker, see notes) - 707 polys

Mortar and Pestle (decor) - 1500 polys

Mug (decor, slots into wall rack) - 738 polys

Mugs stacked (decor) - 1396 polys

Oranges bowl (decor) - 2688 polys

Countertop oven (requires DHD, EA's recolor) - 484 polys

Pizza cutter (decor, slots into wall rack) - 852 polys

Plate (decor, stackable) - 468 polys

Stacked Plates (decor, stackable) - 3334 polys

Cooking pot (decor, two options, open and closed lid) - 1142 polys

Potato masher (decor, slots into wall rack) - 1337

Rolling pin (decor)- 770 polys

Salt & Pepper shakers (decor) - 562 polys

Saucepan (decor) - 892 polys

Shelves (many slots, two options: wood and colors and marble) - 948 polys

Single shelf (many slots, two options: wood and colors and marble) - 490 polys

Slotted spoon (decor, slots into wall rack) - 945 polys

Spatula (decor, slots into wall rack) - 592 polys

Stacked bowls (decor) - 1666 polys

Stovetop (requires DHD) - 2400 polys

Toaster (decor) - 2828 polys

Tongs (decor, slots into wall rack) - 790 polys

Trash bin (functional, see notes) - 923 polys

Tupperware (decor, two options: open and closed stackable) - 1030 polys

Utensils cup (decor) - 1539 polys

Utensil wall rack (long, fits 7 utensils) - 302 polys

Utensil wall rack (short, fits 5 utensils) - 246 polys

Whisk (decor, slots into wall rack) - 1264 polys

Notes:

You can find these items in the catalogue by typing " selection"

Items are BGC, have all LOD, no occluders, etc.

Everything is BGC except for the oven and stovetop which require Dream Home Decorator. 

The functional mixer uses Ravasheen 's custom tuning which allows for an object to act as an anchor in order for the sim to start baking cupcakes. With this item you don't need the big EA's cupcake maker, jut click on the mixer and the cupcake options will appear. Please read RVSN's detailed explanation of how this works.

The cabinets are not modular, meaning they work as regular shelving units (one goes against the wall and the other on the floor). I recommend you using the alt key to place them well (or MOO cheat which is always recommended for decor purposes). Also if you have a light source coming from only one side of the room then half of the object will look darker. This is not something that I can change or know how, shadows in The Sims act strangely.

The trash bin is functional, but there's no BGC trash with an animation for opening the lid (and I don't know how to animate objects). Therefore, when throwing away the trash you can see it going through the lid. Personally I don't mind it and I really wanted to have a trashcan with a lid to cover the odors. When it's full/overflowing instead of pilling up trash on the top it appears all around it.

The wall rack will only be useful when used with the utensils made for it, and likewise. This is because I made the utensils fit perfectly onto each hook. I did this so you could pick and choose which objects to display, and also their individual swatches (and even size up/down each one). Here's a gif displaying it:

Thanks to:

@peacemaker-ic for the wood textures

@ravasheencc for her custom tuning

T.O.U:

You are free to do anything you want with these items, just don't put behind perma-paywalls, always give back to the community! Early access is OK.

Early Access now at my Patreon~

Public Release:  29/06/2022

@maxismatchccworld​ 

#CC #MYCC #cc creator #the sims cc #ccfinds #the sims #simmer #sims #TheSims #sims 4 #TS4 #ts4cc #ts4 cc #custom content #ts4 custom content #sims 4 custom content #s4customcontent #kitchen #eipisims