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dijayeah · 4 years ago

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Title: Private Thoughts

Description: She was always there, from the very beginning and every step of the way even as she became one of his closest advisors, but she wasn't just his advisor, no, to him she was so much more. She was his only problem, one that was buried deep within the privacy of his thoughts. A NaruSaku oneshot, that is a gift for peaches-jpg!

Warnings: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised! Word Count: ~ 4000 words (~15 mins of pure, shameless smut ͡ ° ͜ʖ ͡ –) AO3: read here

FF.NET: read here

Private Thoughts

She was always there, from the very beginning and every step of the way even as she became one of his closest advisors, but she wasn’t just his advisor, no, to him she was so much more.

She was his only problem, one that was buried deep within the privacy of his thoughts.

PRIVATE THOUGHTS

Inspired by: DSF - Private Thoughts (Love Mix)

I'll always, always think of you

Scrolls were messily splayed all over his wooden desk, piles of paperwork waiting to be approved and sent off in a few days’ time. The thought itself nearly made Naruto groan in irritation as his blue eyes skeptically inspected the contents of each document that reached his fingers.

The whole ordeal was tiresome and as Shikamaru would say troublesome to say the least.

His vision blurred, his face tired and weary as he tried his best to lessen the pile of documents on his desk, paper after paper went through his long fingers, and sometimes he found himself losing the count. Dull expression was etched into his normally cheerful and bright looking features, his brows knitted as he used one of his hands to rub the side of his face.

If someone would’ve told Naruto five or ten years ago that this is what it was like to be a Hokage he would’ve never believed it. But it was the truth and he got to experience it first-hand.

His reality nowadays was boring and repetitive, in peaceful times it seemed like his only duty as Hokage consisted of the endless paperwork that he was working on throughout the week.

Paperwork never came home with him and most of the time he stayed at the Hokage tower trying to pull an all-nighter just to finish his work before the deadlines and sometimes in hopes of forgetting her presence.

However, most of the times that wasn’t the case. Her presence was hard to ignore, making him realize he hasn’t learned anything in all those years that had passed between the two of them. It was his fault really; she was never the one to blame.

Just as she was never his to have.

He willingly gave her away to the man that broke her heart a handful t of times, and that was probably one thing Naruto would never forgive Sasuke. Naruto could forgive a lot of things, as he always tried to understand other people’s feelings and their reasoning when it came to their actions, even when it came to Sasuke himself.

But when it came to her, he couldn’t. He refused.

Sometimes he felt robbed. He felt robbed of the opportunity that he himself refused, but he knew that if he would’ve accepted that disingenuous confession back then she would’ve been the one to feel robbed.

So, he rejected her.

Sometimes he wondered if it would’ve worked out for him. Sometimes he wondered if they really could’ve been happy. Sometimes he wondered if back then, there was a at least drop of sincerity to her words.

He could’ve accepted her false confession, went along with it pretending not to see her true colors and feelings.

Maybe he could’ve been happy.

But for what Naruto knew it took two people in a relationship to feel happy, and maybe that’s why in the end he went with Hinata, because she was there to fill in that deep hole he had in his chest.

She was there when he was desperate. However, Naruto wasn’t happy and that was completely his own fault.

Sure, he had a loving family, kids that were making him proud every single day and a wife that was more than just kind and caring.

But every time he let his mind wander it always brought him back to her. At first, he thought Sakura was just a childhood crush, but it changed quickly as his feelings blossomed into something more, something stronger.

Maybe it was her ever changing attitude, her fiery temper or maybe the raw strength that gave her the power to crush mountains with her bare hands with barely any effort.

She was a thrilling woman and Sasuke was a lucky bastard, and for what Naruto could tell Sasuke did not deserve the green-eyed woman, not even one inch.

It also didn’t help that she was one of his closest advisors when it came to the political side of things. Whenever she wasn’t busy at the hospital, she would always make sure to come in, her sharp mind and dainty hands helping him here and there, pointing out his mistakes and lack of sleep.

Always so observant and oblivious at the same time.

What didn’t help even more was the way she would sit near his desk, brows furrowed, tongue brushing over her bottom lip in concentration, innocently, completely unaware of everything that went on around her, unaware of the hunger in his gaze.

It pissed him off, it really did, she was like a sour candy he couldn’t have, and even if he could, he probably couldn’t swallow it to its fullest potential.

After all beliefs like this did little to ease Naruto’s mind, as every time he closed his eyes, he had just one image, and that image consisted of flashes of hot pink and vivid green.

In his private thoughts she was his only problem, and that problem made his heart ache more than a feeling of strong sake burning his throat in a fiery path.

He swallowed the bitterness.

PRIVATE THOUGHTS

Inside of my private thoughts

Empty cups of coffee littered his desk, stains of dark liquid lingered on some of the scrolls he had lying around. His face was pressed against the desk, raw cheek against the cold, smooth surface of the table, ocean-blue eyes closed in an attempt to rest.

His break didn’t last long when he heard the door to his office open and he refused to spare his attention to whoever that came in to disturb him at this very moment. Soft steps reached his desk as they echoed throughout the half-empty space, but he refused to open his eyes. Whoever it was, couldn’t they just leave him alone for five fucking minutes?

He felt a warm hand on his shoulder, long fingers digging into his arm, nudging him softly as he opened his eyes almost unwillingly.

His eyes were unfocused, barely catching the blurry reflection of pink and green before him.

“Ah, Naruto-kun you should really consider sleeping more these days.” He heard a soft, albeit concerned voice and his vision cleared immediately. Excitement rushed into his veins as he observed the pink haired woman that stood casually, leaning against his desk.

“You always say the same thing Sakura-chan.” He said almost absent-mindedly a small smile crept onto his features.

“I’m just looking out for you.” She smiled; plump lips framed her small white teeth. Her rose hair fell around her shoulders with a small curl around the edges, cupping the sides of her face almost lovingly in an effortless manner.

“Thank you.” His smile widened unknowingly.

“Now, now don’t thank me before you…” Naruto looked at her, a curious look etched into his face. “See this!” She exclaimed whilst grinning, as she lifted a white paper bag that hung over her hand loosely.

“What’s that?” He asked, his curiosity peaked as he scratched his chin in thought.

“Naruto, you baka.” A deep sigh erupted directly from the depths of her chest. “I’m surprised you haven’t smelled it, yet.” She smiled somewhat awkwardly looking at the blond-haired Hokage.

“It’s Ichiraku’s, they had the slow-cooked pork ramen as their dish of the day.” She waved the paper bag in front of his face. “So, I bought it as a takeaway.” Sakura brought her face closer to his, a kind smile adorned her face, her big eyes crinkled slightly.

He fought a blush that was threatening to creep directly onto his features, his wild, ocean blue eyes darkened slightly as they fell onto her lips. He almost shook his head trying shake off the tempting image, his futile attempt at discarding it from his mind completely.

He wanted nothing more but to reach out for her face and press his lips against hers, roughly. He wanted to ravish the rose haired woman directly onto his office desk, consequences be damned.

But she was a respectable wife, his best friend’s wife and he was a married man with a reputation as Hokage.

So, he couldn’t, not now, not ever.

He swallowed closing his eyes for a second.

“Why are you here?” He asked instead, a hint of hostility to his tone.

“To help you, of course.” She rolled her eyes. “Hokage-sama.” She turned her back, placing the white paper bag onto his desk, her voice mocking and almost bratty.

“So, eat up before I take it away.” She scolded instead.

He sighed and nodded in return.

And so, she did the things that she came in for. She helped him like always, without any complaints, just a concentrated look on her face and bitten lips that looked savory and sweet at the same time.

He almost felt guilty thinking about her this way, but he couldn’t help himself, after all she will always be buried within the privacy of his own thoughts.

PRIVATE THOUGHTS

I can imagine you

“Lord Hokage.” The anbu guards kneeled in his office, moonlight fell over his silhouette through the large window that was part of his office space. He looked at the bright city, various lights and lanterns littered the horizon brightly, nearly blocking the starry sky.

“You don’t have to keep guard on me tonight.” He said, his gaze piercing and almost dark as he looked over his shoulder.

“I have important matters to deal with tonight and I don’t need you guarding me all night, you are relieved from your duties until five a.m sharp.” He said with a tone of finality, leaving no room to breach the topic further. He knew his own anbu wouldn’t question his decisions, after all he was the Hokage.

“Hai, Hokage-sama.” Said one of the captains from the elite force.

“Dismissed.” He said waving them off.

Once he felt their presence disappearing completely, he made the hand signs for the sound-proofing jutsu, his hand movements quick and precise.

“Finally.” He murmured in relief. “Now there’s only one problem I’m left to deal with.” He said to himself, his voice dark and heavy, a small smirk full of anticipation curled at the edge of his lips.

PRIVATE THOUGHTS

Touching my private parts With just the thought of you

He went through another, painfully familiar set of hand signs and concentrated, closing his eyes for a brief moment. A kage bunshin appeared.

Perhaps it was the alcohol or maybe even the fatigue of working endless days and nights at the Hokage tower trying to meet the deadlines, but he couldn’t help himself, his eyelids fell heavy with desire, desire for the woman he wanted the most.

He replayed the familiar scene that he encountered during the day, imagining the brightness of her eyes, the deep shade of pink that was her hair. The lithe curves on her body, that were covered by an annoying piece of fabric. A piece of fabric that had the Uchiha clan symbol etched onto it and he wished he could burn it away from existence using his own eyes.

A puff of smoke dissipated behind him and he felt soft hands snaking around his waist, soft, curvy body pressed flush against his back and he nearly groaned feeling her so close to him.

“Sakura…” He rasped darkly, feeling one of her hands slide down his crotch. “Mmm?” Her sultry voice reverberated directly through the entirety of his body, causing his breath to hitch, as a small tinge of heat pulsed and coiled at the very bottom of his stomach.

“Touch me.” He commanded his voice laced with darkness that conquered the night itself. “As you say, Hokage-sama.” She used his title mockingly and that only caused further flames within his body.

He burned with need, his eyes the color of aquamarine waters.

Her hand dipped under the waistband of his pants effortlessly as if she had done this countless of times already and he growled lowly when she cupped the increasing bulge that hid beneath his pants and boxers.

“So hard already, and I’ve barely touched you, Hokage-sama.” She mocked him again, her voice even lower as it ghosted past the tips of his ears.

“Fuck I-“ He hissed with a silent curse when her hand dipped under his boxers, her long fingers wrapped around his cock and she gave him a few, painfully long strokes.

“Do you want me to do anything else?” She asked coyly and he could feel her smiling behind him, her hand never stopped, the painfully slow rhythm always kept him aware of her movements.

“I want to fuck you.” He hissed flipping them over, the lower part of her back dipped into the edge of his desk roughly.

“Then do it.” She encouraged him, a sultry look in her eternally glowing, emerald eyes. “If you can, that is.” She teased him, the tip of her tongue brushing past her bottom lip distractively.

PRIVATE THOUGHTS

I can't help but touch myself That's why I want you so bad

“You are not going anywhere this time.” He growled aggressively against her neck, his short, blond hair tickling her exposed skin.

“Hmm.” She mused thoughtfully, feeling his teeth against her skin, her hand still stroking his length with an increasing speed. “Not afraid Hinata-chan is going to find out?” she smirked darkly feeling his teeth digging deeper into her skin, leaving a fresh set of marks. A small moan escaped from her bruised throat.

“No.” He rasped against her skin, his breath leaving goose-bumps all over. “However, you are going to find out what it’s like getting fucked by a Hokage.” He said with a finality as she hissed under his rough tone.

“Now shut up and let me fuck you, Haruno.” He refused to call her by her newly acquired surname, no, in fact he preferred the old one.

She gasped when he pressed her flat against the table, one of his hands grabbing her by the pink, short tresses as she looked into his blue midnight eyes, her own eyes full of surprise. Her hand lost the contact with his pulsing length and she nearly growled in irritation.

He pressed his lips roughly against hers, imagining and prolonging the scene that happened previously in his office today. Her mouth obediently molded against his, lips soft and plump as he grasped her tongue with his own.

It almost felt like a real thing. Almost.

He moved away for a second, admiring the image right in front of his eyes, she looked at him with lust-induced eyes, short, pink hair disheveled and messy against the smooth surface of his desk, her body splayed elegantly amongst the pile of urgent documents that he had no time to deal with.

Her form illuminated by the bright lights that shone through his ceiling high windows, reaching even the highest point of the city – Hokage tower. Her lips were wet and swollen as her chest was raising up and down erratically.

“Kami, you have no business looking like this.” He whispered into the night, his tone less dark. “Do you like tempting married men?” He asked, his voice, once again filled with blackness to the brim.

She moaned explicitly in response.

PRIVATE THOUGHTS

My love... Yeah Can't get my mind off you I think I might be obsessed The very thought of you Makes me wanna get undressed

Truth to be told Naruto was obsessed with the pink haired woman to the very point where he would sleep calmly near his wife at night, his dreams filled with naughty images of the former woman.

He would feel guilty at times, but his guilt quickly vanished away with the blue ocean tides when laid down onto his desk in her full glory, spread out and whimpering under his ministrations.

His hands worked quickly, discarding off the useless fabric that hung around her skin annoyingly. His hands cupped her exposed mounds, feeling the soft flesh beneath his fingertips, rosy nipples hard against his skin.

He squeezed almost roughly, and his cock jumped with anticipation at the sensation when she hissed in pleasure, teeth sinking into her bottom lip deliciously.

Her hand dipped into his golden hair, fingers digging into his scalp as she pressed him closer to her body almost desperately.

“Touch me!” she cried out pushing his face directly into her chest and almost sighed in relief when she felt a hot appendage curling around her rosy nipple. “Fuck, Sakura.” He grunted, his hot mouth twirling against the hard pebble of skin as he used his other hand to feel the curves of her body, exploring her almost carefully, even as his touch held a hint of possessiveness to it.

“I want you inside of me.” Her words dissipated into the darkness of the room as he yanked down her pants, pushing them away completely, his tongue never leaving her abused chest. “Kami, don’t say things like that so easily.” He warned her with a final growl as he discarded off the last piece of fabric on her body.

“Please...” Her breath caught into her throat as he tugged her legs closer to him, his own body now positioned in between her legs. He pulled the waistband of his pants and boxers all at once with one swift movement, revealing a hard, long and thick member that pulsed with continuous excitement.

His fingers touched her heat, playful, light touches up and down as she moaned again and again, writhing under his touches, her back arched, her head pushed back, lips forming an ‘o’ as her heels digged into his back almost painfully. He coaxed her to submit, his fingers pressing deeper against the most secret part of her places.

PRIVATE THOUGHTS

I wanna feel your heart and soul Inside of me Let's make a deal You roll, I lick And we can go flying into ecstasy

He didn’t wait for her to say anything else as he spread her legs out completely, ravishing the image in front of his eyes. The ocean blue eyes darkened significantly, a glimmer of want and lust shined through them almost transparently.

He grasped his cock with one hand, using the other one to pin her wrists at the end of the table, behind her head with an iron grip. She didn’t mind, only encouraging him with a growl of her own.

He positioned his length at her entrance and swiftly pushed in, a silent curse fell from his lips, feeling her twitch against his cock. She was wet, burning hot and tight, at least that’s how he imagined her to be.

He didn’t wait for her to adjust, afraid that he might lose his control of the clone that he so carefully crafted in the darkest depths of his mind. She was his only private pleasure, one that he wasn’t willing to give away or share.

He pushed in almost relentlessly, rapid rhythm he set for himself. There was almost a hint of desperation to his movements as his muscles spasmed against her in the moments of heat and desire.

He was already breathless as it was, but her body was igniting all sorts of flames within his body and his lungs felt like they were on fire.

He grabbed her by the buttocks, rough fingertips pressing into the plum flesh, letting him lose his hold over her dainty wrists.

She moaned and cried under him, the sounds a complete bliss to his ears as her hands pushed him closer to her. His face was buried into the crook of her abused neck, her short locks tickled the side of his marked cheek as he struggled to inhale and keep his control over the clone beneath him.

“Ah, fuck…” silent curses fell out of his mouth one after another as he rammed in continuously, her heat surging him to stay in longer, crawling and sucking him in. “Sakura…” he whispered into her ear as he bit her earlobe aggressively.

His bloodstream was filled with her, just as much as his office space was filled with her gasps and pleads to go faster. He was intoxicated by this forsaken woman that just refused to leave his mind.

His throat grew even more tight at the sensation that coiled at the tip of his length.

And he did.

The delirious sensation finally kicked in, the feeling full of ecstasy as his seed spilled into her and she gladly and greedily swallowed it with her body. His veins full of that chemical feeling one would call love.

“Fuck, don’t look at me like that.” He closed his eyes, almost refusing to see anymore of her. His lips fell over hers roughly, with passion, one last time before she dissipated completely just like most of his daydreams. He lost the control and she was his price.

His face was full of tenderness that he only dared to show in front of her, however his eyes were dull and empty, his exhaustion taking a toll on him completely.

It didn’t take too long for him to start feeling empty, because the Sakura he wanted existed only in the dark corners of his private thoughts. His mood sunk low, followed by a dull ache of longing.

He shook his head chasing the heavy thoughts away.

And maybe in a way it was bittersweet.

PRIVATE THOUGHTS

I wanna be with you In spite of what my heart says I guess I want you too bad

“Naruto-kun, are you alright?” He heard Hinata’s soft voice the following morning after he left his office space. His eyes tired, but his body was at ease.

“Yeah, why are you asking, Hinata-chan?” He answered her just as softly, his expression somewhere in between puzzled and exhausted.

“The anbu you sent off last night came by our house saying Hokage dismissed them, so they insisted to guard me and the kids instead.” A tinge of confusion was etched into her gentle features, she looked at him questioningly, pale, violet eyes narrowing.

“Ah, I sent them off since I had to meet up with Sasuke last night, he came back with the report.” Naruto said, scratching the back of his head almost uncomfortably, it was the best excuse he could come up with and it always worked. However, a look of uncertainty danced across his face just for a few moments, he was never a good liar.

A glint of suspicion flashed through the dark-haired woman’s eyes before she smiled at him, somewhat feeling more at ease.

“Oh, Sakura-chan must be really happy since Sasuke-kun is finally home for once!” She still held the kind smile she had on her face, looking at her husband form underneath due to their difference in height. Naruto nearly shivered at the mention of her name, the small pang of guilt he felt washing over him in a tide.

“Yeah, very.” His voice a mere whisper as the words came out from his lips. He smiled back, almost bitterly so, his mind tucking away the painful grudges, while he kept walking further down the corridor of their home.

He would always envy the raven-haired man who won her heart from the beginning, without any effort, without even trying.

Maybe that’s why Naruto had always loved Sakura, because even though his love would always remain one-sided, he could not help but fall in love with the rose haired woman over and over again.

She was one of a kind and Sasuke was a lucky bastard after all.

PRIVATE THOUGHTS

I'll always, always think of you

#naruto #naruto shippuden #naruto uzumaki #sakura haruno #sakura uchiha #narusaku #naruto fic #naruto fanfic #my writing

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thefirelordandtheambassador · 4 years ago

Text

close your eyes and i’ll close mine

Zutara Week 2020 Submission (“reunion”)

Rating: T for Teens

Length: 3,186 words @zutaraweek Cross-posted on AO3 under one work titled “all that i hoped would change within me stayed (god only knows which of them i'll become)” “Get off my shit, rabbit-squirrel-brains!” Toph hollers, and Katara whips around, away from the rapidly approaching horizon, away from the lure of the sea. She watches, non-plussed, as Toph dive-bombs a young soldier, who has tried to move some luggage to a more convenient spot on the boat. Ember Island, well, it doesn’t loom, but it approaches like a nervous servant--Katara will never get used to the servants that seem to appear like mist or ghosts, at the Earth Kingdom Palace, at General Iroh’s apartments in Ba Sing Se, at Toph’s parents’ house when she visited last year with her-- “for moral support and elbow-holding.”

“I’m sorry, miss! I just have to move things!” Katara bites at her lips, trying desperately to hide a snicker. Toph is wrestling him to the deck, clearly attempting to keep him away from her bag.

“I see you, mocking that poor boy,” jibes a soft, smoky voice to her side. She looks up--it’s Zuko.

“Not going play referee?” asks Sokka, following up behind him.

“Mmm, not today,” Katara muses, tossing her hair into the breeze. It is nice to be back on the ocean. She’s spent the last six months in a border town of the Si Wong Desert, negotiating with the sand-benders. Before that, she was in Ba Sing Se on official ambassadorial duties for the Southern Water Tribe for about a year, and then before that, she’d been providing aid for some of the rural interior Earth Kingdom towns for something like eighteen months. Most eighteen-year-olds she knows are either in school, or married with a kid on the way, but she’s single and doing the heavy diplomatic and charitable work of a woman twice her age.

“Oh, look, she’s going easy on him,” Zuko notes drily, as Toph shoves the poor kid into a door. “He’ll get off with just a concussion, instead of a broken arm like the last guy.”

The past few years have been good to Zuko--it’s been almost three years since she’s had a chance to visit. He’ll be twenty tomorrow, and he’s grown. Really grown. He’s easily over six feet tall, and his hair is so long now that what isn’t caught up in his topknot rolls over his shoulder. He has one of those formal shoulder pieces on that Katara desperately hopes will go out of style soon, but it doesn’t do much to the chest that has already grown broader and more muscular. And he was no lanky twig like Sokka during the war, either, she muses.

“Well, someone’s gotta get those boys in shape--she’s taken to teaching a little too well, in her old age,” Katara snarks back, smiling. Zuko smiles back, golden eyes softening. His face has thinned out too, cheekbones standing out elegantly, even under the scar. He looks real good.

“Well, at least you got out of being such a turbulent sixteen-year-old; can’t say I wasn’t beating people up at her age. So, uh, how are you and Aang, ah, doing these days?” There’s the awkward turtle-duck, out and about for a toddle around the pond.

Sokka barks a laugh, walks away, throws an arm around Toph.

She smiles ruefully, “You know, we’re taking a break. I think we both need it; we’re apart so often, you know? He’s flying here from the Western Air Temple and will meet us at the summer house. It’ll be good to see him again. It’s good to see all of you again, really. Ambassadorial life is pretty lonely.”

“Meanwhile, I feel like I can never get a moment alone these days. Always papers to sign, emissaries to greet, Fire Sages up my ass about everything. I’m glad you all could come to celebrate. I thought a little reunion would be nice. I’m just missing Uncle,” he says with a sigh. They turn, and lean against the railing.

“He misses you too--I stayed at his apartments in Ba Sing Se over the New Year. It was good to see a familiar face,” she says. The breeze whips around them, and Katara’s nose is overwhelmed with the smell of amber musk, something roast-y, and rich sandalwood. “Are...are you wearing cologne?!”

Zuko pinks.

“The Earth Kingdom ambassador got it for me for a birthday gift! She said it was indispensable for any young nobleman! Is it too much?” She softens. It is good to be back with friends--with him.

“No, no,” she says, and sticks her nose onto his sleeve, “I like it. It smells nice on you.” Underneath the cologne, she gets that warm man-smell. She misses that smell, from time to time, if she’s being honest with herself.

“Oh good. He said to go easy on it. Um, Katara?”

“Oh, sorry!” She’s lingered too long. But looking up into his eyes, they are still molten and soft. It’s her turn to pink, and she looks back to the sea. They are close to the docks. “I guess I’m just a little tired. I am so ready for this mini-vacation.”

“You deserve it. Uncle says you do the work of a woman twice your age.”

The beach house is just as she remembers it, but somehow, fuller, livelier. Zuko’s stocked it with paintings of the whole team, plants with bright summer blooms heavy with scent, curios from his travels. There’s only two servants, blessedly, a cook and a maid who greet them at the door.

“It looks nice in here! So bright and happy!” cheers Suki. “It was kinda sad when we stayed here last time.”

“Thanks. Uncle’s sent me enough tea and teapots to fill a whole bookshelf,” Zuko shrugs, “but I wanted it to be fun again, so Kiyi and Mom can come and enjoy themselves, you know? Get rid of the sad nostalgia, make room for new memories. Maybe we could have regular reunions here.”

“Heck yeah!” chimes Toph, hefting her bag. “I am so ready for some vacation time!” Things are dropped in rooms, and Katara is convinced to join the group at the beach, even though the things that sound the best right now are to sink into the fluffy white covers of the bed she’s been given and have a deep, sun-soaked nap, dreaming away the afternoon for the first time in years.

She pads out, yawning, in her swimsuit, and looks around, trying to remember where the towels were stored last time. She turns too quickly, and runs into something soft, clean, cottony-- a stack of towels?

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, Rina...” Katara stammers, but it’s not the maid. It’s Zuko, who is shirtless and ready for the beach. Her heart thumps a few times and her blood seems to rush a little faster in her veins, because his trunks sling low on his sharp hipbones, and thank Tui and La that she managed to that chest scar to fade to something more dashing. A trail of hair follows his bellybutton down into those trunks...and she’s just gonna stop that thought-canoe and turn it right back upriver.

“Oh, Rina’s packing us some rice balls for snacks, do you have any requests? I know you like pickled ocean kumquats...” He trails off too, sticking a hand behind his head sheepishly. His mane of hair is knotted messily on the back of his head.

“Any flavor is fine!” she squeaks. “Let’s go! I can’t wait for dip! It’s so lovely out today!”

“It is,” he agrees, and scoops up the towels, flinging them over his shoulder. His hand brushes hers lightly as they take the path down to the black sand beach.

Aang arrives just in time for dinner. Rina brings out a sumptuous feast of all their favorites: hippo-cow braised in soy sauce and ginger, rooster-pig spare ribs deep fried and dusted with lime zest and chilis ground to a fine powder, crispy garlic arctic whale-shrimp, a sweet and sour sprouted bean curd, and a miraculous leg of caribou that is roasted and covered in a pearly sauce that is delicately scented and made Sokka cry when it was set down in front of him.

“I tried to make sure we all got something we liked,” Zuko admits, seated comfortably at the head of the table. He’s placed Katara on his right, Toph on his left, and Katara doesn’t mind this. The maid has served what seems like a hundred side dishes, which keeps her plenty occupied, instead of having to make awkward eye contact with Aang. Katara picks up spicy fermented cucumber-melon, braised potatoes and peppers, sautéed pea shoots, and takes a little bit of all the main dishes. “And, my father left one gift: that quite amazing selection of wines and spirits.”

Katara and Suki have been enjoying the plum wine, and Sokka and Toph have turned drinking shots of soju into some kind of game, and are easily drinking Aang under the table already. She hasn’t enjoyed herself, been so relaxed and at ease, in a long time.

“Here, Katara, have you ever had these? They’re a specialty of Ember Island,” Zuko says softly. She turns to him, his chopsticks clutching some noodles like glass threads, mixed with tomato-carrots and green onions. She shakes her head no, and he offers her a bite, guiding the chopsticks to her mouth. They slip in, yummy, and she slurps the last few over her lips.

“Sorry, country manners,” she says, covering her face and blushing.

“No, no, it’s...it’s cute,” he says. “I don’t mind!” He thinks that’s cute? She decides to take it, and tries to shift the subject, to side-step Zuko turning into the awkward turtle-duck.

“What’s your favorite side dish? We’ve never gotten to eat such a nice meal together so close to each other!” In fact, the last time Katara was at a dinner with Zuko, it was a very formal affair, she was seated halfway down the table from him, between two lords and across from Aang, and it was a plated meal, with a different servant bringing her soup, her salad, her braised pork that was truthfully far too spicy, and she nearly cried when yet another servant brought her some pineapple-lime shaved ice to finish with.

“Hmm,” he murmurs, and his mouth bunches and pouts to one side, “This one.” He proffers long ribbons of carrot in sticky red sauce, sprinkled with sesame seeds. She slurps those off his chopsticks too.

“Ahh! So spicy! But good, really good!” She gulps some more plum wine, feeling warm all over. “Pick another you like.” She wants to know all his favorites tonight. Before dinner, he’d ditched his formal clothes, and has relaxed in a red silk shirt that leaves much of his chest open for her eyes to roam. Nice abs, she notes, for someone who claims to do paperwork all day long.

The wine is getting to her.

“Rina, don’t worry about us, please, head to bed. We’ll probably drink some more, talk, and definitely sleep in in the morning. Plenty of time for you and Lien to do dishes in the morning,” Zuko says to the maid, who is clearly yawning. She bows, murmurs a thank you, and heads off up the stairs. Katara loves how nice Zuko and Iroh are to their employees; the Earth King has several ministers who treat the servants like dirt. She’s brought it up to Kuei, but he only frowns and polishes his glasses.

“Alright! Now we can break out the good stuff!” Toph shouts, and punches the air. She is gone and back again in a flash.

“Good stuff? There’s so much good stuff here already!” Aang’s words come out a little soupy--he’s lost the soju drinking game. He takes a hearty spoonful of fruit tart. “This is so good, Zuko. I love fruit tarts!”

“I didn’t want to sailors to get ahold of this stuff; I confiscated it from one of my students. Ha!” Toph says, dropping back down on her cushion. She holds a long pipe in hand and pouch.

“So that’s why you were beating that poor guy up on the boat?” asks Sokka. Suki has migrated to mostly-in-Sokka’s-lap, but who is Katara to judge, because she is leaning full-body on Zuko--it’s certainly not the wine, she thinks, it’s the biceps for sure.

“Well, hell yeah, this stuff is wild!” crows Toph, dumping some clumps of dried green leaves on the table. She crumbles and stuffs, crumbles and stuff, and passes the pipe to Zuko. “Gimme a light, Master Sparky-pants? First puff is yours, host with the most!”

“What is it?” he asks, flicking two fingers and summoning a small flame. He lights the little leaves in the pipe bowl.

“Green dragon-weed!” Toph crows. “It’ll blow your mind!” Zuko tentatively puffs, coughs, and passes the pipe.

“That’s foul, Toph. Why?” Katara also passes, but Aang tries and Sokka tries, and Toph is clearly an expert, because she blows out perfect smoke rings.

Soon, they are a group of giggling kids again, lying on the floor, cackling at Sokka’s bad jokes as Suki regales stories of their stories, as she and Sokka work as prisoner escorts mostly these days. Aang and Toph keep passing that pipe back and forth, but Katara’s cup of plum wine never seems to empty, mostly because Zuko keeps giving her sips out of his--first a fiery ginger whiskey, next a herby, clear soju with lots of something citrusy squeezed in it, then a sweet melon liquor. He will nudge to offer, and every time, they make electric eye contact, and all the blood in her vein rushes down to the center of her hips.

“These are all really good,” she mumbles, feeling so relaxed and happy, warm against Zuko’s arm, full of food and drink, surrounded by friends.

“Good, I’m glad you’re having a good time,” he says lightly, nuzzling his nose to her ear. More of that, please, she thinks, his breath hot on her cheek, and she steals a look at the others. Sokka and Suki are halfway out the door to their room, Toph is half-asleep, and Aang lays on the floor, blowing smoke into creatures for Momo to chase after, mostly out of sight.

She turns, and steels herself. “Can I...?”

His eyebrow knits. “Whatever you like?” What a good host.

She cranes her neck a little, and sneaks a peck on his lips, firm and spicy. There’s a little jolt, like electricity, and he presses back, firm, maybe even a little desperate. He shifts angles, captures her more surely. She melts a little, but pulls back. Toph and Aang are still sprawled on the floor, blissfully unaware.

“Aang, I am just beat, aren’t you? Toph? I think we should all drink a glass of water and go to bed,” she says gently.

“Huh? Mmm, yeah, I am pooped!” Aang slurs, and tries to get up, loses his balance, slips. “Monkeyfeathers!”

Toph snores on. Zuko, who still has his bearings, swiftly helps Aang to his feet, and scoops Toph up in a cradle hold. Katara settles the completely toasted Avatar into bed, takes off his shoes and shirt, and forces a glass of water in him. She leaves another on the table, but he’s asleep before she slides the door shut.

“She is out cold!” Zuko says, sliding the door shut. The house is quiet, so quiet that Katara can hear her heart racing. He pads back over. The tie of his shirt has come undone over the course of the evening, and she decides to take yet another chance. She closes the gap between them in the hall, pressing her hand to his chest and reaching up for another kiss.

It’s almost like he knows, and his hands tangle in her hair before their lips meet again. She clutches at the sides of his shirt, thrilled to touch and feel and smell him. One of his hands drops from her hair, and his thumb traces deliciously down her neck, to cup her waist and pull her closer. She sighs as she relaxes into the touch of his lips, the tip of his tongue pushing experimentally. He breaks for a moment.

“C’mon, let’s...get more comfortable,” he rasps, and pulls her down the hall, sliding open the red paper door at the end of the hall. He flicks his hand, lighting many lamps softly, and the room glows a rich red. He pulls her to the bed, and she flops down. The bed cradles her, and she suddenly loses all desire to move.

“I want you to know that I want this, but I’m so tired, Zuko. Rain check?” she murmurs.

“I understand. Can I...can I help you get ready for bed?” he asks, almost shy. Her heart skips. She cranes her neck up, and presses her lips to his heatedly.

“Sure.”

He slips off the bed and shucks his silk shirt to a stool. Next, the gold sash and black trousers. She chuckles lightly, because the style of underwear Fire Nation men wear is so weird-looking, so tight-fitting and trim, but his is black and she’s not surprised by that.

He kneels, and pushes up the skirts of her summer dress. It’s light blue silk with a white surcoat so gossamer it might be made of cobwebs, a gift from the Earth King for her last birthday, and in this heat, she’s glad it’s sleeveless. His hot hands press into her thighs, and he leans in, takes a breath, trails kisses down her inner thighs, over her knees.

He tenderly unwraps the ties from her slippers--they lace up her legs with ribbons--and presses a kiss on her calf. Fingers trail down the back of her calves, over her heels as he tugs the slippers off, stashing them on the floor.

Shoes off, he unties the waistband of the surcoat, lays it on the stool. He takes issue with the buttons on the side of the dress, but gets them undone, and he tugs it over her head until it floats back to join the surcoat. He flips her over, gripping her hips, and pulls the tie of the petticoat, tugs that down too. Hot kisses feather up her spine, and she can’t help but let a noise that is half moan, half sigh.

“Feels so good, Zuko, but I am so ready for some sleep,” she drawls, eyes drooping.

Gently, he presses a heated kiss to her neck, and wow, Katara didn’t know she could sparkle internally. His hands trail to her waist and back up.

“Can I offer you a place to rest here?” he asks, a joke in his voice.

“Seems like just the right place to be,” she yawns. He pulls back the sheets, cool and crisp, and she settles in. He snuggles close to her, and she drifts off, hoping that every reunion can be like this.

#mine #zutara week 2020 #i love writing about food #sorry not sorry #i feel like every good couple 'takes a break' when necessary #so maybe canon-compliant?#reunion

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mewhenhorrormovies · 5 years ago

Text

You swine. You vulgar little maggot. You worthless bag of filth. As we

say in Texas, you couldn't pour water out of a boot with instructions

printed on the heel. You are a canker, an open wound. I would rather

kiss a lawyer than be seen with you. You took your last vacation in

the Islets of Langerhans.

You're a putrescent mass, a walking vomit. You are a spineless little

worm deserving nothing but the profoundest contempt. You are a jerk, a

cad, and a weasel. I take that back; you are a festering pustule on a

weasel's rump. Your life is a monument to stupidity. You are a stench,

a revulsion, a big suck on a sour lemon.

I will never get over the embarrassment of belonging to the same

species as you. You are a monster, an ogre, a malformity. I barf at

the very thought of you. You have all the appeal of a paper cut.

Lepers avoid you. You are vile, worthless, less than nothing. You are

a weed, a fungus, the dregs of this earth. You are a technicolor yawn.

And did I mention that you smell?

You are a squeaking rat, a mistake of nature and a heavy-metal bagpipe

player. You were not born. You were hatched into an unwilling world

that rejects the likes of you. You didn't crawl out of a normal egg,

either, but rather a mutant maggot egg rejected by an evil scientist

as being below his low standards. Your alleged parents abandoned you

at birth and then died of shame in recognition of what they had done

to an unsuspecting world. They were a bit late.

Try to edit your responses of unnecessary material before attempting

to impress us with your insight. The evidence that you are a

nincompoop will still be available to readers, but they will be able

to access it ever so much more rapidly. If cluelessness were crude

oil, your scalp would be crawling with caribou.

You are a thick-headed trog. I have seen skeet with more sense than

you have. You are a few bricks short of a full load, a few cards short

of a full deck, a few bytes short of a full core dump, and a few

chromosomes short of a full human. Worse than that, you top-post. God

created houseflies, cockroaches, maggots, mosquitos, fleas, ticks,

slugs, leeches, and intestinal parasites, then he lowered his

standards and made you. I take it back; God didn't make you. You are

Satan's spawn. You are Evil beyond comprehension, half-living in the

slough of despair. You are the entropy which will claim us all. You

are a green-nostriled, crossed eyed, hairy-livered inbred

trout-defiler. You make Ebola look good.

You are weary, stale, flat and unprofitable. You are grimy, squalid,

nasty and profane. You are foul and disgusting. You're a fool, an

ignoramus. Monkeys look down on you. Even sheep won't have sex with

you. You are unreservedly pathetic, starved for attention, and lost in

a land that reality forgot. You are not ANSI compliant and your markup

doesn't validate. You have a couple of address lines shorted together.

You should be promoted to Engineering Manager.

Do you really expect your delusional and incoherent ramblings to be

read? Everyone plonked you long ago. Do you fantasize that your

tantrums and conniption fits could possibly be worth the $0.000000001

worth of electricity used to send them? Your life is one big

W.O.M.B.A.T. and your future doesn't look promising either. We need to

trace your bloodline and terminate all siblings and cousins in order

to cleanse humanity of your polluted genes. The good news is that no

normal human would ever mate with you, so we won't have to go into the

sewers in search of your git.

You are a waste of flesh. You have no rhythm. You are ridiculous and

obnoxious. You are the moral equivalent of a leech. You are a living

emptiness, a meaningless void. You are sour and senile. You are a

loathsome disease, a drooling inbred cross-eyed toesucker. You make

Quakers shout and strike Pentecostals silent. You have a version 1.0

mind in a version 6.12 world. Your mother had to tie a pork chop

around your neck just to get your dog to play with you. You think

that HTTP://WWW.GUYMACON.COM/FUN/INSULT/INDEX.HTM is the name of a

rock band. You believe that P.D.Q. Bach is the greatest composer who

ever lived. You prefer L. Ron Hubbard to Larry Niven and Jerry

Pournelle. Hee-Haw is too deep for you. You would watch test patterns

all day if the other inmates would let you.

On a good day you're a half-wit. You remind me of drool. You are

deficient in all that lends character. You have the personality of

wallpaper. You are dank and filthy. You are asinine and benighted.

Spammers look down on you. Phone sex operators hang up on you.

Telemarketers refuse to be seen in public with you. You are the source

of all unpleasantness. You spread misery and sorrow wherever you go.

May you choke on your own foolish opinions. You are a Pusillanimous

galactophage and you wear your sister's training bra. Don't bother

opening the door when you leave - you should be able to slime your

way out underneath. I hope that when you get home your mother runs

out from under the porch and bites you.

You smarmy lagerlout git. You bloody woofter sod. Bugger off, pillock.

You grotty wanking oik artless base-court apple-john. You clouted

boggish foot-licking half-twit. You dankish clack-dish plonker. You

gormless crook-pated tosser. You bloody churlish boil-brained clotpole

ponce. You craven dewberry pisshead cockup pratting naff. You cockered

bum-bailey poofter. You gob-kissing gleeking flap-mouthed coxcomb. You

dread-bolted fobbing beef-witted clapper-clawed flirt-gill. May your

spouse be blessed with many bastards.

You are so clueless that if you dressed in a clue skin, doused yourself

in clue musk, and did the clue dance in the middle of a field of horny

clues at the height of clue mating season, you still would not have a

clue. If you were a movie you would be a double feature;

_Battlefield_Earth_ and _Moron_Movies_II_. You would be out of focus.

You are a fiend and a sniveling coward, and you have bad breath. You

are the unholy spawn of a bandy-legged hobo and a syphilitic camel.

You wear strangely mismatched clothing with oddly placed stains. You

are degenerate, noxious and depraved. I feel debased just knowing that

you exist. I despise everything about you, and I wish you would go

away. You are jetsam who dreams of becoming flotsam. You won't make

it. I beg for sweet death to come and remove me from a world which

became unbearable when you crawled out of a harpy's lair.

It is hard to believe how incredibly stupid you are. Stupid as a stone

that the other stones make fun of. So stupid that you have traveled

far beyond stupid as we know it and into a new dimension of stupid.

Meta-stupid. Stupid cubed. Trans-stupid stupid. Stupid collapsed to

a singularity where even the stupons have collapsed into stuponium.

Stupid so dense that no intelligence can escape. Singularity stupid.

Blazing hot summer day on Mercury stupid. You emit more stupid in one

minute than our entire galaxy emits in a year. Quasar stupid. It cannot

be possible that anything in our universe can really be this stupid.

This is a primordial fragment from the original big stupid bang. A pure

extract of stupid with absolute stupid purity. Stupid beyond the laws

of nature. I must apologize. I can't go on. This is my epiphany of

stupid. After this experience, you may not hear from me for a while.

I don't think that I can summon the strength left to mock your moronic

opinions and malformed comments about boring trivia or your other

drivel. Duh.

The only thing worse than your logic is your manners. I have snipped

away most of your of what you wrote, because, well ... it didn't

really say anything. Your attempt at constructing a creative flame was

pitiful. I mean, really, stringing together a bunch of insults among a

load of babbling was hardly effective... Maybe later in life, after

you have learned to read, write, spell, and count, you will have more

success. True, these are rudimentary skills that many of us "normal"

people take for granted that everyone has an easy time of mastering.

But we sometimes forget that there are "challenged" persons in this

world who find these things to be difficult. If I had known that this

was true in your case then I would have never have exposed myself to

what you wrote. It just wouldn't have been "right." Sort of like

parking in a handicap space. I wish you the best of luck in the

emotional, and social struggles that seem to be placing such a

demand on you.

P.S.: You are hypocritical, greedy, violent, malevolent, vengeful,

cowardly, deadly, mendacious, meretricious, loathsome, despicable,

belligerent, opportunistic, barratrous, contemptible, criminal,

fascistic, bigoted, racist, sexist, avaricious, tasteless, idiotic,

brain-damaged, imbecilic, insane, arrogant, deceitful, demented, lame,

self-righteous, byzantine, conspiratorial, fraudulent,

libelous, bilious, splenetic, spastic, ignorant, clueless, EDLINoid,

illegitimate, harmful, destructive, dumb, evasive, double-talking,

devious, revisionist, narrow, manipulative, paternalistic,

fundamentalist, dogmatic, idolatrous, unethical, cultic, diseased,

suppressive, controlling, restrictive, malignant, deceptive, dim,

crazy, weird, dyspeptic, stifling, uncaring, plantigrade, grim,

unsympathetic, jargon-spouting, censorious, secretive, aggressive,

mind-numbing, arassive, poisonous, flagrant, self-destructive,

abusive, socially-retarded, puerile, and Generally Not Good.

#oh my word #my friend found this #she said ‘oh my word look at what i found! lets send it to savannah’ so we sid #but i wanted to share it with yall not because i dont like yall but because you could send this to somebody you hate #have at it

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goddamnitdazai · 6 years ago

Text

After Midnight | Dazai

{ thank you to my patron who allowed me to upload their gift to my blog <3 } There was something attractive and endearing about the sour expression left on Dazai’s features. Brows knit together beneath the line of wrinkles forming in his skin, bottom of his left eye twitching rapidly. Thin steam wavering from the leftover noodles hanging limply on the chopsticks held tightly in his grip. The pink dusting his cheeks adding a drop of innocence as his tongue flops out in disgust. “_____!” He chokes out dropping the chopsticks and dramatically waving his hand in front of his tongue. “Why didn’t you tell me it was this spicy!” He wails, grabbing your ice water and chugging it without a second thought. You snort into your palm. “I wasn’t aware you didn’t like spicy food. Besides, it’s bright red how did you not realize that meant it was spicy?” You smile and take another big bite savoring the spices mixing in with the pork belly and noodles moaning just as dramatically after swallowing a big bite. Dazai sticks his tongue out before pouting your direction. Shoving a posticker whole in his mouth as he watches you eat the ramen with an expression painted in antipathy. “I didn’t think you liked eating volcanic sulfur. Such bad taste in food. Good thing you have amazingly good taste in men~” Dazai winks; your eyes roll.

“What makes you think that?” He gasps at your words arms flying to his chest as he cries loudly about your words shredding his heart like a dagger. You laugh into your glass of iced tea crossing one leg over the other foot running up his shin beneath the table. Somehow, he’d managed to find you without much prompting. A night at the bar led him to your bed. Expecting him to leave once the sheets were stained and you both were satisfied but a conversation about something ridiculous led to another hour spent in bed together. A few days went by and now he was sitting in front of you stealing your food at two am in one of the very few, very secretive gems of Yokohama that served food all night when the city slept peacefully beneath the moonlight. “You said yes to me didn’t you? And I’m the best there is! You remember don’t you?” Despite the sultry drop in his voice the playful edges made it hard to take seriously. His chin rests in his palm free hand drawing circles over your knuckles as you take another sip of tea and order two shots of sweet sake. His brow arcs. “How’d you know I like that kind of sake? Following me~?” “Everyone likes that sake. It tastes fucking good without burning your throat.” You retort, taking another bite of ramen to settle the butterflies in your stomach. Tingling trail burning through your skin following the movement of his fingers on your knuckles. Simple figure eights that make you shiver. Dazai’s fingers slow. Middle applying more pressure than the rest as they roll over the dips between your knuckles then up the center to trace a line back and forth between the expanse of your wrist. Honey brown eyes darkening a fragment and flickering with hints of gold as he watches you with a lopsided smirk. “Can’t you just admit we have similar tastes?” He teases, pout returning. A lump forms in your throat when his leg moves closer letting the edge of your shoe run up the inside of his leg. “Other than the ramen. It’s terrible!” Your laugh resonates around the small table. Sake set in front of both of you while you take another bite staring Dazai dead in the eye purposely chewing slowly, methodically. He gags and yanks your free hand up to bury his face in your open palm wailing about taste bud betrayal. After a few minutes of his theatrics you set your chopsticks down and hold the sake cup up. He mimics your actions smirk returning as he leans in closer. “What should we toast to?” He asks hand setting yours back down to continue drawing patterns along the inside of your wrist. Your heart skips a beat. “After midnight. When the city belongs to people with terrible sleeping habits.” Dazai smiles at your words holding the small white cup up to cheers. You both down it in unison flavors mixing perfectly and settling like a ball of fire in your stomach. Dazai’s fingers continue to play your body like a violin despite him merely touching the skin on your wrist. An addiction beginning to form in slow motion right in front of your eyes. But, you didn’t want to stop it. You’d been fighting the ghost of his touch for days like his hands had implanted their memory all over your body just to tease you until your very last breath. From his teeth red marks had blossomed like roses in the summer on the inside of your thighs. The rest so strategically placed you’d only found a few by running your fingers up the side of your neck in places normally hidden by your hair. “A lot of good things happen around this time don’t they _____?” He wiggles his eyebrows making you snort again into your closed palm. Dazai drags his finger down your middle finger while ordering a whisky neat along with a second plate of potstickers. He’d inhaled most of them when he sat down uninvited in the booth not wanting to admit it had been a day or two since he’d eaten. The rain that had been pounding the sidewalk since he’d arrived disheveled and wet begins to let up as the night ticks on. Hard raindrops becoming light patterings against the window. “We made it home around this time.” He muses, voice lowering to a soft wave of silk rather than the elevated playful tone he’d been using before. This happened the night you two met. Voice soaked in a cheery disposition that descended to a quiet, gentle tone when his mind would wander off to another world for a few seconds. It was mesmerizing really, but it made you all too curious. Too curious for a one night stand. “We did. You’re very charming when I’ve drank my weight in vodka.” You joke. He chuckles lightly and pushes the fresh plate of potstickers your direction. “You’re not the first lady to claim alcohol made them fall for me~” He says leaning back in his chair to stretch out his arms. “Have you had that much yet or should we get more sake?” He winks. You grab a potsticker and lean over the table shoving it into his mouth. Brown eyes widening in surprise before he chews quickly. “Are you trying to fatten me up?” “I don’t need alcohol to want to go home with you, but I wasn’t planning on going home yet.” You muse ignoring the initial question. In truth the man seemed hungry and exhausted despite how he was acting. He practically inhaled half the food on the table when he sat down. You take another bite and tilt your head slightly Dazai mimicking you immediately like a cat in a mirror. “How’d you find me? I don’t geotag on Instagram.” Dazai smiles. Another chuckle falling as soft as snow from his lips before they enclose around a warm potsticker. “I’m a detective.” He replies. Your brow arcs a bit. The man looked nothing like a police officer. Some of his antics pointed to the type of person that would be running from the police not running on the same side. Though, it would explain his ability to find you so quickly without much information. Dazai watches you intently eyes gleaming beneath the overhead lights. City beginning to fall in to a rhythmic slumber outside the small diner tucked in the basement of a dress shop. Neon noodle sign glowing red and green outside mid autumn wind knocking dried leaves up against it. “Like a cop? Homicide shit?” You ask eyes unable to focus on anything but the warm pools of honey radiating back your direction. Dazai shakes his head catching his chin beneath his curved fingers elbow propped on the table. “I’m not a cop.” He says with a smirk, as if some inside joke had been laced in those four words. “Where are you planning on going? A lovely lady shouldn’t be out so late at night by herself.” A waitress with a sweet smile takes your empty bowl and refills the water glass untouched now since Dazai ordered the sake. He takes another shot before offering to pour you second. It was too late to play it safe. You take another; he smiles behind his glass. “Somewhere dark.” Dazai’s brows rise in curiosity. Before you can get your wallet out he tells the girl to put it on his tab hand extended to help you up. “How exciting~.” ____ Last time it hadn't been this gorey but Dazai didn’t seem to mind. In fact, the screams of the undead didn’t faze him in the least and his eyes tended to wander off the massive projector to the people around him before landing back on you. No matter how in depth you fell into the movie it was hard to ignore the heat from Dazai’s gaze lingering on every curve and dip. Spending a moment or two longer scanning the column of your throat up to the angle of your jawline. Long legs sprawled out and tangled in yours a top the comforter you’d left stuffed in the trunk of your car for nights like this. Screams blare from the speakers other couples around you knotting in to each other. Dazai’s palm remains flat behind your back on the ground to hold himself up, free hand tracing more unknown patterns and shapes up and down your arm. His chin suddenly plops on your shoulder causing you to jolt up. He smirks and whispers an apology in your ear the hand at your arm slinking over your middle to rest on your hip heart beginning to race as he drops a gentle kiss beneath your earlobe. A shiver trails down your spine as Dazai’s teeth nibble playfully up the shell until you can’t remember how to breathe. “Dazai.” You whisper tapping his cheek with your fingertips. “Shhh, the movie.” He says with a smile, turning his attention back to the screen. “Oh she shouldn’t hide there.” He mocks quietly fingertips drumming against your hip bone. A woman’s scream echoes throughout the warehouse making you gasp louder than intended. Dazai’s eyes flit your direction hand squeezing you gently. “Are you scared?” He inquires scooting closer and tugging you in simultaneously. “You can sit between my legs if you want I’ll protect you from the flesh eating zombies~”. His voice is gentle, smooth, but the playful tone is more subtle than before. Serious, in a way. The shock factor is more what startled you, but you’d be lying if you said sitting in a warehouse watching a horror movie closer to four am didn’t give you the chills one way or the other. Quietly you scoot up and over Dazai’s leg plopping down against the worn tatami mat beneath the blanket. Long bandaged arms immediately encircling your waist to bring your back flush with his chest. Heartbeat strong against the center of your shoulders even through his clothes and yours. Beating a little too fast to be normal; your stomach flutters. Your squirming becomes less about the movie and more of a reaction to Dazai’s hands on you. Subtle squeezes to your ribcage when a jumpscare is about to happen. A little roll of his fingertips down to your hip bone then back up again during dialogue.The scent of his shampoo mixed with the remaining aroma of sweet sake glues itself to the air you breathe. Dazai’s warm breath coasts down the back of your neck drawing chills on your arms. Before he can comment low in your ear you blame it on the wind. “What wind?” He asks dumbly. You bite the inside of your cheek and tuck your knees up feigning apprehension when the camera begins to pan down a dark hallway. One of Dazai’s hands had always been roaming the expanse of your torso or hip. Now, with your knees scrunched up his fingers splay up your thigh pulling at a loose string in the denim unwilling to share even the slightest bit of attention with the movie, or he just enjoyed fucking with you. Instinct tells you it’s both. The movie ends at a quarter till five with a hint of sunlight barely peeking over the water’s edge. Most moviegoers getting up to leave immediately yawning and sprouting love poems to the bed that awaits them when they get home. Dazai doesn’t move. Eyes flickering from left to right watching the environment as the old warehouse begins to empty. Slivers of coral peeking through turning navy blue to violet strips through the high windows. “Watch the sunrise with me?” You ask, tilting your head back slightly to catch his gaze. “How romantic ____.” The teasing is back. But, it was starting to become more endearing than factory. Even if he spoke to all the women he wanted another round with in the same fashion. “Not in here though its musty and gross. Why would you ever want to sit on cold concrete? Can’t they spring for a chair or a bench!” He sighs, the back of one hand coming to rest on his forehead as he speaks. “Maybe if your ass wasn’t as flat as a pancake you wouldn’t be in so much pain.” You retort with a smile, poking his nose with your forefinger. Dazai frowns. Refusing to stand until you admit it didn’t matter what is ass looked like because the talent was all in his hands, and elsewhere. You stick your tongue out as he grabs your hand rising to his feet and dusting his pants off. Coat left unbuttoned despite the cold he complained about just a minute before. Dazai opens the warehouse door allowing you out first. Slight autumn chill biting at your shoulders. Wordlessly he sheds his coat and wraps it over your shoulders eyes softening for a brief moment before returning to their normal state. He could charm and coax you back home without all of this nonsense. Sunsets were repetitive for the most part. Deemed romantic by some artistic asshole centuries ago giving notion that the sunrise was more than just the natural rhythm of the universe. But, it was rare that he felt able to sit in silence without much of a need to play the part of entertainer, not completely. A feeling adjacent to comfort. The docks were relatively empty for a Thursday morning. Only a few ships idling in the calm ocean emptied of their cargo and crew for the time being. Dazai walks beside you holding the folded blanket draped over his forearm. “There’s a bench over there.” You mention with a yawn pointing to it with your forefinger. Dazai nods and follows you watching the approaching sunlight drop diamonds over the still water and shed more light to your features. The supple pout of your bottom lip and the curve of your nose, miniscule scar on the bridge that looked old. Childhood accident of some sort. “Sorry your pancake ass is going to be cold again.” Dazai rolls his eyes and scoffs through a smile as he plops down next to you throwing the blanket over your shoulders. “____ this blanket is too small I’m going to freeze.” He pouts, encircling your waist to pull you back on to his lap shifting your body so your back lies inside the crook of his elbow feet planted on the other side of his thigh. You duck into his grasp leaning against him as your head falls to his shoulder. Feather light wind rippling over the dark ocean. Stirring the galaxy mirrored in its water from the sky above. His mind wanders in the silence but his attention remains centered on the little movements happening beneath the blanket. How you slowly inch closer until the tip of your nose rests against his neck. His pulsepoint, to be exact. The first few tries weren’t successful but you remained still once the comfort of his heartbeat reached your skin. Intimate, he thinks, for strangers. Instinct makes him question it out of habit but the longer he stays absolutely motionless the more it becomes...enjoyable. Warmth from another outside the actions of sex and release was not something Dazai tended to enjoy nor seek. He found you to fuck you out of his system, out of his head. Not this. Intimacy; Kouyou once called him touch-starved. Peach strips of light begin to crest the horizon adding a sheen over the water far off in the distance. Dazai’s hands reset themselves around your waist hands crossed over one another on your hip. He still couldn’t see the romance in this, but a silenced world was rare. Often he found himself staring into emptiness until the sunlight began to rise just like this. Slow motion. Blurry. He’d douse himself in alcohol before the clock hit four am just so he could sleep a few hours without dreams or nightmares. Sobriety made it less appealing in a sense of entertainment. Maybe it wasn’t the sight itself people found sentimental. “Why do you stay up so late?” Dazai inquires chin resting on the top of your head. You didn’t seem the type to get lost in the emptiness and dark corners of your mind alone. From the few hints around your apartment you both shared a fondness for drinking off the monsters at times, whatever yours happened to be, but riding out the emptiness alone didn’t fit. You were surrounded by people at the bar and the pictures decorating the small apartment enlarged the initial social circle he’d seen before he whisked you away. But, you were lonely. He recognized the mask in the way you laughed and spoke to who you were with. The connection mostly surface rather than deep and meaningful. Maybe you really cared for them and vice versa, but how much of it was based upon the person you created to take those happy pictures? “I can’t ever fall asleep.” You admit quietly, turning more into his throat as you speak. “Not without pushing myself to stay awake then I just..pass out I guess.” You shrug against him. “I like the nighttime though its...calming. Which sounds cliche as hell but its comfortable and just..better. I guess.” Words spew out without much of a second thought. Talking to Dazai felt less synthetic. Perhaps the detachment in not fully having a strong connection outside of sex made it easier for the hidden spots to seep through. Or, his charm managed to break through more than necessary. More than he wanted or intended. Perhaps both. Dazai’s eyes fall to the water fingertips dancing patterns beneath your shirt along your stomach and hips as your words soak in to his brain. The night, in his mind, had been when he spent the most time with Odasaku at the bar. Now, most of his nights were spent by himself in his apartment. He didn’t mind the emptiness. Not all the time. Tonight, though, he couldn’t find amusement elsewhere and you’d managed to keep him well past the physical act without trying. He couldn’t even remember where the conversation had landed, something about constellations and star signs trickling into ridiculous theories on aliens. Trivial conversation that led to a well executed trick on Kunikida to keep his partner from blowing a gasket over a recent job and it’s lengthy extradition. Trivial bored him; most things did. Perhaps it’s why he found himself straying to you for a second time. A surprise relief. Lighter--that was the word. The world was less heavy in your presence despite the shared sentiment of isolation buried deep in both of you. “You’re surprisingly comfortable.” You say, breaking the silence. Dazai blinks and tilts his head down as yours arcs back. Gazes locking beneath warm violet and leftover stars losing their glow. He can’t help it. You smile as he kisses you, not soft, but a kiss that toes the line between intimate and greedy. Dazai’s tongue darts out running over your bottom lip before slipping in your mouth to trail over the back of your teeth. His kiss saps the air from your lungs leaving you dizzy until he breaks apart to satiate his own need to breathe. “You taste like sake.” A smirk rides up the side of Dazai’s face as he exhales. “So do you.” He ignores the tingling in his stomach. Instead, his arms retrace their previous position to hold you closer to his chest pulling you down with him once he lays fully on the park bench head facing the water. Orange and pink swirling higher and higher as the red glow of the morning sun breaks the surface dancing idly on the edge of the ocean. Thin arms wrapped tightly over your middle to keep your back flush with his chest, legs tangled as one mess at the end of the bench. “Still comfortable?” You yawn and nod. “Mhm.” Dazai catches the hint of sleepiness trickling in to your voice. His own following after a few minutes of undisturbed peace. Just the sound of your breathing and the ocean water rippling beneath gentle, nearly untraceable wind carrying the scent of salt water through the park. His lips find their way to the back of your throat without his permission, but he keeps them there anyway after a few light kisses down the curve of your neck. “We can..go back to my apartment. There’s a view..kind of.” You murmur, tracing patterns on the top of his hand. Dazai’s chest flutters. “Finally! I’ve been waiting all night for you to take me home!” Dazai’s voice hits that playful tenor that makes you laugh. He lets you sit up first to keep the blanket draped over your shoulders before he rises and follows you back. Cold air prickling his skin with goosebumps the deeper into the city you both walk. Quiet sidewalks greeting you as Yokohama remains asleep under the peaceful lighting. By the time Dazai flops on to your bed his skin feels like ice. “Why didn’t you take your coat back?” You ask, shedding the blanket and throwing it over his head as you hang the aforementioned coat on the back of a chair. “I’m a gentleman!” “You are not.” Dazai frowns and tosses his vest somewhere in the corner after setting his bolo tie down on the nightstand. You yawn and flick the lights off remembering his weird necessity for having the room nearly blackout the last time he was in your bed. Sunlight filters through the blinds in soft stripes weaving a pattern over the bed and up the walls etching a golden glow through the small space as you crawl beneath the covers. Dazai yawns loudly and stretches his arms over your stomach pulling you against him. Your hands fall flat on his chest one finger playing with the button on his shirt mindlessly legs sliding between his to seek warmth against the cold apartment air. You wait for him to tear at your clothes -- a repeat of the night you met. There were still buttons from his shirt somewhere under the dresser. Not that you would mind nor saw a hint of anything different. Dazai was transparent when he wanted to be, or at least when it came to things of this nature. Yet, the gentle touch of his hands on your lower back felt sensual and comforting in the same stroke. Heat from your skin warming up his hands as his lips fall to yours before trailing down your chin and across your jaw. Then right back up again. A yawn breaks up his motions. “Shit sorry.” You murmur, groaning in to your pillow. Dazai chuckles laying his cheek back on the pillow hair fanning out in stark contrast against the white. You scoot closer hesitantly and kiss him hand moving up from his chest to tangle in his hair. He can’t stop it quick enough. The soft, almost pathetic sigh that comes from his mouth as you kiss him. You smile. “You’re sleepy.” He whispers. “So are you.” He shrugs, but doesn’t press for more kisses nor move. You stay near him one hand draped over his rib the other tucked beneath your pillow as your eyes flutter shut. Dazai lies utterly still beside you. Watching the rise and fall of your chest until he can no longer fight the exhaustion pulling him down. Arm slung lazily over your hip head tilting forward until his nose reaches yours. The familiar sounds of Yokohama beginning to wake fill his ears; cars gliding through rain puddles, the smell of coffee from the apartment across the hall. A normal soundtrack to doze off too, except, the warmth radiating from your body dulled the ache in his head that kept him from sleeping peacefully. That was different. Intimate.

#dazai #dazai osamu #bsd #bungou stray dogs #dazai imagines #my writing #my writing dazai #scenario:fluff/dazai #reader x dazai #bsd fanfic #dazai fanfic

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aussiebee · 7 years ago

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“What the fuck are you reading?” Derek asked, staring at a pair of feet with a mortuary toe tag on it with the word ‘STIFF’ in block capital letters on the cover.

Dropping the book flat on his chest and stretching his arms up over his head with a yawn, Stiles grinned at Derek from where he was lying on Derek’s bed and lifted the book again. “It’s called Stiff,” he said, redundantly, because Derek could see that for himself, thanks. “It’s about cadavers.”

Derek snorted. “Of course it is.”

“I mean, I admit that the reason I bought it from the second-hand bookstore down on Mercury-- and ooh , have you been to the bakery opposite the shoe store down there? Best brownies ever, I promise-- that the reason I bought it was because it says ‘stiff’ on the cover, but it’s about cadavers, and it’s actually really interesting.”

Thunder rumbled overhead and lightning briefly caused the lights to flicker. “Tell me,” Derek said contentedly from his spot in the armchair across the living space from where Stiles was reading.

Stiles grinned. “Did you know that the anus of a cadaver has to be stitched closed for a funeral to avoid any unpleasantness leaking out?”

“And there you go, making me regret having ever having met you,” Derek said exasperatedly.

“Hey, don’t be like that, Doom-Brows,” Stiles smirked. “I enrich your life.”

“That would mean you enhance the quality of my life,” Derek told him snarkily, tossing a pen at Stiles. “I think we can both agree that that is unreservedly not the case after that little fact.”

“Words hurt, bro,” Stiles grinned, catching the pen in midair and twirling it around his fingers.

“Not your bro,” Derek reminded him with a sigh, ignoring the flip in his belly at the way Stiles was smiling at him.

“God, I certainly hope not,” Stiles muttered, tossing his book and the pen aside as he rolled luxuriantly all over Derek’s bed. “What the hell do you wash your sheets with?” he demanded to know. “They smell incredible and they're so soft.”

Derek sighed, knowing full well that his bed was going to utterly reek of Stiles for the next couple of days.

A week after that, as Derek was sitting at the kitchen table and going over some of the case files he’d brought home for work, Stiles let himself into the loft with a book in one hand and a toolbox in the other.

“Hey, Wolfenstein,” he greeted cheerfully, thumping the toolbox down on the table and adding his book to the small stack growing on top of the fridge. “What’re you up to?”

“I was trying to work,” Derek told him archly, frowning in confusion when Stiles opened the toolbox and pulled out a jar of honey, a monkey wrench and a roll of duct tape.

“God, you’re such a nerd,” Stiles grinned, tossing the honey at Derek before pulling a mixing bowl from a cabinet drawer and yanking open the doors beneath the sink. “Who even brings homework home on purpose?”

“What’s this?” Derek asked as he eyed the jar suspiciously, then rolled his eyes at Stiles’ smirk. “I can see that it’s honey, idiot; what did you give it to me for?”

“Because you’re so sweet,” Stiles simpered, then grinned widely and sat on the floor and began tearing duct tape off the roll to cover the teeth of the wrench. “So, fun fact: the word mellifluous comes from the late Latin mel, meaning ‘honey’, and fluere, meaning ‘to flow’.”

“Riveting,” Derek drawled, watching as Stiles set the mixing bowl-- the one he used for pancakes, for god’s sake-- beneath the J-bend and used the wrench to loosen the slip joint nuts.

“Right?” Stiles agreed, finishing undoing the nuts by hand and dropping them and the loose section of pipe into the bowl, along with a gush of fetid, dirty water. He fished an O-ring from out of the bowl and dried it carefully with a rag drawn from his back pocket, inspecting it carefully before setting it aside.

“And you have the nerve to call me a nerd,” Derek muttered.

“Shut up, buttercup,” Stiles grinned over his shoulder. “Toss me the nylon brush in there, would you?” His smile disappeared and he glared as the small white brush thunked into the back of his head with unerring aim. “You’re fucking delightful, you know that? Anyway , the book I was reading last night is called How to Mellify a Corpse: and Other Human Stories of Ancient Science and Superstition. Any guesses as to what ‘mellify’ means?”

“I’m not sure I want to know,” Derek said, watching as Stiles scrubbed the inside of the pipe, scraping a whole heap of gunk out and into the bowl.

“Dude, the Greeks and Romans used to to embalm bodies with it! They knew nothing about it, had no idea about the antiseptic and antibacterial properties of honey- primarily caused by the hydrogen peroxide effect, obviously-”

“Obviously,” Derek muttered.

“-but somehow managed to figure it out enough to use it as a kind of mummification.”

Stiles began drying the piece of pipe with the same cloth before replacing the O-ring and reassembling the P-trap. “You find the weirdest crap interesting,” Derek told him. “And what, exactly, are you doing to my goddamn sink?”

“Calm your farm, dude,” Stiles smirked, getting to his feet and dropping the bowl into the sink. “I covered the grips so they wouldn’t scratch your pipes.” He pulled the duct tape from the wrench and tossed it in the bin.

“Not my concern, and still didn’t answer my question,” Derek scowled.

“You’re always bitching about the sink taking forever to drain, and that it keeps backing up. Well, I fixed that for you. Should be right as rain, now.”

The wolf part of Derek’s nature arched with pleasure at the way Stiles was caring for him, but he ignored it. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

Stiles looked at him as though he was an idiot as he returned his wrench to the toolbox and washed his hands at the sink. “Of course you didn’t, dummy,” Stiles said, his previously-contented scent sharpening into something acrid and unpleasant. “I think we’d all die of shock if you were ever to ask for help.” He finished packing up but paused, watching Derek closely for a moment before sighing and looking away. “Try the honey,” he advised. “Might level out some of that sourness you got going on there.”

And then he was gone, leaving Derek feeling restless and unsettled, and very confused.

“Cod,” Derek read loudly from the book opened page-down on Stiles’ chest where he was lying on the floor in front of the windows in a golden pool of late-afternoon sunlight, “A Biography of the Fish That Changed the World.”

“‘And the whole club was dancing like a salmon floating upstream,’” Stiles exclaimed as he jerked awake with a start, legs twitching.

Derek snorted a laugh. “You’re so strange.” He hadn’t meant for it to sound as fond as it ended up being, but luckily for him Stiles was disoriented enough to miss the odd weightiness to the words.

“Why would you do that to me?” Stiles complained, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hands. “I was napping.”

“On my floor. At five in the afternoon.”

“Yeah, well. Shut up.” Stiles sat up with a groan as he sat up. “Where is your bed, anyway? I love your bed.”

“Moved it upstairs,” Derek shrugged, dropping his keys, phone and bag filled with Chinese food on the coffee table.

“You carried it up that staircase all on your own?” Stiles asked, eyeing the steel spiral in the corner of the room.

Derek shrugged and shoved a container of mu shu pork at Stiles. “Not like it was hard,” he mumbled. Stiles muttered something that sounded suspiciously like hirsute, muscle-bound asshole as he began eating, companionable silence settling over them. “So,” Derek said eventually, “how’s work?”

Stiles snorted a laugh. “Are you seriously trying to make small-talk right now?” he asked.

“Screw you,” Derek scowled uncomfortably. “You’re always bitching that I don’t talk enough, then when I do--”

“Woah,” Stiles said suddenly, eyes wide and mouth slightly open as he stared at Derek. “I was teasing, Derek. It’s what friends do.”

Feeling heat creep up his cheeks, Derek glanced away from Stiles and glared at his chopsticks. “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’,” Stiles smiled, and when Derek looked back at him his beautiful brown eyes were warm with affection. “Anyway, so last night we were called out to a drunk in public-- some dude sitting with just pants and one spray-painted gold shoe on in McCartney Park. He was super drunk, barely coherent, and had no idea where he was. But get this,” he said, a wide grin splitting his face, “he had no phone and no ID of any kind, but he did have a bag full of fish.”

Derek frowned, confused. “Like, a bag of goldfish crackers?”

“No,” Stiles began to laugh, “a plastic bag filled with a half-dozen assorted tropical fish.”

“Why?” Derek asked, confused, which made Stiles laugh even harder, his face flushing with it.

“I have no fucking idea,” he managed to get out, “and neither did the guy. He doesn’t even own a fish tank!”

Stiles’ laughter was infectious and Derek found himself chuckling along as well as Stiles grabbed his sides and tried to regain his breath. “So?” he asked eventually, once Stiles had taken a drink of water and settled a little. “What happened to the fish?”

Stiles laughed again. “Simpson took them home; apparently he has a saltwater aquarium setup he can add them to.”

“Well thank goodness for that,” Derek said with mock-gravitas.

“I knew you’d be relieved,” Stiles nodded agreeably, shooting a smile at Derek.

Derek could feel the contentment rolling off Stiles and it made something within him settle at the same time as his heart felt like it was in freefall.

They finished dinner and Stiles joined Derek on the couch when he was done tidying up, the book about cod in his hand as he pushed and prodded at Derek until they were arranged the way he wanted. Stiles grinned up at him from where his head rested in Derek’s lap and grabbed Derek’s awkwardly hovering arm to drape it across his own chest.

“Buckle up, Remus,” Stiles grinned again as he opened the book, beginning to read where he’d left off when he’d fallen asleep.

Derek let his head fall back so it was resting on the back of the couch, Stiles’ calm voice surprisingly soothing as it travelled around the otherwise-quiet loft. After a while, seemingly without realising, one of Stiles’ big hands came up to wrap around Derek’s forearm, fingertips idly carding through the hair there as he read, holding the book one handed without any trouble.

There was an easy domesticity to their interactions, Derek thought vaguely as Stiles let his fingers roam and explore. He had always been aware of it, just how mundane their friendship could be considered, but Derek had missed it more than he thought. Having someone just show up and be present in the same space as him for no other reason than to simply be there was a frighteningly intimate level of friendship that he hadn’t anticipated; it was especially unexpected arriving in the form of Stiles.

Or was it, though? Sitting there and thinking about it in that moment of quiet companionship, Derek thought maybe he should have seen it coming. Not Stiles, per se-- who the hell could ever anticipate Stiles Stilinski?-- but once he got in beneath the skin and allowed the select few to see glimpses of the heart of him, Stiles’ loyalty, faithfulness and dogged determination all pointed to him being the most loyal of friends.

And they were, Derek thought suddenly with no small degree of surprise. Stiles was probably his closest friend, and unless he was much mistaken, Derek was probably the same for him. Since Scott and Kira had married and moved away his and Stiles’ friendship had inevitably changed, something Derek knew Stiles had struggled with.

He frowned a little. Was he now Stiles’ closest friend by default? Was it Scott’s absence that had led to Stiles needing someone in that role? Was--

“Hey,” Stiles said suddenly, his fingers stilling where they had been lazily manipulating Derek’s fingers and flexing the knuckles distractedly as he read. “What’s the scowl for?”

Looking down at Stiles, his familiar face waiting patiently, Derek just blurted out his question. “Are we only friends because Scott moved away?” He winced at how accusatory that sounded, but to his surprise Stiles just laughed delightedly.

“Dude, no takebacks!” Stiles exclaimed. “That’s the first time you’ve ever acknowledged the fact that we’re friends, and that you like me, even if it’s just by proxy.”

“I… like you just fine, I guess,” Derek managed.

Stiles snorted inelegantly. “Did it hurt, having to say that?” he asked wryly. “Because it sure sounded like it hurt. But to answer your question, no we are not just friends because Scott left town. As far as I’m concerned, we were friends before Scott left. Not my fault that you’re late to the party. Now shut up and listen to this, would you? ‘The Vikings had travelled from Norway to Iceland to Greenland to Canada, and it is not a coincidence that this is the exact range of the Atlantic cod…’”

Stiles seemed perfectly at ease with his declaration, so Derek decided he could be, too, and leaned his head back again as he closed his eyes. He missed the little smile that curled Stiles’ mouth as his fingers felt the uptick in Derek’s pulse, but he basked in the sweet scent of pleasure that the two of them made and surrounded themselves in.

The pile of bizarrely-titled books on top of Derek’s fridge grew, gradually expanding to the coffee table, the unused armchair, and eventually his bedside table. That had been a moment of dissociation that Derek had struggled with, coming into his own bedroom to find a stack of books (The History of the Snowman: From the Ice Age to the Flea Market, The Secret World of Slugs and Snails: Life in the Very Slow Lane, and Working IX to V: Orgy Planners, Funeral Clowns, and Other Prized Professions of the Ancient World) and it taking a full few minutes to register that that was even unusual , even for them. It took another long moment after that to realise that Stiles’ scent was here, too. Of all places in Derek’s life his bedroom had remained his last bastion of refuge, free of Stiles’ influence that had grown as surely as Derek’s feelings for him had.

Stiles’ scent wasn’t all over the bed so much as it was just present in the room, but it still made Derek want to wag a tail he didn’t actually have, and that he was struggling with. He considered asking Stiles about it but didn’t think he was quite up to the conversation, so he let it go, instead heading into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

He picked up Le Langage des Fleurs, the spine still uncracked and the pages pristine, and began to read, bemusedly shaking his head at the convoluted Victorian method of symbolic messaging, thinking that Stiles would enjoy reading this whenever he got around to it and somehow managing to relate it to text messaging or something equally as ridiculous. He got almost halfway through before drifting off, floral dreams chasing him down.

When he awoke the next morning, Derek was somehow unsurprised to find Stiles lying on top of the comforter next to him, asleep with his long fingers still resting between the pages of Flow: The Cultural Story of Menstruation and reeking of anxiety and fatigue . Derek just pulled the patchwork blanket that lived on the end of the bed over Stiles and slipped quietly from the room to make Stiles his usual cup of chamomile tea, the drink he preferred after a night of hard nightmares.

As he waited for the tea to brew, he looked thoughtfully down at the tin of loose-leaf tea, and managed a wry smirk as he picked one of the small, dried white and yellow flowers out, remembering that the book he had read the night before said that chamomile meant ‘attachment’. He was nothing if not attached to the idiot by now, he thought drily, and floated the single flower in the top of the otherwise-clear red-gold tea before leaving it on the bedside table for Stiles to find when he awoke.

After running a load of laundry and tidying up the kitchen from making breakfast, Stiles stumbled down the stairs, mug clutched carefully in one hand. “Morning,” he mumbled blearily, his hair flattened on one side of his head and on end on the other. “Sorry for crashing last night,” he said, slumping against the bench as he flicked the kettle back on to boil.

“Bad dreams?” Derek asked. Stiles shrugged, but Derek could sense the tension and pulled the cream cheese back out of the fridge for Stiles’ bagels which were waiting in the toaster. “You’re welcome here anytime, you know that.”

Some of the tension seemed to drain out of Stiles and he nodded once, meeting Derek’s eyes and flushing slightly before he glanced away.

Breakfast was prepared in comfortable silence, Derek at the kitchen table and working his way through one of the NY Times’ cryptic crosswords in the book that Stiles had bought for him for Christmas just gone, and Stiles leaning back against the counter and staring into midspace, the sharp morning sunlight making the dark circles beneath his eyes particularly noticeable as his expression shifted from anxious to bereft and his scent sharpened acridly to match.

“‘It's found in the ocean, and briefly in barnacles’,” Derek asked. “Two words, six and eight letters.”

Eyes dulled by exhaustion shifted slowly to meet his, and Derek could almost pinpoint the exact moment when Stiles got his enormous brain to focus on the wordplay and began thinking it over. “Briefly in barnacles, six and eight,” he mused quietly, gaze absently flitting all over Derek’s face as he puzzled it out. “Short word, then, or maybe an abbreviation… what maritime acronyms are there? ABS, AIS, ECS, DSV, NECSA? No, that’s night right. Hmm.” He turned away and began preparing his bagels, muttering under his breath as he went until he joined Derek at the table and took the book from him, frowning at the puzzle.

“What about some kind of creature found in the ocean with a short name?” Derek suggested.

“Not sure--” Stiles began, then quirked a sudden smile. “‘In the ocean’, you had it… only it’s in the ocean, not ‘in the ocean’,” he didn’t remotely clarify as he circled the ‘nacl’ in barnacles.

“NaCl,” Derek smiled as he got it. “Sodium chloride. Salt. In the ocean , not ‘in the ocean’.”

Stiles smiled back, his eyes a little less dark than they had been before.

Grocery shopping in order to get everything they needed for dinner was never as simple a chore as Derek expected it to be. Pushing Stiles around on the trolley as he stood on the end of it, however, was.

“What flour do you want for the pasta?” Stiles asked, holding up two bags to compare.

“The double-zero,” Derek told him, laughing when a hole in the bottom of one of the bags leaked a small cloud of flour over the front of Stiles’ Captain America tee.

“Shut it, douchewolf,” Stiles scowled, trying in vain to dust the flour off but only making it worse. Derek reached over for the flour he needed, but jerked back suddenly when Stiles clapped his hands to his cheeks, grinning evilly as he turned Derek’s scruff white with spilled flour.

“You are going to die a slow and painful death,” Derek promised, drawing back slowly to level a (not even slightly) menacing glare at Stiles, only to find him staring back with wide eyes and a look of stunned bewilderment on his face.

“God, you’re gonna be so sexy when you start going grey,” Stiles breathed, eyes fixed on Derek’s face, the yearning in his voice making Derek’s stomach flip. And then, when Stiles took a step backwards and dropped his eyes, it was all too much.

Derek’s hand shot out to wrap around Stiles’ wrist and hold him carefully in place, and he stepped forward until they were practically face to face in the cooking aisle of their local Whole Foods. “What are we doing, Stiles?”

“Shopping for dinner?” Stiles asked nervously, his eyes unwavering on Derek’s and his entire face lightening a little with a smirk at Derek’s exasperated expression. “Well,” he said eventually, voice strong but otherwise reeking of nerves, “I’ve been trying really hard not get my feelings all over you since, like, high school, while at the same time flirting with you because the way you smile makes me want to curl up and die of happiness.” There was a beat of silence between to two of them while a bored teenage voice called for a price check on register two and the overhead fluorescent light flickered briefly. “So. That’s what I’ve been doing.” His tongue darted out briefly to leave his lower lip shiny, brows creasing together in concern as Derek stared at him. “What-- what have you been doing?”

“I have been trying desperately not to fall in love with you so I wouldn’t have to worry about losing you out of my life when you inevitably figured it out,” Derek confessed bluntly. “So.”

“I feel like there should be kissing now, or something,” Stiles said eventually, the two of them still standing almost face to face, but with Derek’s hand sliding down to lace their fingers together. “Maybe that’s something we could be doing?”

Derek leaned forward and slid his nose softly against the side of Stiles’, inhaling deeply and obviously and smiling at the way Stiles’ breath caught. “There are a lot of things I’d like to be doing right now,” he said, deliberately keeping his voice low to feel Stiles shiver and sway closer so that they were then touching from chest to knee, “but we really do need to get the pasta started or it won’t be ready in time.”

It took a moment, but the bewildered blinking that highlighted Stiles’ confusion made way for narrow-eyed calculation as he pressed his free hand flat to Derek’s chest and slid it up and around to firmly grasp the back of his neck. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to convince you otherwise?” he asked.

“Not if you ever want to be allowed back to Whole Foods, there’s not,” a voice came, loud and uncomfortably close, and Derek tried very hard not to react physically to the sudden tight clench of Stiles’ fingers and thumb where they curved around to the vulnerable sides of his throat with his surprise.

“Fuck, Dad,” Stiles cursed, actually having managed to curl his body right against Derek as though shielding him from a threat.

And damn, but that did some wicked things to Derek.

“Not if I can help it,” the sheriff disagreed cheerfully, his knowing blue eyes sparkling with irascible humour as he glanced back and forth between them. “At least, not here.”

“I wasn’t going to screw Derek right here,” Stiles protested immediately, his hand still locked in Derek’s. “I mean, a blowjob in the carpark, sure--”

“Jesus, Stiles,” John and Derek both said at the same time, sharing an appalled look as Stiles laughed himself sick.

“That’s what you get for being a dick,” he eventually told his father.

“But what the hell did I do?” Derek asked petulantly.

“You were going to say no to that carpark offer,” Stiles told him.

“Oh I was, was I?”

“Yes, you damn well were,” John interjected. “Holy hell, is this what it’s going to be like from now on? Am I going to be getting reports from the rest of the station about you two idiots being caught in flagrante in public?”

“Of course not,” Stiles told his father like it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “We’re not going to get caught. What is this, amateur hour?”

“What did I ever do to deserve this?” John groaned, looking heavenward as though that would provide him with the answers he sought.

“Cockblocking our pre-sex negotiations, for one,” Stiles told him, holding a finger up. “Making innuendo, implying that I wouldn’t be able to orchestrate semi-public sex without getting caught.... I mean, that’s just insulting…”

“I am buying a steak the size of my face and you’re not saying a word about it,” John hissed, pointing an accusatory finger of his own at Stiles. “And I swear to god, kid, if I hear about you and Derek getting caught--”

“Oh don’t worry, we won’t be--”

“--getting caught I will disown you and disavow any knowledge of you, of Derek, the pack, your right to the Stilinski name and I will systematically eat my way through every bakery in this god-forsaken town as therapy. Do you hear me?”

“I hear you, old man,” Stiles grinned. “Better go get that steak before you hear us though, if you know what I mean--”

“You’re the worst,” John growled, eyes narrowed in an expression that matched his son’s.

“Guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, huh?” Stiles asked cockily. “Come on, Derek; let’s get what we need to and try not to touch dicks between here and home.”

Derek flushed crimson and tried not to meet John’s eyes as Stiles dragged him away. “Uh, bye,” he managed, and got only muttered imprecations for his efforts as John stalked away to buy what Derek was sure would be the entire rump of a cow. “Stiles, your father is going to kill me,” he said mournfully, well aware of the Sheriff’s supply of wolfsbane rounds and his sniper-accurate aim.

Stiles just laughed. “Nah, you’re good. He’s been trying to convince me to make a move for the last year. Pretty sure if I didn’t ask you out on a date by Christmas he was just going to show up with adoption papers and try and keep you that way.”

To say Derek was stunned would have been slightly understating the mark. “Your dad what?”

“Yeah, he loves you, dude,” Stiles told him, blithely filling the cart with ingredients that were not at all essential for dinner. “Pretty sure he’s been rooting for us since before I graduated, but kept it on the DL until I turned eighteen. Then it was all ‘Derek this’ and ‘grandkids that’, and ‘think about a spring wedding, Stiles, because I’ve been looking over the incident reports and statistically there’s less likelihood of a supernatural even to disrupt a ceremony between the months of March and June’.” He stopped and looked assessingly at Derek. “What do you think?”

“Think?” Derek asked faintly, his brain having gone offline a little at ‘grandkids and wedding’.

“Yeah. I mean, not about Dad being a total wedding-psycho, but about the forever and ever-type stuff?”

“That’s-- that’s something you’re interested in?” Derek asked cautiously.

“Not tomorrow, or anything,” Stiles told him, finally stopping and turning to watch Derek carefully. “But one day. In the future. Distant future. Yeah, I want that with you.”

Staring at Stiles, taking in the way his shirt was unravelling at the hem, the way his jeans-- or, rather, Derek’s jeans-- hung low on his hips, and how blatantly open and trusting his face was, Derek wanted all of that too. “Good,” he breathed, then leaned across the cart and pressed his mouth gently to Stiles’, revelling in the smile he could feel to match his own.

“Awesome,” Stiles said faintly as they parted, slightly dazed before his eyes cleared and began sparkling with mischief. “Now come on, let’s go buy this stuff and find Dad’s car so we can make out on the hood of it until he’s done and comes out and finds us.”

Derek laughed out loud and allowed Stiles to pull him by the hand towards the registers.

All of the books mentioned in this little piece of pointlessness are real! Check them out for some hella interesting facts! The title is just because I am, and ever will be, a child at heart (and brain, lbr).

The thing Stiles says when Derek wakes him up from his nap is from The Salmon Dance by The Chemical Brothers which I have an undying love for due to Drunken Shenanigans™.

#sterek #fluff #humour #awesome books #poor sheriff #he wasn't emotionally prepared #stiles is a little shit #derek is cute #derek hale deserves nice things #derek hale/stiles stilinksi #idiots in love

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tenecity · 6 years ago

Text

The Gods of Hades and Music

TGHM

—Summary: All you were trying to do, was to complete a stupid assignment, that you’re not even supposed to do. Who knew that a simple task could get out of hand?

masterlist | prologue | one

—PROLOUGE

“I’m your boss, don’t forget that.”

You slip your phone under the table as the teacher walks past, unaware of your “illegal” usage of the phone. You shake your head at your brother’s message, a cheeky smile on your lips. He’s the notorious leader in the region and yet, behind his cold facade, he was as childish as ever.

The bell rings and the teacher dismisses you, but not before she calls you out, passing you some papers. You smile as you take them, but when you return to your seat you sigh and run your fingers through your hair.

“Stop sighing! You sound like an old grandma.”

“Oh shut it Chengcheng. Remind me again, why did I sign up to be the chairperson?” You knock your head on the table, regretting your life choices.

“Because you wanted extra credits? I wouldn’t know Miss Perfect.” He mocks you, eyelashes fluttering ridiculously. He yelps in pain as you slam the book on his head, rolling your eyes at him. “Go away kid. I got work to do.” “‘Go away kid, I got work to do.’” He repeats childishly, walking away, waving a quick goodbye.

Shaking your head at his cheekiness, you copy and write down the numbers, tracking the records and helping your teacher to sort out the late comers. Photographic memory certainly comes in handy and you’re quick to sort everyone out by level, class, register number. Clicking your tongue at a certain absentee and frequent latecomer, you close the book and slip it into your teacher’s locker, walking home, a tune on the tip of your tongue.

“I’m home!” You call out as a waft of your favourite dish—sweet and sour crispy fish—overwhelms you. Abandoning your bag, you run to the kitchen and dizzily smiles as the aroma hits you in the gut. “Smells good Berth.”

Zhangjing narrows his eyes at you, before turning his attention back to his dish. He hates being called by his code name, he thinks it’s an ugly code name, but he got unlucky and was drawn to pick last so of course, he got the worst name out of the lot. You stick your tongue out at him as you pass him to grab a drink from the fridge.

A cold, wet metal presses against your skin, making you jump out of your skin at the sudden contact of it and Justin laughs, making fun of you. “Huh! ‘Heiress to Exousia’. Tell me, what kind of heiress gets scared of a cold can drink?” He teasingly waves the drink above his head, where you couldn’t reach. You claw onto his shirt, whining, pouting, and fighting with him until you got him into a necklock, happily sipping your cola as he pretends to choke, rubbing his neck.

“You’re home.”

“Ge!” You shout as you run towards him, body slamming him as he staggers back, arms automatically snaking around your body as he holds you secure. “Haven’t seen you in a long time kid,” Ziyi says as he presses a quick kiss on your forehead, his wet hair tickling your cheek. Letting go of you quickly, he rushes to his study room as the phone rings once again.

Ziyi has his own room in your apartment because well, most of the time he stays around here, doing his job, making sure you are safe. But he hardly ever uses the room, mostly staying cooped up in his study room, his glasses hanging elegantly at the tip of his nose as he furiously types away, phone permanently in his ear.

Ziyi has been with you all your life, as if he was your second older brother. He was like a father, a mother, a brother and an uncle for you, being there when your father and mother died in a car crash, being there for you when your brother was on the streets fighting, being there for you when your brother wasn’t home for weeks, supposedly on business trips, being there for you when you had nightmares. Definitely your pillar of strength, and you don’t know what you’ll do without him.

Justin, was a ragged kid, incredible dancing talent, incredible fighting skills, even though he was very much an unpolished stone when you first met him. When he fended off an entire gang of members, holding them off as he tried to protect you from being kidnapped while Ziyi rushed from his assignment, you immediately knew this would be your protector, your partner in crime, your best friend. When your brother offered him this job, despite knowing the complications that came with it, he took it nonetheless, because it meant a roof over his head, food to eat, and a family.

Zhangjing was like this really annoying uncle you had at family gatherings. Yanjun would always bring him over, making use of him to babysit you, when you really didn’t need any. But, he broke your cold and rebellious facade, quickly becoming one of your favourite agents. It’s a plus that he cooks so well.

“I’m home!” Yanjun calls out as a waft of his favourite dish—sweet and sour crispy fish—overwhelms him. Abandoning his bag, he runs to the kitchen and dizzily smiles as the aroma hits him in the gut. “Smells good Berth.” He says, lips at the curve of Zhangjing’s ear, colouring the latter’s cheeks.

“Get a room!” Justin calls from the living room, lazing on the couch as he listlessly flips through the channels. Your brother sends a glare his way, knocking his head, whispering a fierce but cheeky “Remember who feeds you kid!”, before stalking off to Ziyi’s room, already speaking to him in rapid fire.

You lean against the doorframe as you see your brother torture Ziyi with enormous amounts of information and folders, your arms folded together as your brows knit together. “You should really give Ziyi ge a break man,” you say, once they were both done discussing. Yanjun rolls his eyes, patting your head. “If I give him less work, and I pass it on to the other team leaders, the work will never be done properly. It’s not my fault your bodyguard is so good at everything.” Ziyi gives a weak smile and you cheekily roll your eyes as you follow your brother to the dining room.

“How’s school?” Yanjun asks as he scoops out the rice into the ceramic bowls, passing them to you to lay them on the table.

You shrug. “It’s okay.”

“Grades?”

“Straight As. I screwed up on this small test though and who knew Fan Chengcheng was so smart, he scored full marks on that one so he’s first for this term.” You sigh, ready to receive an earful.

“How did you magically flunk that small test?” Yanjun asks sarcastically, fingers tapping on the table as his other hand supports his chin, his intense eyes causing you to have your eyes downcast.

“I forgot we had a test on that day! It wouldn’t happen again,” you reply sulkily, pouting.

Yanjun rolls his eyes, opening his mouth to reprimand you again, when Zhangjing calls out, “INCOMING!” The crispy, golden sweet and sour fish, paired with the red sauce, pineapples, onions and cucumbers lightened the mood immediately. “Ziyi ge!” You call as you scoop out a portion, putting it in his bowl. “Come eat!”

“I’ll be there soon! Give me 5!” You count under your breath and sure enough, in 5 seconds, he is slipping into the seat next to yours, a protective arm hanging at the back of your chair as he tucks in.

“So,” you say, mouth full of rice and tender meat. “Why the hell did I receive an email saying that I’m up to collect protection fees?????? I never do such small jobs.” You say accusingly at your brother, eyebrow raised.

“Well, this guy is from the rival gang, and he’s behind on his fees. Didn’t I explain that already?” Yanjun replies nonchalantly as he places some of Zhangjing’s favourite pork ribs into his bowl.

“Yes, but-”

“Until you’re the leader of Exousia, you have to listen to my orders, no matter” He pointedly says, voice raised as you try to interrupt. “No matter if you’re my sister or not. Whether you like it or not, you’re still my subordinate and you have to listen to my orders. They will all be going with you, by the way.” And Justin and Zhangjing groan in unison, complaining immediately. They all had other more important things to do, Highway jobs were usually for the newcomers.

Yanjun clucks his tongue, shoving food into both their mouths.

“Both of you be quiet.

"I’m your boss, don’t forget that.”

#xiao gui #wang linkai #nine percent #masterlist #tghm

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soft-sarcasm · 7 years ago

Text

xu minghao: solace in mutual suffering I.

Pairing: xu minghao x reader.

Summary: your roommate Minjae and Minghao’s roommate have a lot of sex, and you find solace in each other and your mutual suffering. (or alternatively, you and Minghao meet on the rooftop of your building while your roommates have sex and there’s not much else.)

Genre: college!au, there isn’t much to this, but I kinda like it, weed use, also a strong hatred for mango juice.

Word Count: 3+k

a/n: so they smoke weed in this, if you’re not comfortable with this, I don’t really know what to say. This isn’t really substantial but I wrote it on a whim, so, yeah.

part ii.

“It’s like poison that burns everything good and pure in this world until there’s nothing left but a blackened husk of disgust and despair.”

“Fine then, we won’t get any fucking mango juice.” Your roommate of nearly two years, Minjae, scoffed, setting down the bottle before pushing the half-filled cart further away from the juice aisle. “You know, you could have just said you don’t like mango juice, you didn’t have to break out into a sonnet on death.”

“Simply saying I don’t like mango juice would be a dreadful understatement and I cannot stand privy to such a misconception.” Was your reply, the overtly overdramatic proclamation puffed out on fogged breath as you stooped low in front of the frozen vegetables freezer so that you could have better access to scrutinise the seemingly endless variety of mixed veg packets. “Now do we want peas, carrots and corn, or just peas and corn?”

Minjae took a moment contemplate, as she always did when questioned over the specifics of a purchase during your weekly shop and while the gravity of her expression could cause some to question if she was rather making the decision whether or not to go to war with a small nation, when in fact it typically was a more a-typical problem that more likely than not had something to do with noodles. “Get the one with all three; might as well if we’re paying for it.”

“Farm Fresh Medley it is,” You declared while retrieving the petrified packet before tossing it into the trolley so that it landed amongst the numerous bags of ramen. “Are you home for dinner tonight?”

“Not tonight,” Minjae clarified, mindlessly reaching for a bottle of fat-free milk as you glide past the dairy section. “Jun invited me over for a movie and sweet and sour pork.”

You sent her a questioning look of severe scrutiny, “I thought you were finally going vegetarian? Isn’t that why I wasn’t allowed chicken 5 seconds ago?”

“It’s a process,” She retorted, feeling around the crate of onions before giving you three that she deemed of decent quality for you to bag, “I’m weaning myself off of the stuff which means we can’t have it in the house.”

You scoffed, tying the plastic with a practised amount of ease, “You’re just saying that so you can justify eating meat for the sole purpose of getting some of Jun’s meat.”

“Firstly, I don’t have to do anything to get some of Jun’s meat,” Minjae’s flaunt was hastily followed by the wrinkling her nose in obvious disgust, “And secondly; EW. Why do you have to make everything so gross?”

“I make everything gross?” You repeated, though your tone mimicked less of Minjae’s and more of one that clearly clarified that you were most definitely not in agreement, you placed a bag of chillies along with the rest of your chosen items before grabbing back onto the trolley’s handle. “You know what’s gross Minjae; seeing you and Jun go at it on our couch, even after we had both promised to keep the living room a sex free zone.”

“Oh gosh, will you give that a rest, I aired out the cushions afterwards.” She tsked, using her grip on the front of the cart to direct you towards the spices aisle.

You blanched, going still amongst the shelves filled to the brim with condiments. “You said you scrubbed them with bleach! And now you’re telling me all you did was air them out?”

“Yup; they weren’t even out there for very long.”

“I don’t know why you’re actually proud of this; you’ve also been sitting on the same cushions.”

“Oh I know,” She replied, shoulders rolling in a casual shrug. “But unlike you, I’m not neurotic when it comes to cleanliness.”

“If not wanting to sit in my roommate and her boyfriend’s sex stains makes me neurotic, I’ll gladly take that title.” You deadpanned, ignoring the pointed look your words earned you from a mother who made quick work of shuttling her toddler in the opposite direction.

Minjae was too busy musing over hot sauces to pay your outrage any mind, weighing two bottles that were near identical if it weren’t for the colour of their warning stickers. “Extra hot or extra, extra melt your face off hot?”

“The second one, obviously.”

“You should actually join us,” Minjae proposed while handing you a pack of tampons for you to put on the conveyor belt. “We’re going to match some weird alien film and Jun’s roommate will be there, apparently he’s single.”

You ignored the suggestive waggle of her eyebrows, favouring to focus on setting down the weighted bag of rice down for the cashier to scan. “Yeah, because that sounds like an appealing way of spending my precious Thursday night; watching some sci-fi flick with a complete stranger while we both pretend we can’t tell you and Jun are getting frisky under the blankets. I think I’ll stick with my own plans.”

“34 on this and then the rest on hers,” Minjae took a small pause to address the expectant middle-aged women behind the till before sending a polite smile and turning back to face you. “Can eating popcorn and watching Prison Playbook, or whatever that show is called, really be counted as plans?”

“Thank you; enjoy the rest of your day.” You bumbled as politely as possible to the disinterested cashier who had completely disengaged with you the second your card was back in your hand. You took the time to carefully slip the engineered piece of glorified plastic back into your painfully light wallet before reclaiming the reins of the trolley. “Of course they’re plans, they also happen to be the only ones I need.”

“Wow,” Minjae drawled, “You sure do live a dangerous life.”

“What can I say,” You crooned, batting your eyelashes in mock flattery. “I like to live on the wild side from time to time.”

You had only ever fully spoken more than a greeting to Wen Junhui twice during the near four months during which he had not only co-inhabited the same building as you but also dated your friend, which was slightly odd seeing as how much of him you had been exposed to.

The first had been the day he and his roommates moved in, a brief welcoming that had progressed while his roommate had continued to singlehandedly struggle to carry an armchair due to Jun abandoning his share of the weight in favour of flirting with Minjae. The second had been the rather awkward small talk that had transpired over the coffee table in your living room that’s surface you had refused to tear your eyes from during the painful phatic conversation that took place while Minjae scampered off to retrieve their clothes, complete with Jun attempting to joke while clutching a pillow you made a mental note to never touch again so that he could conceal his naked crotch.

So while you were painfully familiar with the image of his dick as it was now branded fully to your brain no matter how many times you attempted to expel it, you were not as well acquainted with the rest of. But if you were to take Minjae’s mood during the months that had been seeing each other as anything to go on he was a decent person, or he was just that good at sex. Whatever the case, you had yet to be given any cause for reservation concerning their relationship and instead wished her off for her ‘movie night’ with a supportive thumbs up due to your mouth being thoroughly occupied by freshly popped popcorn during that precise moment.

If you wished, you could summon up some sort of sympathy for the poor bastard that haunted the apartment a floor up from yours alongside Jun seeing as the couple spent an exceptionally great percentage of their time up there compared to the amount they spent in your own, even more so since the incident. But you would probably never feel quite guilty enough that you weren’t the one being subjected to the rather piercing sounds of their sexcapades. You were given the freedom to stroll about your living space opposed to tip-toeing about in fear of disturbing anything. Also, with Minjae gone, you could blast your flowery girl group tracks without the worry of being shunned for enjoying the overtly bubblegum music that you counted closer to art while she saw it more as a cause of noise pollution, not that she was one to talk. You could also do all of this without being constricted by the social convention that was pants. You loved Minjae, but there was power in having your shared apartment solely to yourself and you were currently revelling in it.

An hour and almost an entire episode down, you were struck with an epiphany that would surely fully solidify your night of relaxation. You were bounding up from your bed in the direction of your desk in work to retrieve a certain metal case that rattled with the contents that you knew to be a black sleek, portable size pipe that had been a gift from Minjae herself and a small bag of something happily green. One of the many perks of living off campus was the lack of room checks which allowed more choice when it came to where you stored you weed, everyone had their preference, Minjae kept hers under her bed, you liked to keep yours blended in alongside your makeup caddy.

You hastily shimmied into a pair of shorts and slipped the case into one of the back pockets before you were exiting your apartment in pursuit of the thankfully accessible roof of your building. You scampered up the stairs, bare feet padding lightly against the cement until you reached the landing and punched in the familiar code that you had long ago memorised. Once through the door you were instantly introduced to the brisk evening air and couldn’t help but shudder at the sudden drop in temperature, cursing yourself for not pulling on a jumper over your flimsy t-shirt.

In efforts to be able to return to the source of warmth that was your apartment, you crowded yourself behind one of the broken dressers that had evidently found its grave on the roof of your building. Crouching down in hopes of shielding yourself from the current breeze, you used little flare to shove the needed amount of green into the designated compartment on your pipe, giving your past high self a little pat of gratitude for mulling the entirety of your weed so that the process was made much more efficient.

Finally having everything where it was supposed to be, you balanced the pipe in your mouth as you pulled yourself back into a standing position, flicking up the lighter and bringing down the flame. You inhaled the fumes that came rushing down the pipe, hopping slightly in an attempt to stay warm as you exhaled.

“I was right; weed.”

You all but left your skin behind with the force of your abrupt jump at the sound of the poignant statement. Half-way through a drag, you twisted in the direction of the intrusion only to be met with a rather expectant, all-knowing expression. Only slightly taller then you thanks to the inherited height of your father was a young man that you liked to think you recognised as Jun’s roommate from the few brief occasions you had caught sight of him. He was undoubtedly good looking, sandy brown hair that suspiciously resembled the style of a mullet though you could overlook that in favour of the overall attractive package.

It was only when you started to become lightheaded did you realise that you had been holding your breath causing you to instantly release it, coming out more of a choked cough as you spluttered on smoke all while under the scrutiny of your neighbour. He watched as you all but expelled a lung from your body with mild concern.

“You alright over there?”

You held up a finger in way of conveying the moment you needed as you beat a fist at your chest, finally being able to speak after the raw burn slightly dissipated from your airways. “Fine, thanks. You just surprised me is all.”

“Sorry,” He mused though he seemed less apologetic and more amused which caused your gaze to narrow. “Though I guess it’s only natural for someone who’s doing something illegal to be jumpy.”

“Illegal my ass,” You scoffed and definitely lifted the apparatus back up to your lips. “No one’s ever overdosed on marijuana and it does more good than harm and that’s a fucking fact.”

“Not arguing with you on that,” He reasoned while raising his hands in mock surrender, the rather coy twist of his lips amplifying into a near smirk.

You rolled your eyes, lifting your lighter back up so that you could take another drag, retaining the smoke for a moment before exhaling and speaking again. “You’re Jun’s roommate right?”

“Minghao,” He clarified, “And you’re Minjae’s roommate right? The one who likes Pristin?”

“Wee Woo is a work of fucking art and I will fight you on that,” You stated pointedly over a puff of fumes, “But yes, I’m ____.”

“Nice.” Was his simple reply, his gaze now trained on the lit device that dangled in your grasp.

“You want?” You questioned, raising the piece and lighter in his direction. He nodded before gratefully grabbing for the items. You watched as he brought them both up, oddly fascinated by the way his inarguably attractive lips wrapped around the small cylinder, and he relit the end before inhaling deeply, silence whipping around you like the wind as he slowly exhaled. “Why are you up here?”

“It started getting a bit too much for me when I couldn’t even hear the movie over the sound of them.” He stated and no further explanation was needed for you to understand.

You wrinkled your nose in disgust, taking the pipe when he offered. “They must really just have a thing for living rooms.”

Minghao choked out a laugh at the severe distaste laced in your voice that made it easy to assume that there was some further implication of your words. “Right, Jun told me about the incident.”

“Yeah,” You snorted while handing back the pipe, “That thing.”

“I can relate it’s happened to me more than once.” He sympathised, shuddering in a way that had you all but grinning.

“How far are they into it?” You questioned after a few more sessions of passing back in forth, your mind becoming increasingly tinged with a warm fog though it did little to combat the cold against your skin.

“Well, the movie’s only half way so I guess another hour, maybe two just to be safe.” He estimated sending you a side glance as you shivered. “You should probably think about going inside.”

Your next expire came out chill shaken further contributing to the fact that yes, you probably should think about going inside. “But I so enjoy feeling like a frozen icicle.”

“Do you really need to specify being a frozen icicle? Wouldn’t being an icicle in turn mean that you are already frozen?” He mused, caramel brown eyes reading pondering as they flickered under the depleted light of the sole bulb that hung dangerously from a half-broken lamp.

Your stare directed at his defined profile that faced you was blatant and blank in its lack of approval to his comment, “I could be a fucking melted icicle if I bloody wanted to be, you don’t know me.”

“Wouldn’t that mean you were a puddle?”

“Fuck you,” Was you curt reply, brain a mesh of muddled and tangled cords that weren’t locking into the correct fuses that would have usually powered a more eloquent response. “Do you want to come in before I become more of a frozen fucking icicle?”

There was a shrug, then a smirk that you had noticed seemed to be Minghao’s infuriatingly attractive trademark, “Sure.”

“Cute.”

You hastily yanked back your foot that the toe Minghao had just finished pulling was attached to, “Don’t touch.”

“Then don’t put your feet on my lap,” He retorted from his side of the couch that you had both taken resident on though while he was crowded to the far end, you had languidly stretched your body across as a lazy fog continued to set in and warm your once iced bones.

You poked him in the side with aforementioned foot, “My couch, my rules.”

Minghao sent you a look of amusement as you continued to then wedge your toes out of sight in between the plush of the sofa and his thigh, his gaze switching to your contended face that you were currently stuffing with popcorn. “Cute.”

“No,” You giggled, polluted brain far easier to flatter than it normally would.

“Why have we never hung out before?” Minghao questioned absentmindedly, sending a wink to combat the glare you sent him as he reached over to shove a hand into the bowl that balanced on your stomach. “Seeing as our roommates are always hanging out.”

You scoffed and munched on another handful of butter flavoured kernels, “I don’t think I know you well enough to hang out with you like Minjae and Jun hang out.”

Minghao swatted your extended thigh in retaliation to your insolence, “You know that’s not what I meant,” And then he spoke quieter, “Not that I would be entirely opposed.”

“Oi!” You exclaimed, stabbing your toes upwards into his thigh. “I ain’t the kind of girl who smokes with a boy and then goes down on him; I at least have to get a meal out of it first.”

“I have that pizza place down the road on speed dial,” He mentioned offhandedly, already moving to extract his phone from his pocket. “They deliver in less than 15 minutes.”

“Haha,” You snarked, “You’re so fucking funny.”

He shrugged, “Well I do have this plan that if the whole photography thing doesn’t work out that I may dabble in stand up comedy.”

“And I would be in front row at every single show, cheering you on.” You crooned, batting your eyelashes far too spastically to be attractive.

“Does this mean we’re dating now? I thought we weren’t even hanging out.”

“Fuck no! I haven’t even gotten my pizza yet!”

#xu minghao #minghao #the8 #seventeen scenarios #seventeen #the8 scenarios #seventeen smut #the8 smut #kpop scenarios #kpop smut #minghao smut #writing

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fatorangepoo · 3 years ago

Text

Diary o' 18th April 2022

Chicken floss bread with choc milk for breakfast.

When I was walking along the school hallways, I saw a student getting lectured by our discipline teacher for wearing sport shoes and i probably looked terrified or soemthing because he averted his gaze to me and stared at my shoes, then called me there too...

"Cannot wear these type of shoe ah." "Ok." "Blah blah blah..." "Ok." "Ok u can go now."

MY SECRET TECHNIQUE 😈😈😈😈

When walking to my class, I saw a morning session teacher probably. He was really fun to talk to.

"Heyy u know where is 2M class?" "Huh why is it your first day?" "No, just my class is currently being used by 4A." "Oh, then I don't know also." Then i see people on the fourth floor waving to who knows what and i point at them and say, "Oh, there?" because i thought it were my classmates lol... "Um no that's form 5 LOL." "Oh.." Then i see my responsible class monitor (U saved me!!) and i shouted her name and waved goodbye to the teacher.

we are using the science lab as a replacement for our class for the first period. i put my bags down and liting asks if i want to go buy the math workbook our teacher wanted us to purchase. while talking to her i looked in my (not so serious anymore) crush's direction and he was looking back at me. i looked away quickly and continued talking to my friend. when we were preparing to leave i looked again to confirm that he was staring and he was. hm. he always does that, looking at me for so long then doesn't look at me for the rest of the day like 🤬🤬🤬.

in recess liting asked me what i ate for breakfast and instead of chicken floss i said dog food... LIKE ON ACCIXENT 😨😨😨😨...

"你吃什么” “狗粮面包”...

i like math class actually 😍😍💪💪

in pjpk me and liting sneaked to the toilet when teacher wasn't looking. we took turns in the same stall because the other toilets weren't working. we talked to each other while pissing if that isn't friendship idk what is!

then we also snuck to the equipment room after we finished our business. THERE WAS SO MUCH STUFF IN IT ❤️❤️❤️❤️

There were rugby balls, bow (with no arrows for some reason), BASEBALL MITTS, CATCHER'S HELMET, BASEBALL BAT AND SOFTBALLS, HOCKEY STICKS AND MORE!!!!! I wore the baseball mitt with a softball in my hand for a while and liting was holding the bat until teacher found us out lololol.. she said in PE we could only play with the mainstream sports... 😒😒😒😒☺️

we mostly chilled in pe.

- we first walked to the upper centre of the field and sat on the ground talking, then walked in a circle once and were motivated to longjump

- we ran and jumped, used a dry leaf as an indicator... she and i jump same length lolol

- then we ran 3 laps from the middle of the field to the slope...

- we are very exhausted, we take off our masks to breathe for a while.. it is certainly nicer without a mask! the breeze~~~

- we walked another lap around the big ass field, resting on a tree near the slope later

- it was time to go home, while walking back to take our bags i saw my (blah) crush mock kissing his best guy friend and i dont know if they really kissed or not they just snickered so loudly after.

DINNER

fried pork fatty sweet and sour flavour???, broccoli and cauliflower, fried chicken (i got the drumstick), po lei shang choi!!!

- i watched major again after dinner, it was so good!!! i like all the characters again!!

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some-triangles · 7 years ago

Note

write about southeast asian cuisine

holy shit dude it’s delicious

I’m pretty into eating, you know? I could probably write a memoir that’s just a series of personally important meals. An interesting thing about eating is that the quality of the food is not always the factor that determines the quality of the meal; for a meal to live in one’s memory so much is dependent on context, company and its place in the momentum and geography of one’s lived experience that trash can win out over haute cuisine as long as it is eaten in the right nexus of vibe.

The upshot of this is that the best and most memorable meal I had in Kyoto was a Domino’s pizza - which admittedly is both way more expensive and of way higher quality in Japan than it is here - while the Japanese meal I am fondest of I had in Seattle, at a randomly chosen restaurant which I could not find now if I tried. Similarly I had better twice cooked pork in Queens than I did in Beijing, better dim sum in Chicago, better pulled noodles in Parsippany. Then again the best culinary experience I’ve had in the last several years was some deep-fried sausage balls eaten while leaning against my car in a parking lot in Scott, Louisiana, so you shouldn’t take me too seriously as a food critic.

Objectively the highest concentration of the best asian food I have had in the US is in Seattle’s International District, where you can get top-flight sushi, pho, thai curry, taiwanese bento, cambodian fried rice and a million other things for relatively cheap. The asian restaurant (and that’s what it is, just plain asian) with which I have the longest outstanding relationship is Joy Yee’s in Chicago Chinatown, where you can get pretty much anything noodle- or chunk-based you want, as well as some of the world’s best bubble tea, and food poisoning. They had - briefly, briefly, in like 2002 - a sour plum fondue where you dipped your little strips of raw beef into this boiling fruity vinegar and it was the best possible thing, and I’ve never found it anywhere else. If you want to destroy yourself there’s a place called Lucky 88 in Brooklyn which will serve you a plate of whole deep fried breaded pork chops in a sweet sticky sauce and you’ll be amazed at how many of them you manage to eat before what you’ve done sinks in. There are hong kong rice bakes and roti canai and mock duck tofu wraps and xi’an spicy potatoes and nasi goreng and sundubu jigae and oyster omelettes and cold noodles with mustard and the dreaded Six Chambers of Beef and

Fuck, I’ve made myself hungry now and I can’t eat anything because I have surgery tomorrow. You inconsiderate clod.

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buffetlicious · 1 year ago

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Two of my favourite dishes are in this takeaway pack of Vegetarian Rice (斋饭). Can you guess which are the two? :D Yeah, they are the curry mock mutton & potato and the creamy sweet pork ribs with sugarcane for the bone. The sweet & sour pork cubes in front, I don’t really enjoyed it but the omelette with bitter gourd and carrot in it is yummy.

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scifiphan · 7 years ago

Note

76. “I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

I also combined this with prompt #67 “If you don’t want to talk about it then say so. Don’t lie and pretend to be fine when you clearly aren’t.” that was submitted by @easydodesit !

this is my first time posting any form of dnp fic on tumblr/attempting drabble so rip me

(check out other fanfic by me)

Drabble #1 : Soft Edges

word count: 860

Dan pretended not to notice when shirts that used to hang loose off his torso began to feel tight. They were a suffocating reminder that he had fallen into lazy habits that included too many takeaway pizzas and not enough time spent outside. Hard edges had given way to soft curves and he pretended as if he wasn’t changing.

They had fallen into their usual routine of a quiet night in; curled up on the couch with a bottle of rosé between them, the promise of takeaway food, and the latest Scandinavian crime drama. It was comfortable. It was habitual; just the two of them was all either needed to be content.

Phil gently nudged Dan’s leg, dragging his attention away from the subtitles during a dull moment.

“What do you want for dinner? Pizza maybe? Or how about Mexican?”

Dan just shrugged, his chocolate eyes only flitting over to Phil for a moment before bringing his attention back to the television, “I’m not really feeling like takeout.”

“There’s left over Chinese in the fridge,” Phil suggested but they both knew that the remaining sweet and sour pork would go untouched.

“I’m fine with this,” Dan pulled his half empty glass of rosé up to his lips with small smile flickering into existence before vanishing as he took a sip of the pink tinted wine.

He could feel Phil’s sky-blue eyes observe him for a few moments before the sound of the television vanished into silence.

“What’s wrong?” the older man asked in barely a whisper but it felt loud, echoing through the now silent apartment.

“They were about to find a clue about who the murderer is!” Dan’s lips formed a slight ‘o’ as he mocked being shocked about Phil pausing their tv show. He knew what was about to follow was inescapable.

“Every time I offer takeout you turn it down. What’s wrong, Dan? Do you want to go out for once instead of ordering in every night?”

Dan didn’t want to make eye contact but it was impossible not to when Phil’s words were coated with such sincere worry. He had built walls, boxing the situation at hand into a repressed corner of his self-consciousness and as he looked over at Phil, the walls began to crumble.

“I’m fine,” he told the raven-haired man and in response, a frown materialised upon both their lips.

Phil reached out to place a pale hand over Dan’s before his thumb began to trace lazy patterns upon the younger man’s skin, “If you don’t want to talk about it then say so. Don’t lie and pretend to be fine when you clearly aren’t.”

“It’s stupid,” Dan responded, stifling a sigh. The touch of Phil was comforting, it reminded him of why they were still so ridiculously in love after so many years. It reminded him that he didn’t need to build walls around his insecurities because with Phil he could be transparent. Of course, that hadn’t stopped him from building them anyway.

“Nothing can be as stupid as that time you asked me where the sun goes at night?” Phil’s cheeky smirk broke the tension for only a moment but it was enough to reassure Dan.

“I was very drunk,” he rolled his eyes, prepared to bring up the countless nonsensical questions Phil asks every day but he stopped himself, he couldn’t ignore what he had repressed. “Have you noticed how my clothes don’t fit like they used to?”

Beside him, Phil was silent for only several moments but it felt like aeons passed between them before he spoke, “Is that what’s freaking you out?”

Dan’s chocolate eyes melted as all the walls he had built dissipated beneath those words. It seemed silly, having the concept said out loud.

“I’m not as fit as I used to be,” he admitted before prying his hand free of Phil’s and poking his stomach cautiously.

“Neither am I,” Phil replied. His response was light and giggly but the undertone of sincerity was still ever-present. “We both gave up on going to the gym and it’s not like we’ve been blessed with super cool athlete genes.”

“I was just worried…” Dan trailed off, not knowing how to explain it in a way that would sound silly. “I was worried that you might not love me as much.”

“Dan,” Phil said in a tone filled with fondness, “I love you for you no matter how many pizzas we eat per week.” His hand reached out to tenderly stroke the younger boy’s cheek before moving down to gently trace a line on his hips. “I love your curves and soft edges and I love seeing you happy. You can always buy new clothes if you don’t feel comfortable but Dan, please understand that you are perfect the way you are.”

Blush had risen on Dan’s cheeks and a grin slowly pulled on his lips, “you really mean that?” He already knew the answer but it was nice to hear it out loud, just for reassurance.

Phil nodded before placing a tender kiss on his cheek, “I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

#what's this?????? i published a phanfic???? i know it's only drabble but still. i'm shook #phanfic #phanfic drabble #phandom #mydrabble #i hope u like this hana #it feels weird to write fic again #i'll probs do one drabble per day bc i got a dozen prompts in my inbox #dan and phil #idek what to tag for fic #phan #phanfiction #teddiiwrites

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ryukoishida · 7 years ago

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Quan Zhi Gao Shou Fic: In which Yifan and Yingjie go on a date on Yifan’s birthday.

Title: Won’t Let the City Destroy Our Love Fandom: The King’s Avatar / Quan Zhi Gao Shou Character(s)/Pairing(s): Gao/Qiao (Yingjie/Yifan) Summary: Yifan didn’t think anyone in the team would remember his birthday, but Yingjie always managed to surprise him. Rating: PG A/N: Written for our beloved Yifan’s birthday! Researching for this fic makes me want to visit Beijing even more :’)

Writing Commission | Editing & Translation Services

---

“Have a good night, sweetheart. I’m sure you still have plans with your teammates tonight.”

His mother’s gentle voice sounds incredibly far away through the crackling of the receiver, especially in the silence of his dormitory, where only the desk lamp is switched on to throw a lonely, orange glow and his crisp shadow against the plain white walls.

“Good night, ma.”

Qiao Yifan doesn’t have the heart to tell her that ever since he’s entered Team Weicao as an official second-string player almost a year ago, he’s been barely holding on. He’s afraid that the longer the conversation continues on, the more difficult it becomes to withhold the roiling waves of homesickness that’s been hitting him especially hard tonight.

The bitter and wistful flavor of his sentiment gets stuck in his throat like a lump of dry cotton — hard to swallow, but even harder to spit out — as he clears his throat before saying one last goodbye to his mother. He glances at the screen of his phone, which informs him that it’s almost ten o’clock. Training has run late as usual and his stomach growls with hunger, but Yifan doesn’t complain; if anything, he values the time and opportunity to train under the team captain Wang Jiexi’s instruction or any of the other first-string players, which is a rare occasion in and of itself.

The moon is beginning to wane as the merriments of Mid-Autumn Festival from two nights ago fade for another year. Yifan pushes open the window to let some fresh air in, and he shivers as the night autumn breeze unsheathes its blade against his bare skin, startling him into a moment of lucidity. He wonders how much time he’s left here, in a city that never truly sleeps, where people compete and claw their way up to the top, to where their goals lie.

He wonders if he’ll ever get there, wherever “there” is.

Yifan is jolted out of his bleak contemplation by someone knocking on his door.

“Coming,” he calls out softly, his mind still preoccupied so that when he opens the door to find the familiar face and warm, expectant grin of his best friend, he’s slightly taken aback. “Oh, Yingjie, hi!”

“Hey to you, too,” Gao Yingjie, the youngest and most promising member of Weicao, greets him with his usual smile and bright eyes, “you haven’t eaten yet, right? Let’s go out and grab some food!”

“W-with the others?” Yifan stammers, taking a small step back. He freezes immediately when he realizes what he’s done — the dread of having to face the other team members so horrifyingly natural and instinctual that he hasn’t been aware of his movement until it’s too late.

“Nah, just the two of us,” Yingjie notices the other man’s unease and asks with a hint of hesitation, “is that okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” Yifan breathes out in relief.

Yingjie refuses to tell him where they’re going, and Yifan doesn’t persist further, glad to let his friend lead the way. They take the public bus, which takes them from the quieter part of the city to the much busier and more boisterous shopping district of Beijing where tourists and local residents mesh in a colourful burst of cultural palette. Yifan recognizes the neon signs above their heads, and his suspicion is confirmed once they get off the bus.

Up ahead is a huge arched entranceway, the ancient roof tiles a washed-out jade green and carmine red, and in the center of the pillared arch is an imperial blue plague with the characters painted in rusted gold: Wangfujing Snacks Street.

The bright red bulbs of the paper lanterns swing lazily in the evening breeze, and despite the autumn chill, neither of them feel cold as the street is still packed with people at this late hour.

“Let’s be tourists for the night,” Yingjie turns to him with a mischievous grin that makes him look even more boyishly charming than usual, and Yifan has to wait for a few, painfully long seconds before he can calm the thunder and lightning in his heart and locate his voice to answer with a murmured “sure”.

Without a sign of warning, Yifan feels warm fingers lacing with his own slightly colder ones, and he stares at Yingjie with widened, confused eyes as an unintelligible “um” barely makes it past his suddenly very parched throat.

“I don’t want to lose you in this crowd,” Yingjie merely explains with a shrug and a blindingly bright grin as his fingers tighten around Yifan’s. “Come on, let’s go, let’s go! I’ve been craving chuan’r for ages!”

Under the neon radiance of the restaurant signs and the colourful flags that line the side of the streets, the two young members of Weicao half-shove and half-being-pushed their way into the hutongs that compose the complex of densely-packed food stalls and souvenir shops.

“Yingjie,” Yifan pauses in front of one of the stalls, and the other man is forced to a stop as well. With a curious gaze, he looks over to where Yifan is pointing with a wicked grin, the expression so unlike his usual sweet, timid self that it has momentarily startled Yingjie into muteness until he becomes aware that he’s been staring at his friend for far too long to be deemed polite. “Want to give that a try?”

“Eww! No!” he slaps Yifan on the arm when he sees rows upon rows of fried grasshoppers and scorpions on skewers displayed neatly before them, their dark, cooked shells gleaming with a layer of greasy shine under the red glow of the lanterns. The utter disgust, horror, and betrayal on Yingjie’s face only cause Yifan to snigger harder, his entire body shuddering from laughter bubbling from within.

“I’m just kidding — just kidding,” Yifan laughs as he gets dragged away from the insect stall, the owner of which sends the two youngsters evil glares while muttering cusses under his breath.

“You’re treating me to some chuan’r for giving me psychological trauma back there,” Yingjie commands with mock irritation when they finally find a kebab stall that seems to be quite popular; the line-up is long but not unreasonable, so they get to the back of the line and chat about which meat and vegetables to order.

After they’ve received their food from the enthusiastic shopkeeper, Yifan and Yingjie find a quiet corner in one of the less conspicuous hutongs that the luminosity of the lanterns can’t reach so that when they stand side-by-side, chicken and beef kebabs in hands and their arms almost touching as they lean against the wall, the surrounding air is only filled with the enticing scent of warm spices and the muffled noises from the main avenue drifting in like mist.

They eat their skewers in companionable silence, quietly savoring the flavours of freshly roasted meat, and only sporadically mumble about how delicious the kebabs are, or how much the food is making them miss their families’ cooking even more.

After they polish off all the skewers, they continue to wander through the crowded paths, winding through the maze-like streets and dodging drunken locals chatting rowdily amongst themselves and animated tourists posing with their food for photographs. They stop occasionally to buy whatever snacks that tickle their fancy: a shared platter of fried dumplings drizzled with chili sauce, steamed pork buns that warm up their hands and faces as they take tentative bites, and fried fermented tofu topped with specialty spicy sauce that has a strangely tantalizing scent that neither of them can refuse.

At the end of their food adventure, Yingjie buys them each a bingtanghulu — like a string of rubies, strawberries and Chinese hawthorns are skewered on a bamboo stick and coated with a crunchy layer of hardened golden sugar syrup.

The night is deep, but Wangfujing is still hectic with people hunting to satiate their cravings and enjoying their free time with friends and lovers.

Their evening together is coming to an end, the sweet and sour taste of the candied fruits tart and saccharine on his tongue serving as the lasting reminder that all good things must come to a conclusion — that all dreams, sweet and wonderful as they may be, he must rouse from.

“Hey, Yifan,” Yingjie lowers his empty bamboo stick and turns to face his friend, who is still focused on trying to carefully bite the last strawberry off the stick without having it fall off or making a mess. He waits with an amused smile while Yifan finishes chewing and swallowing the fruit.

“What is it?” Yifan finally turns towards Yingjie, whose previous bright smile has softened into something subtler — more indecipherable yet heartbreakingly gentle, impossible to read. Yingjie’s smile scares him, the way his heart thuds painfully against his ribcage like it’s trying to escape the inevitable; Yingjie terrifies him, the way he’s able to carve himself into his heart so intimately, so easily; Gao Yingjie is someone he fears and cherishes — Yifan fears that he may slip away as naturally as grains of sand sifting through his fingers, yet he cherishes every moment they spend together.

And now, as Yingjie gazes at him, a small smile curling along his lips and dark eyes concentrating on no one but him, Yifan feels himself taking the small step forward to close the distance between them. White haze slips through their parted lips and dissipates into the crisp October air.

“Happy birthday,” Yingjie says, and then he leans forward to place a chaste kiss on Yifan’s wind-chilled cheek, his lips warm and dry against his icy, flushed skin.

“Ying…jie?” he timidly touches the spot where Yingjie has kissed him, fingers unsteady.

For a brief moment, Yifan doesn’t quite understand what has happened, and then it hits him all at once and his face burns in embarrassment as he lowers his head, forelocks falling into his eyes and casting his face into shadows.

“Yifan? Should I… should I not have done that?” Yingjie starts, his voice hushed and apologetic, “I’m sorry—”

“No! Don’t! Don’t apologize, I just—” he halts again, biting his lower lip, words caught in his throat, his body paralyzed. “I just…”

Wordlessly, Yifan reaches out for him with both of his arms, and Yingjie gathers him into his embrace without a moment of hesitation.

“Thank you, Yingjie,” his voice is muffled as he buries his face into the crook of Yingjie’s neck.

He chuckles, gently ruffling Yifan’s hair, and kisses his temple as he whispers, “No, thank you.”

Thank you for being born into this world. Thank you for being by my side.

Thank you for your love.

#quan zhi gao shou #the king's avatar #qzgs #qiao yifan #gao yingjie #gao/qiao #bowie's crappy writing

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surprise-sausage-party · 4 years ago

Note

Mattie made sure to call in Guinness' usual favorites from their usual place just down the street. A large order of sweet and sour chicken with shrimp lo mein, fried dumplings, and pork fried rice, the tall girl Even made sure to ask them to hold the onions, Just like her sweet irish hubby preferred!

As soon as she gave the attendee her credit card number, and thanked them after they gave her the estimated delivery time of thirty minutes, Mattie peaked in on Guinny to make sure the little redhead was none the wiser. He was, just as she thought, was watching tv and checking his watch ever so often. Like his taller girlfriend, Guinness seemed to be excitedly counting down to when Mattie would be taking her last dosage of the delicious magic fertility brew in, ironically, an hour. The perfect amount of time for her to get ready((and to maybe rile up her cutie soulmate while he eats his dinner before his special dessert~ ))

---- A Half Hour Later ----

When Mattie opened the door for the delivery guy wearing only her fuzzy purple robe, and her special outfit she had dressed herself up in for Guinness underneath, she noticed two things;

Number 1; This guy most certainly WAS NOT the Eli, her best friend's baby brother AND her usual delivery boy.

Number 2; He was... Staring at her. Gawking really. His dark green eyes hungrily looking her up and down in a way that made the young witch feel--- Dirty.

"Hey baby~~ I'm Zack. You know... You're looking fiine tonight~ you know~" He purred while handing Mattie Guinness' food, his hand purposefully brushing up against the tall beauty's own soft ones. Everything about this guy rubbed Matilda in all the wrong ways, but the way he Spoke to her...

Like how a teacher talks to a student they've chosen to bully... Mocking, and threatening in a nasty and cruel way. When Mattie tried pulling herself away to close the door, the delivery boy reached out to grab ths sea witch's wrist and pulled her close to him.

"You're being sooo rude, my cute lil dolly," Zack's eyes began to glow a pale, sickly green, and he smiled down at the horrified sea witch, showing the honey eyed girl his sharp teeth while pinning her against the fridge.

"Don't you know Witches are supposed to Serve Warlocks, my Little Dolly~?" At that, Matilda felt her chest tighten and she immediately opened her mouth to screech, as the disgusting bastard pulled her robe away to reveal her lingerie.

"GUINNESS!!!!!!!!!!!"

When her boyfriend had come home from his doctor's appointment with the fertility potion, Mattie bawled her eyes out. The tall girl picked up her boyfriend and held him tight to her chest while she cried, sobbing out barely understandable 'thank yous' to him. Then, after Guinness had finally calmed his beloved sea witch down, the human disguised Leprechaun explained all the rules his precious honey eyed seamstress would need to follow for their evening later on that day.

"It tastes like grapes and cream!" Mattie said, looking up at Guinness with a giggle, after she'd taken her first sip of the delicious potion through a bright purple silly straw. The tall two were snuggled close on the couch, with the tall witch cuddled comfortably into her boyfriend's chest, as the two watched a crime show.

"You remembered my favorite!" Mattie winked at the redhead, giving his shoulder a playful nudge before leaning forwards to set her empty cup down on the marble coffee table in front of them and getting up.

"I'll be RIGHT back~!" The tall girl chirped as she turned to leave the room, her hips swayed purposefully with every step when she had to step in front of the leprechaun's line of sight and continued to do so until she left the room.

Mattie was heading to the kitchen to grab her phone and call up the chinese place right around the corner. She knew her Guinness hadn't eaten all day, and although Mattie knew SHE couldn't eat until the thermos holding the delicious potion had been totally emptied, Matilda had quite clearly heard her Lucky Charm's tummy rumble! Guinness also didn't have a magical nectar that worked as a drink AND food like Mattie currently did.

Guinness tried not to directly stare at the pretty witch when she walked away, but really, it was clear that she wanted him to look.

he chuckled to himself when she left the room, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink.

he then looked at the potion. examining it a little.

he still couldn´t quite believe that they would soon, hopefully have a baby..it feels like a dream. a very very pleasant little dream.

having a little son or daughter with the woman of his dreams? that was such an incredible, wonderful thought.

it made his heart flutter in his chest.

#OAO

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karlosharrison-blog · 5 years ago

Photo

Over the past few decades, Poland has risen to take its rightful place as one of the premier tourist and traveler destinations in Europe. This is no mean feat considering how it was left after the Second World War, and now its vibrant cities and stunning countryside are attracting visitors from far and wide.

Scenic Krakow city.

Poland’s landscape draws many outdoor enthusiasts, while places like Krakow, Gdansk, Wroclaw, and Warsaw are cultural and culinary hubs with a buzzing nightlife scene. The fact that it’s considerably cheaper than its western counterparts only adds to the charm.

And yet there are so many more destinations to explore here that perhaps don’t get the same attention as those aforementioned cities. One such place is my hometown of Zagan in the southwest of the country – where I was born and raised. It might not be on everyone’s bucket list, but it is most certainly worth a look – not least for its Polish culinary excellence and history, and great Polish Christmas traditions. Read on to discover what you can see, do and – of course – eat in the region.

Where is Zagan?

My hometown is located in the southwest of Poland on the Bóbr river, some 60 kilometers from the German border and 160 kilometers from Wroclaw. It has a small population of just over 26,000 inhabitants and is the capital of the Zagan administrative district in the historic region of Silesia. Interestingly, it is thought that the name of the town means “place of the burnt forest,” referring to the removal of woodland by the early settlers here.

The town was first mentioned in records dating back to 1202, while the whole Silesia region has seen its fair share of ups and downs through the years, a culturally rich part of the world with corners in the Czech Republic and Germany. With its position on the Bóbr, Zagan was an important trade route, and the area is blessed with many natural resources. But it is perhaps most famous for being the location of Stalag Luft III – the German prisoner of war camp that housed allied airmen during the Second World War.

Colourful townhouses in Zagan

We shall return to this fascinating story momentarily.

How to Get to Zagan

The nearest major airport to Zagan is located in Wroclaw, but you might also consider flying into Dresden in Germany – which isn’t that much further away at 169 kilometers. Flights depart regularly from most international airports. At the time of writing, trains from Wroclaw run four times a day and it will take you anywhere between two to three hours to arrive. Check the schedules before departing. Buses are possible but they don’t stop in the town center and can be irregular.

I and Cez visiting Zagan by car. We went to explore my neighbourhood together.

The best way to get to Zagan is by car, as having your own mode of transport will afford you the ability to explore the surrounding area and visit the sights with ease. Failing that, don’t forget that Poland is a very hitchhiking friendly country and ridesharing is also extremely popular. Points of interest in the region are often a distance apart, so having your own wheels is highly recommended.

Getting Around

Even if you do have your own vehicle, I would most definitely suggest exploring the town by bicycle. Zagan is a very bike-friendly town given its relatively small layout, and you can rent one from the tourist information office right next door to the Ducal Palace.

What to See in Zagan

While having its own particular charm, the town itself doesn’t have many sights to speak of – certainly not when compared to Wroclaw or Dresden for that matter. But what it lacks in physical attractions, it more than makes up for in history, food and hospitality. That and its number one tourist draw – Stalag Luft III POW camp and museum.

Stalag Luft III Prisoner Camp Museum

The regions undeniable highlight is, quite rightly, extremely popular. So much so that people flock to the town from all corners of the globe just to see the former POW camp, with many visitors being inspired to come because they had family members or friends imprisoned here. It was constructed in March 1942, and it became an infamous detention center for captured airmen. But it was the daring escape attempt by 200 men in 1944 that really captured the world’s attention, and most notably Hollywood’s, when they released the 1963 film The Great Escape.

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Although the Steve McQueen flick is a stone-cold classic, it’s quite different from how events actually unfolded here. The camp today is a faithful reconstruction of what it would have been like for those who were “guests” during the war. 76 airmen managed to break out through the famous “Harry” tunnel – a mock-up of which you can visit. Of those, only three actually made it back behind friendly lines. The rest were either recaptured or executed on Hitler’s orders. The camp is a sombre but fascinating memorial to those brave men and should not be missed during a visit to Zagan.

When in Zagan, you can’t skip visiting Stalag Luft III Prisoner Camp Museum.

The Ducal Palace and Park

Located in the center of the town is the beautiful baroque Ducal Palace, built on the site of Piast Castle in the 15th Century. The palace has an eclectic history, changing hands several times during its existence and at one time being one of the most famous palaces in Europe being visited by a great number of dignitaries. Designed by Italian architect Vincenzo Boccacci, it has been adapted and improved down the years and has a year-round program of events and exhibitions on site.

The pride of Zagan – the Ducal Palace and Park.

It’s set close to the leafy, serene and relaxing Prince’s Park – which is where you’ll find many a local hanging out when the weather is good. Tickets for entry to the palace need to be bought in advance at the tourist information office at the entrance.

The Abbey of St Augustine

With roots back in the 13th Century, this monastery complex is an especially sacred site in Poland and is named as an official national historic monument. It has remained almost intact since it was built, making it a very interesting and noteworthy attraction in our little town. It has this really cool feature called the whispered vault, where the acoustics are just so that even if you speak a whisper, someone will still hear you across space.

When in Zagan, go for a stroll across the city centre. It’s so much to see and do there.

The church itself is very beautiful and the library and museum are well worth a visit. Be advised though – you need to book a sightseeing tour a day in advance if you want to see it, but that means its real advantage is that it’s never overrun with tourists.

11th Armoured Cavalry Division Exhibition

If you haven’t already guessed, Zagan has a long-standing military history, and today it is home to the 11th Armoured Cavalry Division – which traces its roots back to operations in 1945. There is a small museum at the barracks, including a display of tanks and armoured vehicles, uniforms and documents and other interesting exhibits. American tank divisions are also stationed here and are on constant rotation through the town. Located a short drive out of the center, the exhibition is a must for anyone interested in the subject.

What to Eat in Zagan

Ahhhh, now we come to a topic that is very dear to my heart. Polish food! As far and wide as I’ve traveled, I always love to return home for some traditional, hearty and comforting cuisine – usually cooked by my mom! Zagan has some wonderful places to sample Polish delicacies, but we’ll get to that in a moment. First, let’s take a look at just a taste of what you should be ordering here.

Rosół

A delicious yet simple chicken soup that’s famous in these parts, we would usually have it as part of our Sunday dinner. It’s perfect for colder weather or any time you’re not feeling well.

What’s for Sunday dinner in Zagan? Rosol!

Polish chicken soup is simply the best in the world – but I might be a little bit biased.

Bigos

This is a mouthwatering dish made from shredded sauerkraut and cabbage, mixed with mushrooms and diced sausage. It’s the kind of meal where the only downside is that it will have to end at some point.

A plate of delicious bigos is waiting for you!

If this is on the menu (and it will be) you need to give it a try – it is our national dish after all.

Pierogi

Perhaps one of Poland’s most famous dishes internationally, pierogi are thick dumplings that come with a variety of fillings.

A plate of Pierogi (Polish dumplings).

You can take your pick from beef, sauerkraut and mushrooms, cottage cheese and boiled potatoes, or even seasonal fruits, such as strawberries and blueberries. They’re often imitated around the world, but there really is no taste like home.

Łazanki

Another hearty and filling dish (most Polish food is), this is made from homemade pasta, fried cabbage, shredded carrots and onions, and well-done diced pork.

Yummy lazanki – you must try them in Zagan!

Sour cream is often served as an accompaniment and it’s also a popular dish in Belarus and Lithuania.

Polish Croissant Cookies

For those with a sweet tooth and something for dessert, try these puff-pastry cookies. They’re usually filled with jam and they’re really easy to make. Perfect as an after dinner treat – or a treat anytime!

Where to Eat in Zagan

My hometown is teeming with awesome restaurants for you to try all the culinary delights that this region offers. International cuisine is also available if you would prefer, but you really must try the local dishes to get the full experience here.

Domowe Obiady

This is a great place for cheap eats as it’s more of a takeaway vendor. Still, the food is delicious and very traditional. All the usual dishes are on offer, and you can even buy produce to cook for yourselves at home. The name of the establishment literally translates as “home cooked lunches”. I want to order myself some pierogi right now!

Kepler

If you’re looking for sit-down eats but still want to sample traditional Polish cuisine, head to Kepler – which is actually the number one rated restaurant in the town. Conveniently located in the heart of Zagan, this place serves a full menu of Polish classics, as well as delicious apple pie and ice cream (jabłecznik z lodami) which – although available the world over – is also a Polish speciality. The waiting staff speak very good English here, too.

Antonio Pizza

If you’re going to eat Italian while you’re here, you might as well head to Antonio’s Pizza.

Pizza time!

There are a lot of pizzerias in Zagan – Polish people love making and eating the Italian dish just as well, but they can often be hit and miss. This one is probably the best in the town.

Bar U-Waga Smak

Don’t be confused with the exterior of this place – it’s not actually a “bar” as you might know it. U-Waga Smak is one of the famous Polish “milk bars,” where many Poles will go to dine on hearty, traditional food that doesn’t cost the earth. Set in a cafeteria style, you’ll be rubbing shoulders with the locals – which can be an entertainment in itself. A milk bar is a must visit when you’re exploring Poland – it’s an institution.

Take Me Home Country Roads!

My old stomping ground of Zagan is a very special place for me as it holds a lot of cherished memories. I always love returning to visit after great lengths of time trotting the globe. There is nothing quite like visiting mom for some home cooked Polish treats, and although the town doesn’t have the tourist draw of other cities in the country, it has a certain charm that I would still recommend experiencing. There is, after all, no place like home.

Would you pay Zagan a short or a long visit? And what would be your favorite thing to do there?

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